Tag: Prayer

GOD’S GUARANTEE

by Maasaisis

I was searching for God in my dream last night. Where are You? I need to know that You are there. I need to know that I’ve invested in what is real. I need to know that Your promise is the truth. I need to experience it in a tangible way — through my felt senses, here and now.

And then, in an instant, He answered my call.

From the room of my dreamscape, I was lifted and suspended in the open space of my mind — my back to what I’d left behind, my heart open to the light that filled the sky. A surge of ecstatic love rippled through every cell of my being until I became it. God’s love filled all the cracks of fear and doubt within me. The joy I felt broke the lineage of time and folded into itself to always. The jubilation of receiving proof that I had placed my trust in Truth was the only answer I ever wanted.

I can still feel the realness of that dream — how my prayer was answered in a way so certain and strong that it carried into waking life. Its presence now is a guiding light through the trials we are to navigate. Our collective ailment of fear is like a house of mirrors, reflecting our individual plights in distorted ways — each of us wrestling with different shapes of the same illusion. Fear convinces us we are alone, fending for ourselves, while love reminds us that we belong to a unified force far greater than anything we face on our own.

What makes us feel so alone? It can only come from believing we are separate from each other. A Course in Miracles teaches that we were born from perfect love, created with limitless potential. Yet somewhere along the way, the idea of a separate self arose — what was One seemed to become many — a choice made through our own free will.

Making the choice to separate from the love that held us all is where our initial sense of guilt took root. Fear then becomes the fuel that keeps the illusion of separation alive. The Course helps me see that an all-loving God didn’t create suffering — we did, through the limitations we place upon ourselves, and by guarding the idea of the self we made.

It’s that time of year again — when autumn’s changing colors remind me that we’re moving into the season where darkness begins to dominate the day. It’s shedding time. The trees make it look effortless to let go and dare to be bare, but it’s not so easy for me to stand naked amid the landscape of my scurrying thoughts.

As the light gives way to darkness, so do my thoughts. My mind keeps hooking into where I was this time last year. Old stories have a way of repeating, creating more of the same — especially when a trigger appears. Yesterday gets dragged into tomorrow, skipping the beauty of today. The body follows wherever the mind gets caught. Fear travels that line and embeds itself in the tissues, plucking a string like a note on a guitar — echoing the story I thought I’d left behind. I feel the familiar tightening in my chest wall, and my breath hitches.

Unconsciously, my hand traces the smooth contour of what remains of my right breast — a stark contrast to the rough terrain of bound-up scar tissue beside it. The small leftover lumps that appeared on the PET scan lie beneath the part I got to keep. To feel them, I used to have to press my fingertips deep, but that has changed as of late. They are moving toward the surface, pronounced and making their presence known. My fingers anxiously feel them, a habit from before, which is taking root in the fertile soil of my mind. How easy it is to falter beneath the snowball effect of fear, to get lost in “what ifs” and “what to do?”

Nothing in my present state even comes close to where my mind tries to take me. Physically, I feel vital — stronger than I have in years. Yet fear, born in the past, has the power to erase all proof of truth in the now. The anxiety of having my current blessings robbed by what this could mean is a ball and chain that can easily take me down.

I anchor to God’s guarantee that I felt in my dream — that my true Self is not my body or the things that happen to it in the passing of time. I carry a small treasury of A Course in Miracles lessons within me — teachings that help me unhook fear’s grip and return to refuge. I steady my runaway thoughts with a remedy found in a lesson: I can be hurt by nothing but my thoughts. I breathe it in, examine my thoughts, and ask gently: What thought am I believing in?

At the root of them all is the fear that God would abandon me.

I have to admit — my faith is not yet whole. Somewhere in the shadows lurks a quiet terror: what if I’m wrong?

So I begin again — the slow, steady work of untying the knots in my thoughts. Finding freedom in reaffirming what I’ve learned and experienced. The evidence of receiving guidance and finding my way is held in God’s love, extended through His Sons and Daughters no matter what I am up against.

I want to affirm that my body’s sole purpose is to extend love — that life’s work is to forgive the false concepts we’ve made of ourselves and others, the ones that make us forget what we are really made of. Even when fear trickles in when I keep God at arm’s length, somehow His grace always invites me back Home, to where love lives and where I am forever safe.

