Dylan Morrison's Blog, page 6

Why I’ve Written ‘Mystical Steps’

Mystical Steps

Writing is a funny old thing. The urge comes upon you when you least expect it. Something or Someone out there or deep within, pops up from time to time and says, ‘Time to write!” It’s been a bit like that with my latest wee book, ‘Mystical Steps’. I just had an inner knowing that it was time to get some stuff on mysticism out into the worlds of religion and non-religious spirituality.

I reckon that the time to demystify mysticism has come, to reclaim it from the fixation of the esoteric crank or the fanatically unhinged religious believer. Mysticism, at its basic essence is simply, yet profoundly, an experiential communion with Transcendent and Immanent Other. Nothing weird or scary, just a form of spiritual perception that releases us, albeit temporarily, from the space-time perceptions of ego. So why aim I sharing my wee book with both metaphysical camps?

Well, let’s start with the religious among us. Most committed believers are scared stiff of mysticism. This is partly due to warnings from the guardians of so-called orthodoxy within popular religion. Christian priests and pastors tend to jump on mysticism, and the possibility of having a mystic within their congregation, from a great height. Why? Well, simply because they’ve been told by their own faith fathers that it’s dangerous and somehow associated with the dark arts of the occult. Now, once the great Adversary is introduced into the religious equation it’s game set and match for the religious status quo. Let’s be honest, fear often lies at the heart of much conservative belief and practice, rather than the exhilaration of discovery in a Cosmos created as our Divine playground.

Another reason faith folk shy away from mystical thought and practice is through lack of knowledge. We are wired to fear the unknown. New ways of looking at faith journey tend to freak us out, so we just don’t go there. Keeping our reading and religious input within the confines of our present world view makes us feel safe, if slightly limited in our potential for future growth. Best to stay with what we know and stay within the theological paddock of our present faith flock.

Of course, top-down religions, particularly established Christianity aren’t too keen on mystics. The odd one here and there is perfectly acceptable, preferably within the walls of a monastery or nunnery. Having a congregation full of mystics though would be a bit too much to bear. No, best to keep mysticism a minority sport and let the mystics run free, as far away as possible from the rest of God’s ‘chosen’ kids. For a community that draws its identity from doctrine, tradition and group solidarity is much easier to control. If mysticism was to suddenly break out the whole institutional edifice might collapse, for all forms of co-dependency would disappear overnight.

Let’s now consider the Mind, Body Spirit world. Yes, mysticism is more easily accepted here, yet there remains a stubborn ignorance that is content on one aspect of mystical belief whilst rejecting the rest. A Nature mystic or Oneness adherent can be just as narrow-minded as their religious counterpart. Our spirituality easily latches onto one interpretation of Reality and won’t let go. As a result of my observations of the lovely folk in ‘spirituality alone’ movements, I’ve concluded that there can be as much of  a fundamentalist streak within them as in mainline religion. In the guise of Mystery, certainty becomes the newly adopted god of choice. Of course, many spiritual teachers and gurus are partly responsible for this as they compete for popularity and sales within the marketplace of commercial spirituality and self-help. Now much truth lies in the multifarious paradigms of modern spirituality but each little nugget is often projected as absolute Truth rather than a mere part of the whole.

I’ve written ‘Mystical Steps’ to help us all catch a glimpse of a broader canvas, one upon which Divine Love loves to brush a multitude of colours. Of course my little book is only my own small attempt at portraying the unportrayable. It’s merely an ink spot on the great page of Mystery, yet it’s an honest and loving attempt at encouraging us out of any restrictive worldview we may presently hold, into the boundless embrace of Presence. May it bring solace to the lonely and encounter to the brave.

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Certainty or Safety?

 

Many of believe the lie that safety comes through certainty. Especially those of us who’ve had an encounter with the Divine and don’t want to lose it. We tend to be quickly absorbed into a mindset that seems to fit our experience. Those who appear to provide the answers that we crave tend to be the fundamentalists of a religious or spiritual tradition. It doesn’t really mater what the brand – certainty is for sale, promising to eternally conserve that which cannot be conserved.

