Quoting God

I choose to re-create myself anew in every single moment. 

I choose to experience the grandest version of the greatest vision ever I had about who I am. 

I have created you, so that you might re-create me. 

This is your holy work. 

This is your greatest joy. 

This is your very reason for being.

Neale Donald Walsh, Conversations with God, Book 3, An Uncommon Dialogue, Chapter 15, page 258, Hodder & Stoughton, 1998

Thy Father's Hand

Oh, soul, I said, thy boding murmurs cease―

Though sorrow bind thee as a funeral pall,

Thy Father's Hand is guiding thee through all,

His Love will bring a true and perfect peace.

―By a Spirit

The Spiritual Temple of God

The spirit, after leaving its earthly form, retains all its love for those it left on earth.

Anna Cora Wilson's (Birdie) poem—

MOTHER, dear mother! from the land of the blessed,

Where the earth-weary spirit finds comfort and rest,

I have come with my buds and blossoms so sweet,

And I lay them, as soul-gifts, at your tired feet.

Be joyous, dear mother, and banish the clouds,

And linger no longer 'mid cypress and shrouds;

But lift up your eyes to that fair land of rest,

Where Cora, your Birdie, has built your nest.

Birdie's last of earth—

HUSHED were the voices and muffled the tread

Of kind friends who lingered near Birdie's death-bed;

But they saw not the angels who entered unheard,

And dipped in heaven's chalice the wings of their bird.

And they whispered so soft that you heard not a sound—

Come, Birdie, your wings shall no longer be bound!

Then, quick as the eagle's eye drinks in the light,

Your Birdie was free from mortality's night.

And now from the heights of Eternity's plains,

From the land where Death comes not and Night never reigns,

Your Birdie returns, on swift pinions of love,

With fresh-gathered buds from her bright home above.

When the world in its coldness says, Birdie's dead,

O tell them, dear mother, I've only been led,

By the hands of the angels, away from the night,

Away from earth's darkness to heaven's clear light.

Birdie's nest—

IN the bowers of love supernal

There your Birdie's built her nest,

For the Father's hand eternal

Led her from the earth's unrest.

Hear you not my song of gladness,

Swelling o'er life's troubled sea?

Surely then it were but madness,

E'er to mourn my loss to thee.

I have gained a deathless morning—

All my mortal woes are o'er,

And the angels now are crowning

Me with gems from heaven's store.

Cease your mourning, dearest mother,

Let tears no more for Birdie fall;

God is love—there is no other

And His mercy's over all.

When the shades of Death are falling,

And your mortal day is o'er,

And you hear the angels calling

You from earth to our bright shore—

Then your Birdie's song of welcome

All your fears shall chase away,

And the bitter buds of morning

Blossom into endless day.

Birdie's vigil—

I AM here, dearest mother, though the summer has flown,

And the roses their beauty have shed;

For the world in its blindness determines alone,

That the soul in its freedom is dead!

I am here to watch over and keep you from harm,

To guide you from darkness to light;

I am here, and I shall wait until the morning bells chime,

Proclaiming the end of the night.

And then through the bright shining way of the stars,

Where the saints and the angels have trod,

I will lead you away from the earth and its cares,

To the spiritual temple of God.

Cast aside such sad unhappy fears.

The weary wanderer who reaps a harvest of repentant tears

Should cast aside such sad unhappy fears;

They cannot help, nor lead him on

As loving God has ever done;

They cannot make him see the Light,

For they but blind the mortal sight,

And hinder hope and dim that light

Which could shine forth so clear and bright,

Were it made welcome with pure delight.

―Spirit Clifford

Eternal life is the gift to all.

I SLEEP not, dear mother, where daisies bloom,
And wild birds warble their hymns of praise;
Where the stars look down through the silent gloom,
And the cypress nods to the passing breeze.

No, no; I am living beyond the tomb,
Where the shadows of time no longer fall,
Where the angel Death has never come,
For eternal life is the gift to all.

Yet I have not left you; I am not dead,
Though a voice is missed from the trio band―

Though tenantless stands my little bed,
And you miss the clasp of Birdie's hand.