PEACE BE WITHIN ME

by Maasaisis

Waiting with bated breath is what truly needs healing. But waiting for what? To live my life after this disease? No. The sooner I accept that cancer exists at the periphery of my life, the less I’ll be tossed around by it. I recognized the terror that surged from my gut to my throat when the doctor shared his concern. The chill that spreads and touches every part of me is all too familiar. It’s the dread of not knowing—and not wanting to know—that settles in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone, landing with a thud.

Denial is an incredibly adaptive force, conjuring escape routes around what I do not want to accept or face. I recognize my defence mechanisms from past experiences, even when they are disguised as something else. Although they strive for reassurance, they do not change what I ultimately have to confront. My mind has been stretched in analysis, trying to explain the escalating pain I’ve been feeling lately. I chalked it up to the deep, open wound on the side of my breast, convincing myself that “pain is part of healing.”

This journey has taught me that darkness requires acknowledgment to bring it to light. Everything kept in the shadows will eventually find a way to recruit every aspect of my being and pull me in. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t heal it. I am terrified of screenings and the possibility of discovering what I don’t want to see. Accepting this fear as real—one that needs to be reframed—I did everything in my power to hold on to my peace while undergoing multiple screenings and awaiting results. My body feels like a battleground, but my spirit beckons me to stay in a place where it can’t be touched.

The flesh straddling the dark, ulcerated crater is trying to bridge the gap with formidable force. There’s an intense gravitational pull attempting to seal the opening, like the tide responding to the moon in the natural order of things. It’s like a rolling wave building as it moves toward the shore, dragging and tumbling the ocean floor with it. My right side feels torqued, stretched, and pulled in unnatural ways—like wearing a tight corset with little give. The wing of my shoulder feels clipped, but I’m reminded that I can create space in my mind where flight is always possible.

As I reflect on my experiences, my understanding of resilience is evolving. I’m beginning to embody the idea that resilience is about claiming peace, regardless of what’s happening outside. It’s about finding the still center of the cyclone while remaining within it. This place is always available—just one thought away. It can’t be reached through force; it’s found by letting go and trusting that I’m held.

It’s a choice to hold fast to faith, knowing that no matter what, I’m being guided to experience what I came here to learn. I am discovering what cannot ever be threatened and what endures. I’m learning about healing that goes beyond just healing myself.

What a huge relief it is to finally acknowledge that I don’t know anything. My suffering stems from the belief that I must know—doing whatever it takes to gain a sense of control over situations that are inherently uncontrollable. Each time, I come up with a version of what I’ve used in the past—a formula for being okay. Yet every solution has its holes, allowing familiar fears and doubts to creep back in, prompting the same defenses, which are bound to fail.

No matter what response I conjure in the face of fear, it’s always made from the same fabric of past coping mechanisms. So, I find myself questioning this entire approach to situations beyond my control. Admitting that I have no control—and no permanent fixes—leaves me with only one option: to hand it all over to a higher order.

This reckoning—the act of taking the terror of not knowing, putting it into a bag, and handing it to a higher power—feels like the only place where true refuge exists. I hand it over and say, “Here, take it all. I don’t know anything. Please, know for me.” It’s a release from the constant circling of old patterns, which only ever lead to that same desperate place, shaking and quaking, where the mind’s analysis inevitably leads to darker holes.

I tether myself to prayer, mooring my mind in peace to be guided through whatever my human experience brings. I anchor myself in the love that sustains me, believing in what can’t be changed and is everlasting. I pray that my situation does not hurt those I love. It is this love that inspires me to choose—again and again—to seek and find peace in uncharted territory.

My screening results showed regression of the disease in my liver and lungs, countered by the progression of a new lump in my other breast and possible growth in my sternum and pectoral area. It’s a mixed bag of information, but I was able to accept it without curling up into a ball. Though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, I recognized strength in my own voice as I navigated the new information and considered what it might mean.

I am utterly done with letting this disease run the show—keeping me teetering on the edge of creating my own hell, held hostage by the wait for test results and the worst-case scenarios my mind imagines. I refuse to remain a victim of helplessness. What I do know is that resisting what needs to be accepted leads nowhere; panicking or making decisions from a place of fear only perpetuates suffering. I may have to pivot, change my treatment plan, or do things I don’t want to do. There is a place in my mind where turbulence can’t reach me. It is there that I will find my way.