It certainly appears to work for a while, but very quickly our experience and its dynamic energy soon fade to be replaced by the doctrinal truths or certainties of our particular fundamentalism of choice. Such truths are presented and revered as the guardians of God, those who won’t let us down in the storms of life. And yet they often do. For the very storms can be a result of the beliefs themselves.

The levels of stress among fundamentalists belie their belief in a God of peace and abundant life. Life is reduced to Darkness versus Light and every effort must be exercised in remaining on the side of Light. That’s why fundamentalism promotes the idea that life is a battle, one in which we shall remain standing if we only stay within its belief system and related communities.

However, eventually life and, dare I say, the Divine, blasts our fundamentalist Linus blanket apart, as we sink into the despondency of lost certainty. And yet, it is at this point that Divine Love may once more invade of emotional world and touch us with a touch that needs no belief.

Presence is just that ~ Presence. A knowing that we are not alone, even as our previous beliefs and sacred tenets like shipwrecked on the shore of our unbelief. It’s at this point that we realise that belief systems are not synonymous with knowledge, for such knowledge lies outside the realm of thought. Rather, it is a gut feeling, an overwhelming sense that everything is OK and that we are loved.

Now many of us were introduced to the God of our experience before we settled for the one of belief. It is in this dark place of nothingness that we once again sense Source hovering over the surface of our disillusioned psyche-soul. Out of the chaos of lost belief comes a living walk with One who cannot be pigeonholed into our fundamentalist boxes. Walking in the garden of Innocence we find a new helpmate – trust. Sent from our inner world this sensory one leads us on the paths of communion, the walkways of Presence. Trust knows nothing of fundamentalism, that cheap clone who promises to keep us to the end. No trust is the real thing. The energy from within that shapes and models our experiential world of form. As we trust, our outer world conforms to the Divine blueprint and we fly free as children of  a Great Love. The safety of Divine Flow replaces the ever stressful mind games of our previous fundamentalism.

Life is to be fun and enjoyed in the flow-freeing Energy of the nameless, I Am that I Am. Only as we let go of fear and ego birthed belief are we truly safe in a space-time world held together in the Divine Matrix of the Logos/Tao. As a recovering fundamentalist I can’t remember too many fun days in the daily battles of my previous dualistic psycho-spiritual settings. No, I guess fundamentalism might help us all in getting out of a hedonistic Egypt, but not so good in promoting the enjoyment of the Milk and Honey of our inner Promised land.

Fly free my friends, fly free.

Fight Or Flow

Fight Or Flow

 

In my old Charismatic days, everything was a fight. Although God was on our side there was an almost equally opponent in the shape of the Christian take on the Satan, one who opposed our every turn. Now it proved to be a real roller-coaster type of way to live life. All the good stuff came from Father, Son and Spirit while all the nasty stuff came from the dark Enemy. We could live in blessing as long as we kept our wits about us and keep up our guard against a wily and bad natured Foe.

Of course this chess-like take on one’s space-time existence was exhausting, very exhausting! And of course to live on the battlefield of life warranted the back-up of fellow brothers and sisters in arms, viz. a bunch of dedicated warriors known as a good church. On our own we’d more than likely get clobbered by the dastardly one, in a fire-brand fellowship of Charismatic believers the opposition didn’t stand a chance, particularly if we prayed, fasted and tithed as was the good Lord commanded.

Of course it didn’t really work out. For many brothers and sisters fell off the rails in many and various ways. Yet, there always was an answer, albeit an ever diminishing one, to the comrades falling at our side. The Devil was a powerful foe, a roaring lion seeking those whom he desired! Stoicism reigned within the good band of brothers and sisters, heavily disguised as Christian discipline and commitment.

Is it any wonder many of us moved on to agnosticism or indeed atheism after such collateral damage? Spouses, kids, health and dare I say it, mental health were all casualties of our heady religious zeal. So as you may guess, I’m no longer a great fan of fundamentalist dualism and its permanent war footing. As the walking wounded leave by the back door, many new young recruits pile in through the front door willing to lay down their lives for Jesus. Sadly, they probably will, though not in the manner suggested by the Nazarene. So, am I just a disillusioned sceptic of sceptics? Well, no! I’d better explain.