I am living and loving and waiting for you
In my beautiful home on the other side,
Where legions of angels, with fond hearts and true,
Are waiting for loved ones to cross the tide.

Through the long, dreary hours of sadness and pain,
When your brow with the tempest of fever was tossed,
Your Birdie was with you; yes, with you again;
Though the world in its blindness says Birdie is lost.

―Spirit) nna Cora Wilson

A Poetical Invocation to Women by ChatGPT

Of women, we sing, in every land and clime, 

Their strength and courage, their grace and divine, 

They stand tall and proud, in their own right, 

Shining bright, like stars in the night.

From mothers and sisters, to daughters and wives, 

They embody love, compassion and sacrifice, 

With hearts so pure and souls so kind, 

They light up the world, like the sun's shine.

Their struggles and triumphs, we honor and applaud, 

For every obstacle they've faced and overcome, 

Their voices, a powerful force for change, 

A beacon of hope, in a world so strange.

So here's to women, far and near, 

To their beauty, wisdom, and love so dear, 

May they continue to shine, in all they do, 

And may the world honor and cherish them too.

What is evil Karma?

Evil Karma is not punishment, neither is it fatality. 

It is the result of inharmony—a something wrong—a law broken that must be adjusted. 

And until such adjustment is made, more or less, suffering must be experienced. 

It is like a splinter in a tender spot. The spot will fester, until the splinter is removed, but would you think it wise to allow the spot to fester, until, by the sloughing of the surrounding tissues, the splinter was eliminated? 

Or would a wise physician use his higher powers (his trained intelligence) to remove the splinter at once and allow the spot to heal? 

Again, a wheel has become flattened on one side and runs with great friction and jarring, throwing out of gear all parts of the engine. 

This, no doubt, is bad Karma from bad usage, but the engineer is fully justified in using his higher powers to have the defect remedied at once. 

Thus, it is with The Healing Prayer, as we give it to you. 

The earnest repetition of it, with an effort to grasp its real significance, arouses, in the consciousness, a realisation of what is wrong. 

You recognise the Divine Creative Force of Love—The Christ-power, and the instant such a recognition is made, the splinter is removed; the defective machine repaired, and atonement is made. for The Christ has spoken, Go and sin no more.

THE HEALING PRAYER

O Thou loving, and helpful Master Jesus!

Thou who gavest to Thy disciples, power to heal the sick!

We, recognising Thee, and realising Thy divine presence within us,

Ask Thee to lay Thy hands upon us, in healing love.

Cleanse us from all our sins,

And by the divine power of Omnipotent Life,

Drive out the atoms of inharmony and disease,

And fill our bodies full to overflowing with Life, and Love, and Purity.

Letters from the Teacher, Teachings of the Order of the 15, transcribed by Harriette Augusta Curtiss and F. Homer Curtiss, Curtiss Book Company, Los Angeles, California, 1913

The prison of a soul!

Though God be good and free be heaven,

No force divine can love compel—

And though the song of sins forgiven

May sound through lowest hell,

The sweet persuasion of His voice

Respects thy sanctity of will.

He giveth day—thou hast thy choice

To walk in darkness still,

As one who, turning from the light,

Watches his own gray shadow fall,

Doubting, upon his path of night,

If there be day at all!

No word of doom may shut thee out,

No wind of wrath may downward whirl,

No swords of fire keep watch about

The open gates of pearl—

A tenderer light than moon or sun,

Than song of earth a sweeter hymn,

May shine and sound forever on,

And thou be deaf and dim.

Forever round the Mercy-seat

The guiding lights of Love shall burn—

But what if, habit-bound, thy feet

Shall lack the will to turn?

What if thine eye refuse to see,

Thine ear of heaven's free welcome fail,

And thou a willing captive be,

Thyself thy own dark jail?

O doom beyond the saddest guess,

As the long years of God unroll

To make thy dreary selfishness

The prison of a soul!

To doubt the love that fain would break

The fetters from thy self-bound limb,

And dream that God can thee forsake

As thou forsakest Him!

—John Greenleaf Whittier