LESSON: “I do not know what anything, including this, means. And so I do not know how to respond to it. And I will not use my own past learning as a light to guide me now.” – A Course In Miracles

WOUNDED HEALING

by Maasaisis

I can now stick the tip of my pinky finger into the black crater of my putrefying tumour and watch my nail disappear. My curiosity meets my repulsion as I wiggle my finger around, discovering new caverns of hollow spaces. I remind myself that although the foul-smelling decomposition of my flesh brings me to the brink of losing whatever foothold I have, I’ve been primed and ready for this by what I’ve learned through German New Medicine. Belief is also a choice, and right now I’m anchoring myself to whatever keeps me steady in the wild terrain of my mind.

I’m cautious about certainty, but my intuition tells me that I’m witnessing evidence of cancer cells dying off and my tumour shrinking. This gruesome biological process seems to be nature’s way of degrading what is unhealthy and unwanted. I can feel the tight ball of unruly cells retreating into itself, pulling on the network of connective tissue and causing inflammation that blocks lymphatic pathways. The tension is felt from the ribs below my breast, up my inner arm, and wrapping around to my lats. The squeezing of nerves sends sharp echoes into my bones.

I recognize that the details I’m sharing may be offensive or interpreted as a cry for help. Perhaps it is. I write as a way to release the pressure building in my mind and to alchemize dark thoughts into clarity. Space is crucial for me to orbit. My intention to be transparent and honest is to invite what wants to be revealed, giving me the opportunity to heal both my mind and body. Whether driven by my ego, a need to document my journey, or as a necessary form of therapy to keep going, I also hope it may serve others in some way, as I utilize creativity as my rose compass on my healing journey.

I’m still learning to balance what fuels my spirit with the patience and care my body needs. I’m getting better at gauging whether I’m overextending myself or being too cautious and limiting my experiences. There’s always room to pivot and respond if I allow myself the space to change my mind. If I impose too many boundaries on how I think I should be or what I can and can’t do, it creates a cage that leads to self-induced suffering.

I knew that a full weekend of vending my visionary crafts, dancing flamenco, and consciously connecting with those who attended the opening of my art exhibit would test my capacity for output. Needless to say, it was a testament to how love and the joy of heartfelt connection are precious medicines for my soul.

Bare-breasted, I sit as the wound clinic nurse cleans my oozing opening. I feel deeply irritated when she asks why I haven’t had the tumor removed. I haven’t seen this nurse before; her curt foreign accent makes her sound harsh and too direct for my sensitive state after a big weekend. The sleepless nights, punctuated by sharp pain and the emotional toll of the drugs I took to manage it, along with a general feeling of being ‘over it,’ contributed to my irritation. Instead of lashing out or retreating into myself, which is what I wanted to do, I course-corrected and calmly stated that surgery is not an option for me while treating metastasis. That response seemed to soften her; perhaps the softness was already there, but I only noticed it after my intentional remark.

I can easily fall into the trap of associating what’s happening to my body as my only experience of self, especially as my keen sense of smell constantly reminds me of a part of me that is rotting away. It’s easy to feel self-conscious about the smell, but that’s the beauty of transparency: there’s no need to hide. The practice is in finding safety in the wide open.

My mind is most vulnerable when day slips into night and pain lures me into the territory of fear and uncertainty. Until recently, I relied on my superpower of being able to sleep and shut off adversity. Now, that power has been hijacked, bringing new nighttime anxieties about losing the natural ability to rest and reset.

I’ve made peace with the tiny teal-colored pellet of morphine that I’ve accepted as my ally for now. I’m having a harder time with the little aqua-colored ones that can easily send me off to sleep. There is a price to pay for this assured reset, as it amps up my already medically induced volatile hormones. It makes me question and quake.

I’m into the seventh month of treatment, and although there are days where I feel like I still don’t have a handle on anything, I’m getting better at being kind to myself. I am more patient than I used to be and have faith in what can’t be fully known but deeply felt as truth. I seek opportunities where I can open to love instead of repelling, shrinking or hiding. I do my best to remember that that pain happens, but fear and suffering is a choice. I ask for help to surrender what is in the way of trusting what can’t be threatened.

While on a walk, I saw a round of a cut-up fallen tree. Looking closer, I was amazed to see bright green foliage sprouting from what I would have otherwise thought was dead. It led me to reflect on how the will to exist and express can blossom from the most unlikely places. The force of creation is a power to behold, sustained by the remembrance of its indestructible nature.

LESSON: “Nothing real can be threatened. Nothing unreal exists.”- A Course In Miracles

Joy captured by photographer Clinton Johnson.

THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE

by Maasaisis

The efforts I fought for months ago have had a ripple effect with a double-edged sword. One edge inflicts deep wounds, while the other cuts out a small opening, a peephole through which I can glimpse a shimmer of gold amid the ashes. Six months ago, the PET scan results hurled me into the ‘metastatic’ category as my liver illuminated with suspicious activity. The impact of this news swiftly plunged me into denial. I sought to reinforce it with my own rationale, other than metastasis, for why there might be areas of increased sugar uptake in the fastest-regenerating organ of my body.

Since cells involved in healing processes also consume more glucose and thus appear brighter in a PET scan, I converted my shock into a more digestible explanation. To gain further insight into my liver’s condition, I requested an MRI, known for its detailed imaging of soft tissue. However, my requests were repeatedly denied on the grounds that the evidence of metastasis in the PET scan was deemed sufficient.

At the time, I wasn’t prepared to accept a treatment plan based on mere assumptions. I fought tooth and nail until my local MD relented under my plea for an MRI. I’m immensely grateful that my care providers have flexible boundaries that stretches open when I advocate strongly for myself. Finally, after all these months, I underwent the MRI a couple of weeks ago.

When the results appeared in my inbox, I leaned on the pillar of strength from my morning prayers. Despite the adversities and hardships that comes with the walk that I am walking, I’m most grateful for the enduring strength of Spirit that holds me up when I’m shaking. I was hoping that whatever was there in my liver would be gone after three months of being on treatment. The new hair growth, return of my appetite, and increased stamina seemed promising signs of healing. Nevertheless, the results revealed at least four nodules in my liver, and this time, I didn’t push it aside into denial or search for alternative explanations. I allowed the truth of what is slam right into me.

I surrendered to the cathartic waves of emotions that surged violently within me, crashing with relentless force. I felt it all without trying to cling, and in that surrender, their progression seemed to hasten. As the initial intensity of this reality settled, I willed my mind to soar high above and gain a broader, panoramic perspective of the situation. This isn’t new information; it’s confirmation of previous findings indicating mutant activity in my liver. It’s clarity that must be accepted—a crucial baseline for the path ahead.

Resisting acceptance will only erect roadblocks on the path I must walk. My journey demands unwavering faith and patience—a continuous dance of fluidity and adaptability. I must navigate my current reality while remaining anchored to what cannot be touched by this disease. I must keep the light of my spirit burning, even when the room goes dark around me. It’s in this choice, available to me, that I can discover gifts in the most unpredictable places.

The gift I received came in the form of a timely call from a different oncologist than the one I usually see. Just hours after I had read the results on my computer screen, he reached out to share his interpretation of the findings—a perspective far less terrifying than my own. He explained that in cancer treatment, success isn’t solely measured by achieving remission but also by stabilization. According to him, the MRI results didn’t necessarily indicate anything new; rather, they provided additional insight into what we already suspected. He offered me a different vantage point to consider.

Perhaps these nodules are smaller than before. Maybe they’ve stabilized, given that they’re all still relatively small. It’s possible that between November and February, when I began treatment, the nodules grew significantly, and what we’re seeing now is evidence that the treatment is indeed effective. Like light passing through a prism, every situation can reveal a different picture depending on the angle from which you view it.

The persistence in pursuing an MRI screening brought yet another gift. With a clearer baseline established, I now have the opportunity for regular MRI tests in the coming months to monitor my liver. Unlike x-rays, CT scans, and PET scans, MRI imaging doesn’t emit radiation and is non-invasive—a fact worth celebrating. When it comes to monitoring treatment, it’s crucial to compare apples to apples, so to speak, as each screening modality offers unique information.

After three months on treatment, the true gauge of its effectiveness lies in comparing PET scan results. Last week, I embarked on a solo journey, driving hours to undergo another PET scan. As I await the results in the coming week, I remain buoyant on my raft of certainties. I’m grateful for the vitality that was absent just a couple of months ago, for the nurturing love of my friends and family, and for the immeasurable power of Spirit that continues to light my way. Everything else is not evident in now.

LESSON: Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll

THE ROSE CIRCLE

by Maasaisis

My heart has blossomed open, leaving the core of the bloom exposed and tender to all nuances of life. Perhaps it’s the hormone medications that have fueled my emotional liberation; perhaps I no longer need to armor up. There is a clear border between life before and after cancer. My life before was a constant rush of ticking off boxes on my never-ending to-do list. I lived at full throttle speed where busyness equated to success, leading me to keep even those I love at a distance. Trauma was a distraction extinguished like a candle before it could burn.