Today I’m a believer in the supremacy and all-encompassing reach of Divine Love? How come? Well, I’m not really sure except to say that I suspect Spirit Source has had something to do with it. Re-encountering Presence back in 2004 proved to be the power-wash that cleared out the last vestiges of my old thinking. Today, I’m a flow man rather than a Charismatic guerrila fighter.

I see the Satan of Christianity as the energised desire matrix that locks us into inter-personal rivalry and violence. A much more subtle foe than the   devil I used to tackle in my zealous youth. A product of ego attachment, this Satan is defeated, not by resisting but by disengagement. The darkness of our fascinations with other is only dispelled as we bask in the Light. Such a Satan hates to be ignored, one reason that it so easily operates within religious systems that hold it in a paranoid reverence. When it’s observed for what it truly is and set aside for the all-pervasive Ocean of Divine Love, it wilts and dies. Only ego in its fear-fuelled flights of fancy can reactivate and energise our expelled foe. The creative power of Divine Love is all there is. No other.

So how come evil appears to stalk the Earth, within the Cosmic Dome of Divine Reality? A big question and one that has baffled minds greater than mine for past millennia. May I humbly put forward a wee hypothesis. Divine Love has granted a measure of its creative power to the human psyche-soul. It’s the artist who paints our perceived space-time reality. When fractured and wounded in its ego form, this power is not withheld, but allowed to run riot until we come to our senses and return to Ultimate Reality. No matter how much human ego and its Satanic network of desire fights its corner, it is destined to ultimately fall and fail. All things in heaven and on earth will eventually bow the knee to  Source, the One from whom they’ve come. All power will be handed back to the Tao/Logos the personified governing principle of Reality. As a river returns to Ocean so all will flow Homewards.

So, as light and darkness appear to come our way in 2015, let’s get some Divine perspective. Both are part of the River that carries us into the heart of Love. The sooner we realise this the less darkness will manifest in our daily lives. At the first hint of psycho-spiritual dusk, lets ask ourselves why ego is reactivating its gloomy creative process. Returning to Core Self, our inner spark from the Divine Fire, will restore peace in both our inner and outer worlds as we walk on the waters of trust.

Once we catch sight of this ageless truth, the stresses of permanent struggle disappear like the morning mist. Light will usher in its peace, and you will follow in the steps of the Nazarene into the realm known as the Divine Kingdom-Queendom.

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Fasting for Jesus

Fasting For Jesus

 

As I sit here in Carlucccio’s Italian restaurant, sipping my smooth, soya latte, my mind wanders back to post-Christmases past, particularly those when I was a signed-up, zealous member of a Charismatic Christian fellowship. Now, I’ve written all about my adventures there in my wee book, ‘The Prodigal Prophet’, but this morning I want to talk about our annual post-Christmas fast. I’d better fill you in with a wee bit of background first to set the starving scene.

Our church, or fellowship, as we preferred toc all it, was heavily into intercessory prayer. The founding pastors, as young students at Belfast’s Queen’s University, had felt such a concern for the Ulster Troubles that they prayed day and night for God to do something about the situation – for mercy I guess, realising that the dark tragedy was a symptom of a religious malaise that locked everyone into their cultural tribes and traditions. A lot of false gods were getting worshipped in acts of savagery and butchery that blighted the towns and countryside of God’s own wee country.

Anyway, as the years rolled by and we got more and more into a striving dualistic mindset, we adopted some weird teaching doing the rounds at the time. A teaching by Charismatic preacher, Derek Prince, which insinuated that God took our prayers more seriously if we prayed and fasted as a community. To dislodge the ancient darkness over the land would take lots of cries and supplications and more importantly less food.

I guess the premise was based on some mystical verses in the Book of Daniel, that suggested that dark angelic forces would only yield to the angels of God if we did our bit on earth by fasting.

