The Holy Spirit, which is our Guide to Salvation, is the idea of healing (T-5.III.2:1), which is to say, both the “Call for God” and “the idea of God” (T-5.III.2:3). And, because we are not apart from God, but live as God’s creations, the Holy Spirit is also the idea of our own self (T-5.III.2:4).Continue reading “A Course in Miracles: The Guide to Salvation”
Author Archives: Sean
May Newsletter
I sent out a newsletter this morning. If you’d like to read it, you can sign up here. As I often say, A Course in Miracles is a course, not a spiritual path. You take the course – maybe two or three times if you’re slow and stubborn like me – and then something newContinue reading “May Newsletter”
The End of Lonely Journeys
God is Justice because Love is Just. And Love is Just because it knows all Creation as one. It knows all life as equal, which undoes the grounds for different responses. What is one cannot be judged, for it cannot be divided into that which judges and that which is judged. Thus, true Justice is notContinue reading “The End of Lonely Journeys”
Birds, Coffee and Void: Last Thoughts
But all this is silliness. I enjoy being outdoors in the morning listening to birds. I enjoy the light of dawn: its shy secretive blue, its slow but steady reveal of the world. I love coffee, even bad coffee. No more than all this! And no less either. No mysteries. No secrets. Just this. ThisContinue reading “Birds, Coffee and Void: Last Thoughts”
Listening to Birds with Jesus in the Void
Less poetically. Less biographically. As a matter of experience – lived experience prior to settling into this or that language or mode of expression (science, philosophy, advaita, historical et cetera et cetera et cetera) – what happens when you listen to the birds and to the silence in which their song appears? As an exercise,Continue reading “Listening to Birds with Jesus in the Void”
Coffee and Chores in the Void
In the morning I take my coffee to the barn and sit on a bale of hay. It is still dark though eastern hills bleed pale light. Mid-April but still cold enough to button the old flannel overshirt my father wore. Pull the purple wool cap Chrisoula made down over my ears. Sit shivering inContinue reading “Coffee and Chores in the Void”