I now look back from the perch of my unhurried way of life, where nothing more has to be acquired or achieved. My days unfold naturally, like a flower opening up to the sun. There is no forcing or pressing against it. This way of allowing life to come to me, rather than chasing it or repressing it, has been the greatest gift bestowed upon me by my greatest adversity. I am at ease with taking time, and I know when to stop and be still. I’m finding spaciousness in places I’ve missed before.

After my last ER episode, a beautiful new practice of praying the rosary came into my life to sustain me. Although I don’t adhere to any organized religion, I’ve always relied on the power of prayer and meditation to still my mind. However, lately, I’ve struggled to find solace in meditation. The many voices in my head seem to overpower the peace I seek. The sobering experience of my health deteriorating rapidly made having something tangible to hold onto more than just a metaphor.

Da encouraged me to watch Tammy Peterson’s interview, where she shared how she healed from terminal cancer through praying the rosary. Tammy’s testimony, attributing her daily prayers to curing her cancer, deeply inspired me. I retrieved an old rosary, a gift from my mama that lay dormant on my altar and searched for instructions on how to pray the rosary. While I was well-acquainted with the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary was less familiar to me, and the mysteries represented by the decades of the beads did not really resonate with me. I didn’t feel a connection to the wooden rosary with a bulky cross which inspired the idea to make my own.

I came across the perfect meaningful objects for the creation of my divine feminine rosary: a beautiful Guadalupe talisman from my mama, symbolizing grace, healing, and love, and a gold Scottish thistle passed down to me from my aunt. This thistle was given to her by my grandparents in 1965 when she left Scotland and immigrated to Canada. Additionally, I found a little cross from a beaded bracelet that my daughter begged me to buy but no longer satisfied her fashionable taste. It was important to me that the divine masculine was also represented in my special rosary, so I incorporated the cross that once belonged to my daughter, bringing her into my rose circle. I chose rosewood beads for the mother beads and yellow jade for the father beads, and thus my powerful tool for prayer, carrying the essence of my family’s love and connection, came to be.

The felt sense of spinning the beads between my fingers as I pray has amplified my faith. A personal mother prayer landed into my awareness, resonating with my request for her guidance. I was gifted the Aramaic translation of the Lord’s Prayer from a beloved, which opens my heart for the Father beads. Instead of the traditional dedication to the mysteries, what resonates with me is to dedicate the first decade to my personal heartfelt prayer. The second set of ten is for prayers of gratitude. The third is dedicated to those I want to pray for, the fourth for our ancestors, and the fifth, I return home to myself, Gaia, and welcome whatever may come up.

On low-energy days, I sit and bead rosaries, finding peace in creating meaningful tools of prayer. As I make them, someone always comes to mind to gift it- to whom I know will appreciate and use it. One day, while I was praying the rosary while walking in the forest, I received the message to show others how to make them. After all, there is power in crafting your own prayer tool! For the first time in ages, I felt like this was something I could offer without depleting my energy — to offer it in an easy, authentic way to those who feel called to join the circle.

My vision came to fruition as a circle of thirteen sisters gathered in my home. After months of winter isolation due to my health crisis, this was a welcome shift of energy with loving friends. Coming together in creative ceremony with others who yearned for heartful connection was incredibly meaningful and nourishing. We all shared a common desire to pray together and be in each other’s presence. Something magical is bubbling up to the surface with this recognition, and I feel its importance deeply. In these changing times, we need the support of each other and feel the sustainment of something much bigger.

In opening our rose circle, we are now connected to all through prayer. In a time where disconnect—the ailment of separation that can only lead to disharmony—the rose circle is one way for us to heal together. This is the gift I received from praying the rosary: the gift of knowing that we can come together and be held in a circle where we are all of the same.

LESSON: WE ARE ALL OF THE SAME

COMMUNING WITH SOURCE

by Maasaisis

I heard explicit instructions to do up my jacket and tighten my helmet just before the awful crunching sound. Simultaneously, I shot into the sky like a cannon ball and then I was suspended in space. There was an extended pause granted to me to receive my next instruction “Tuck your chin in and roll.” I obeyed, hit the pavement and expertly rolled until coming to a stop on the other side of the highway.

A woman was screaming from where I could not tell. The impact left me somewhere between my body and my bike. I had a clear sense of myself outside the constraints of my physical form. If I’m not in my body, what AM I? Then again the voice, “Get off the highway now“.