Now of course fasting has been a spiritual discipline within many religious traditions for millennia. I suppose starving the ego was taken literally, in societies where food was already scarce. Of course, the practice has many beneficial health benefits for both psyche and body, no doubt about it. But, like most things that are good in theory, our leaders turned our week-long January fast into a legalistic practice that any committed member was expected to do. Of course the pregnant wives, yes wives, among us were exempt as they were doing their bit by growing the size of the fellowship! But apart from them, we all were shepherded into giving up our daily bread for the first week in January.

I guess it never occurred to our leaders that it was usually the coldest time of the year. Second thoughts, maybe it had, for to fast in the frost and snow was surely more holy than desisting from food in the warmth of summer. Anyway, we’d all sheepishly comply and dedicate ourselves to God anew, in the hope of hearing what lay ahead for us in the year ahead and how we could bring closer the ever-promised, carrot on a stick revival.

Prayer meetings were held every night, as ashen faced souls gathered together with a mixture of optimism and religious fervour. Oh how we’d pray, and cry and sing and dance. An ancient African tribe would have been proud of the amount of holy sweat we put into our nightly rituals. And in the centre of it all was Jake, our lead pastor, a Moses-like figure that we’d all followed out of status-quo religion. Everything was always just over the hill, around the next bend, and we’d follow like lemmings keen to fall into the Promised Land of revival.

Now, when I say fast, I really mean that we gave up solid food for the week. Yet, the good news was that someone had made a pronouncement on soup! We were allowed soup or broth to give it a more holy sounding name. I’m sure the soup sales in our local supermarkets skyrocketed during the first week in January. Of course, we had soup eaters and soup eaters! The really devout only had a purely liquified version of soup, whereas those of us who cheated allowed ourselves the odd pea or lentil. What a bizarre game we played out on the stage of Charismatic religion.

After a week of fasting we’d all turn up at a local Methodist church, kindly lent to us by a sympathetic pastor, for the grand finale. Often, over a thousand folk packed into the little sanctuary for the big event. We’d dedicated ourselves in all sincerity to our God and we expected a return. Penny in the slot religious belief always expects the Divine to come through. So, we’s sing and sing and sing, listening for any prophetic words that would reinforce our take on the Divine Mind. And then of course, would follow the sermon by Jake, the man closest to God who’d given up more food than the rest of us combined. Delivered with charismatic authority, Jake would outline what he felt God had in store for us all in the coming twelve months.We sat intently, nodding our heads and taking our notes in case we missed anything in the Divine plan. We were getting our marching orders for the next year and beyond. And of course, orders they were, if not Divine in nature. Jake was telling us what he wanted us to do to promote his religious dream in the year ahead.

The gathering would go on for three or four hours before the last man stumbled out onto the streets of downtown Ballybrigg, renewed in spirit and raring to go. Funnily though, while Jake would return home exhausted by his labours, most of us young men headed straight for the local burger bar, for our days of fasting were well and truly over for another year. So much for denying the flesh!

So, sitting here with my now cold latte, may I concur with the scriptures that suggest we eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!

Post-Christmas Portal

Post-Christmas Portal

 

It’s a bit of a downer to be told that the Nazarene was probably born in September rather than December. So much for the snow and all things Christmassy. The old Germanic pagan feast of Yuletide was hijacked or redeemed by the European Christian establishment and turned into a food filled celebration of the coming of the Light – of the World, that is.

So here we are, half exhausted by the rigours of winter and the crazy guilt trip merchandising of 21st century capitalism, waiting for the big day. The post feast mid-afternoon nap beckons, restoring some sense of normality into our mid-winter orgy of plastic tv and family.

Am I turning into a grumpy Mr Scrooge as we get closer to the annual event? Well, I hope not, for despite my disdain for all things Yuletide, there is a ray of hope, viz. the days after Christmas. What do I mean? Well, once the turkey and accompanying indigestion has slipped away, once the adrenalin-fuelled rush has dissipated and normality, whatever that may mean, returns we have a door of opportunity.

To do what, you may ask? Well, to get in touch with Something or Someone that has waited throughout the festive frenzy to get a word in edgeways, and a simple but profound word at that. ‘I’m here,’ whispers the Word of words, the timeless One. Here to behold and acknowledge the one called me, psycho-spiritual warts and all. A profound gift that reaches to the womb of Self, proclaiming that all is well and shall be well.

Divine Love, is the Supreme Authenticator, the One whose words really matter. The words of friends, family and work-colleagues can only put a band-aid on our sense of rejection, our feeling of not having made it, whatever that might mean. For, it’s only Source, the Transcendence that thought us up in a Creative fanning of the Divine Fire, that can set our hearts aflame with the energy and wholeness of sheer being, a being without the need for human endorsement.

So as we retreat once more into our protective ego shell, having packed away the plastic smiles and pretend bonhomie, let’s leave a door open within the empty caverns of our tired psyche-soul. One is waiting to approach, to touch and to restore a knowing beyond the empty games of men. Presence is there for us all, no matter what Linus label we cling onto.

Yes, our post-Christmas portal is worth waiting for. A time to welcome the September visitor Tao-Logos into the inner cloisters of Self. A sublime meeting of Fire and Spark, Dancer and Dance, Spirit and spirit, one beyond the somewhat shallow celebrations of man.

Happy Christmas

Dylan Morrison

 

I’m Not Myself Today!

 

I’m Not Myself Today!

 

“I’m not myself today’ is a strange wee self judgement. Our core Self, or spirit spark doesn’t change, so what’s going on? Well, it’s simply that a different combination of our sub-personalities have decided to show up today. Triggered by external events, often the impending approach of a Model Obstacle’s desire field, a new collage of our little ones is hastily projected for defensive purposes. Who we, or others, think we are is only a permutational image of psyche-soul splinters in the kaleidoscope of our inter-personal consciousness.

I wrote this wee update on my facebook page last night, not really knowing where it came from or what provoked it. I guess I must have been feeling a wee bit confused over who I really am. I wonder if you’ve ever felt the same? I guess if we were all honest we just don’t think about it too much as we prefer to drift along on the sea of life. Anyway, I thought I’d expand my thoughts a little in this new blog. Here goes.

Is there a real Me? Well, yes and no! Yes because there appears to be someone lying behind consciousness who watches our internal games with a pure and life affirming objectively. There is a Me looking on with a compassionate honesty at the games I play. This somewhat hidden but powerfully present Me, is a spark from the Divine Fire. It may even be based outside space-time, apparently dipping into my space-time consciousness from time to time! Religious and spiritual traditions have given this Self-Essence many names, but I’ll plump for the term spirit or breath – a breath of God if you like. We all have it at our core, even if the majority of us are totally oblivious to its presence. How come? Well, it lies underneath the constant storm of our psyche-soul and its little battalion of  defensive sub-personalities.

Now, some of us may not even be aware of these little guys and gals running around the fortress of self-perception. All we know is that who we are appears to change on a fairly frequent basis, depending on our external circumstances and internal pressures. For most of the time we are the sum of the little sub-personalities who happen to be on duty at the time. At a moment’s notice a new threat to our peace and sense of self may be picked up, and a quick change of personal is called for.

For every sub-personality that attacks us from another, we have a relevant soul-based defender, one who can protect our fragile sense of self. This explains how when the dust of a sudden attack has settled we wonder why we did what we did – in other words, what got into us! Actually nothing got into us, for our reactions were the automatic responses of our awakened resident defenders.

Now, I’ve written elsewhere regarding where this fragmented soul force has come from – one birthed by the crushing traumas of love withdrawal in the womb and early infancy, but here I want to be as practical as possible. I wish to consider our energy levels after such inter-personal skirmishes. Well, often we are totally shattered, feeling like we have gone 10 rounds with some heavyweight prize-fighter. And indeed, we have, for though small, the sub-personality, whether ours or another’s is a potent little scrapper. Originally we were designed to live in harmony with both God and man, before contagious mimetic desire birthed the chaos we presently navigate our way through. In this state of innocence, energy was high and peace a tangible entity – the afternoon stroll in the mythical Edenic Garden.