I felt a sense of urgency as I inhabited my body and willed it to move. It was a busy time of day and at any moment a car could come speeding around the corner. I dragged myself to the side of the road and collapsed in a heap. The crash happened right in front of my parents’ house which was perched next to the highway. My mom was next to me instantly and screaming hysterically.

What happened?... Where did that voice come from?

A man shouted, “Someone call an ambulance!” I rolled my head toward the voice and saw the back wheel of my motorbike wedged beneath the hood of a car and my seat torqued up vertically. That’s how I was catapulted into spontaneous flight and that’s how I communed with Source.

I never did find out what kind of structural damage resulted from that accident. I refused the ambulance ride and sought solace in my little cabin by the lake instead. Instinctively I knew that I would manage the damage thanks to the mystery voice coaching me through that epic crash landing.

I’ve had many logically unexplainable events that have cemented my faith in God, the Divine, Universal Intelligence, Energy, Spirit, Source whatever you may want to call it. Those experiences literally blew my limited mind into the vast expanse that created it. Knowing that I’m connected to something sacred and omnipotent nudges me to move with life rather than against it.

There is a life force- I’ve seen it with my own eyes high as a kite on LSD. I even have a witness who saw it with me! We were looking at a tree awestruck by the brilliance of multitudes of colors travelling from the earth and through the tree, beyond its framework and scattering into infinite space. This flow was ever abundant, replenishing, circulating, interacting and responding to everything- responding to us witnessing it.

There must be a cause behind that flow… How does a blade of grass that can easily be ripped out of the earth break through concrete? What gives it its gusto to fulfill its’ complete expression no matter what it’s pressing up against? There must be something supremely powerful that’s supporting its becoming. Like the blade of grass we too must have that support to bust through the hard stuff. Maybe we just need to trust that its there to activate it.

I don’t think we can deny that there was definitely a beginning to existence. There had to be an almighty cause fused with creative genius to make manifest everything. If something is created, wouldn’t there be intelligence with an imagination to form it into being? What if we are all wired to commune with this intelligence because we are the byproduct of that same creation process?…

Maybe the common denominator for everything is like a radio frequency. When we are tuned into it we can live beyond the limitations of the mind. We can express closer to our true nature which broadens our playing field exponentially. But, it’s important to know that it is a co-creation process because we can’t do it alone.

These are the kind of thoughts I’ve been having as of late. Like where did the unwavering ability to accept cancer as a quest of self development come from? How did I know I was going to be ok? That’s the glory and anomaly of having faith. It gives you the superpower to trust what the mind can not and that’s where I think help comes from. Mind tries to make sense of everything but what happens when it can’t? I think it short circuits and creates static in our radio frequency. The noise takes over and we feel lost until we find ways to dial ourselves back in. I think getting cancer was just like being catapulted into the sky. My mind didn’t know what hit it and got knocked aside while the master system took over the reins.

Quantum physics explains the manifest world as various frequencies of energy. Quarks are the smallest particles of matter and even the space between them is made of energy. What they discovered is that how we think, feel and believe has a direct effect on how energy behaves.

Since energy can’t be destroyed what ignited all of creation is still in effect. It’s always moving, changing and creating. It’s constantly flowing through us and responding to how we are being- just like what I witnessed with the tree. When we pay attention to it we commune with it. That relationship shapes the life we are living. One way to steward the co-creation is with prayer.

The bike accident left me with chronic back pain which distanced the”voice” that spared my life. My back went out regularly, causing lengthy bouts of excruciating pain. During one of the worst episodes, Da handed me the book “Sermon On the Mount” by Emmet Fox and said, ” You’ve tried everything else, start praying.” Fox wrote, “The great law of the universe is just this- that what you think in your mind you will produce in your experience.” The book decoded Christ’s message in a way that dissolved my resistance and judgement towards Christianity. It humbled me into prayer. I spoke the Lord’s Prayer with reverence while contemplating the true meaning of each of the 7 clauses.

This is Fox’s explanation of the Lord’s Prayer: “The Great Prayer is a compact formula for the development of the soul. It is designed with the utmost care for the specific purpose; so that those who use it regularly, with understanding, will experience a real change of soul.“ Every word of every line was chosen with the purest of intentions to dial us in. The prayer is all encompassing and covers everything. I spoke the words as true. I focused on prayer for 2 days and the pain vanished for good.

LESSON: “SPACE IS NOT EMPTY, IT IS FULL…THE UNIVERSE IS NOT SEPARATE FROM THE COSMIC SEA OF ENERGY”-DAVID BOHM

The crash that instilled my faith.