But now we live in the psycho-spiritual plains of desire where we all both predators and victims. It’s certainly tiring and we can only take it for a limited amount of time. Living by the manual of desire warfare does eventually take its toll as our internal sub-personalities collapse in a psychic heap – nervous breakdown by another name.

So, how are we to live and to live life abundantly. Well, the key is to get in touch with our observer Self, our spirit portal to the One without need of rivalry and warfare. Observing our internal fighters from the vantage point of spirit we can countermand our sub-personality tendencies to strike back. To engage in psychic wars is death; to observe from afar is to disengage and return to barracks. The gift of Will, can now come into play, bringing order and dignity to those wounded parts of Self, who foolishly perceive themselves to be our saviour. On a practical note, the more we can practice observation without engaging the raging sub-personalities of others the more we maintain our internal peace.

Of course, non of us have fully arrived and will let our little defenders sink their teeth into others from time to time. In such circumstances, the way of restoration lies in compassion and forgiveness for our overly zealous, central nervous system warriors and those of the other. In doing so we can return to the quiet equilibrium of just being and walk away. No-one was greater at this stuff, than the Nazarene, the One from Above who knew both his origins and final destination. “Father forgive them for they know not what their sub-personalities are doing.”

We too can say the same.

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I’m A Holy Roller ~ Get me Outta Here!

I’m A Holy Roller ~ Get Me Outta Here

 

We glibly follow the Nazarene in many guises. One of our favourite ones is the serious disciple, whose big aim in life is to make Jesus, or Yeshua, Lord. We play many religious church and devotional games in our attempt to convince ourselves that we’ve handed over control of our lives to the mysterious Nazarene. Now, as a recovering Holy Roller, one who played many complex Spirit games during my youth, I want to look at why so many Charismatic-Pentecostal folk eventually leave their initial, revivalist brand of choice.

Please let me be blunt. We can play an extremely plausible role within Spirit religion or modern New Age Mysteries and still not have yielded to Divine Love. I’d better explain. Ego, our wounded and frenetic psyche-soul, loves religious or spiritual disguises. It’s a master at the whole Angel of Light thing. Since time began, long ago in the mythic Garden, ego has wrapped itself in its psycho-spiritual skins to hide from the Innocent intimacy of Source, fearing that it has been spurned by Love and placed under a divine fatwa.

The Evangelical among us were told that ‘the Satan’ used to lead the Heavenly choirs in their harmonic songs of adoration. In other words, a religious or spiritual expert. Maybe there’s some elements of truth in there, for ego, the foot soldier of the aforementioned adversarial system, can certainly put on a good show. Ego loves religious devotion and hoop-jumping. It will commit itself to great depths of suffering and pain, all in the name of Source. It will serve and ‘love’ till it’s blue in the face and about to expire. Add a controlling pastoral or authoritative voice to the mix and ego will splash its cash to get some of what it appears to have.

It’s all about trying to impress the Divine while being terrified of its pronouncements. Many of us, whether religious or spiritual, have played this game in our time, on the hamster-wheel of devotion. And yet, we eventually fall off. Well, maybe more accurately, we are pushed off by the intervention of Spirit in the form of Life. Let’s be clear, ego has vast resources of psychological strength, yet they are limited. At some stage Divine Love comes calling proclaiming, ‘Enough is enough. Time for some Reality.’

It’s at this critical time in our journey that we Holy Rollers, start rebuking everything in sight, in one last desperate attempt to remain in our delusion. ‘God would never let this happen to me – I’m a Holy Roller – get me outta here!’

And yet, this is the day of our salvation. Not the religious joining of a faith system through confessional games, but a felt and all too painful salvation. For Divine Love is taking us through cold turkey, weaning us off our devotional drug in a way that only it can manage. When Love strikes it aims for the dependency jugular. Yes, you’ve guessed it, ego. It only asks one thing – a yielding of control, an end to our illusory state of independence and strength. Like a great lion with a thorn in its paw, ego doesn’t lie down lightly. Thankfully though, Source knows us better than we know ourselves and the final act of compassion comes swiftly and decisively. We, or more accurately, ego is floored for good. Time for some thorn removal therapy.

I look back fondly to my days as a Holy Roller. Divine Love was extremely gracious to me in many ways, and yet, all along it was planning to snatch me from the jaws of ego. ‘Do you miss it all’, I’m often asked. Well, to be honest no. Better to have ego, healed and reintegrated rather than driving my somewhat blind religious fervour.

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Dead Folk Walking

Dead Folk Walking

 

St. Paul or Saul of Tarsus to his Jewish friends, was, I reckon, a bit of a psychologist. Also a mystic, the guy would have a weird time trying to adapt to modern takes on religious thought and practice if he were around today. During the past week I had someone on facebook suggest that I get back into ‘accountable relationships’ within the Christian fold and let folk ‘speak into’ my life. Perhaps well-meaning, perhaps a reflex reaction to my unusual take on spirituality. Anyway, it didn’t take long for me to pass on the pious proposal; not due to some wild claim of perfection, but rather Paul’s radical take on psycho-spiritual health. I’d better explain.

‘Reckon yourselves dead unto sin and alive unto to God’ are some of the most therapeutic words that our mystic thinker may have uttered. Their profundity all hinges around the wee word reckon, an ancient accountancy term that implies taking the facts of cold numbers into consideration. To reckon is to rest upon that which is beyond dispute. So dear old Paul seems to infer that we’re dead folk walking. No longer living in a state of fear-fueled dysfunction towards Divine Love, but presently at One with it. The old wiring of our paranoid ego is to be reckoned as gone, because in Ultimate Reality it is. The mystic Paul saw past the transitory nature of our psycho-spiritual perceptions of separation from Source.

The human spirit has never been on a prodigal journey of excess and happiness hunting. No, it’s always been a spark from the Divine Fire, albeit one buried under the rantings and flailing arms of ego. It’s our psyche-soul that has believed the lie of God disapproval, arming itself with all manner of weapons in its first-strike policies of attack. Paul is claiming that the old controlling ways of ego are now dead and buried. We no longer have to engage with ego’s dysfunction or ‘sin’, to use a heavily rigged religious word. No, there is, and indeed, always has been an alternative way to live, viz, to be alive unto or within God.

Now what does this mean in practice. Well for a start the guilt of ego spin is no longer to be entertained. Bad news for certain strands of evangelicalism. The old thought patterns of never being good enough can be dispensed with forever. They were never true in the first place. No longer do we have to obtain brownie points with the Divine, or perhaps more importantly, others in our space-time sojourn. For, we have finally woken up to the facts of the matter – we are alive unto God. In other words, we can’t disengage from God. We live and move and have our very being in Divine Love. Can a fish escape from its ocean home – not likely. All we are asked to do is reckon on being as close to Divine Love as is possible, for in reality we are. Paul suggests that this radical new way of seeing oneself, others and Divine Source, is the key to joy and authentic freedom – freedom from the confused, threatening world of ego.

So back to my Job’s comforter. Well, of course there is nothing wrong with hanging out with other folk of faith, those with a spiritual take on life. None at all. But is it essential? I believe not. Let’s look at my friend’s two main spiritual directions for my wellbeing.

1) Accountable relationships

Well, I have to be honest, I’ve had my fill of so-called accountable religious relationships over the years. Those who have read my wee tale of Irish pilgrimage, The Prodigal Prophet will understand why. That being said, I reckon such relationships are not in line with what Paul has declared. For, if we reckon ourselves dead to the dysfunction of ego, why do we need others to watch our back and be the Lone-Rangers of our soul. If the new life that Paul so confidently declares is real then why are Christians so hung up on being hijacked once more by the old ways; so hung up as to have pseudo-guardians cover them within religious communities. No either this new birth or awakening is real or a myth that should be confined to religious history. I tend to plump for the former.

2) Folk who speak into our lives.

Lots of folk speak into my life, everyone I converse with on a daily basis, especially my good lady Zan, who keeps me firmly earthed in all matters marital. Of course my recent adviser wasn’t referring to that kind of input. Rather I suspect that he meant a counselor who could speak words of correction and advice to me, one who knows the Mind of God regarding me more than I do. Again, I’ve experienced this in the past. Usually it eventually turned out that such a wise caring counselor was just as screwed up as I was, perhaps even more so. One of the folk who fulfilled this role in my life wondered at a time how my marriage survived the traumas that Zan and I had passed through. A number of year’s later the same counselor had an extra-marital affair with the headmistress of his Christian school and resigned from all counseling ministry. No, there has to be a better way and there is.

Once ego, lets go of its Linus-blanket control, we are once again able to hear the Voice of Wisdom within. Unfettered by prejudice and skewed vision, the musings of Spirit are always close to hand. Sometimes a gut feeling, sometimes a precise though or insight, Divine Love within knows how to maintain us in the flow of  Life like no other. Of course, when we suggest such a thing, our concerned religious advisers will quickly recoil, accusing us of spiritual arrogance and delusory self-importance. Not so. We have only taken or reckoned the mystic Paul at his word. And that of course is sacrosanct in Christian circles. Enough said.

Happy listening to all and remember to take the pseudo-spiritual words of others with a large pinch of salt. Especially mine. If the words of wisdom from a caring other don’t ring true in your spirit-gut, smile sweetly and move on.

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Treadmill Revivalism

Treadmill Revivalism

 

Not long after we join a church or para-church movement we’re told, either bluntly, or ever-so subtly, that we’re all on a mission for God. Out there in the big wide world are millions of our fellow-men and women, those who don’t know Jesus like we know Him. The Christian life is one big mission, the evangelising of the whole world no less. If we don’t get it done nobody else will, and to accomplish it we need to commit to our sect of choice.

Of course, there are many varied brands within the Christian flock, but we’re told by much older experienced hands that the holy grail that we singularly seek is  revival. Now I’m all for revivals when they come along, but I’m not so sure that Divine Love is obsessed with them. And lets face it, numerous revivals have been claimed, when they are really no more than subtle mind-control events, hyped up with seductive music and a touch of show biz glamour.

In my dour wee homeland of Northern Ireland, a revival took place in the early 20th century. At the heart of it lay the fiery preaching of WP Nicholson, a travelling evangelist from my home town, who literally scared the hell out of folk. Gifted with the blunt language of the common man Nicholson painted a burning end for those who didn’t respond to his particular take on salvation. So effective was he that his converts returned a mountain of stolen tools to  the Harland and Wolf shipyard, builder of the ill-fated Titanic. Yet, can terror or hell-driven conviction for sin really be the sign of Divine Love at work. I tend to think not.

Anyway, when we’ve signed up to our beguiling new Christian movement we’re informed that something big, really big, is just around the corner , like the visit of the aliens in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, only holier. Yes, you guessed it – God has plans for a great world revival and we’re at the heart of His planning committee. Of course as a new convert, one eager to please both God and man, we tend to believe such sacred spin. And so our addiction for pre-revival disciplines begins.

I’ve done them all in my time. Prayer and fasting are the biggies for many revival heads. The game plan is simple: the more we pray the more God turns up. The more we fast the more powerful or influential our prayers. Now this raises a few important questions. Why does God not come at the first sign of a request from His followers? Why does giving up our daily sustenance twist God’s arm even more. One begins to wonder if God is really into this penny in the slot, type of faith dynamic.

In my own Charismatic sect of choice, we discovered that an ancient Celtic monastery in our town had established a 24 hour prayer and praise regime during the early medieval period. For over a couple of hundred years Celtic hymns and contemplative prayers were offered up without a moments break. Three 8 hour shifts of chorister monks at full throttle, copying the daily routine of the ancient Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. Hundreds of monks travelled from my wee town to the pagan lands of Europe with much success in their attempts to introduce the wild Germanic hordes to the love of Jesus. So, inspired by our ancestors pious dedication we began. The task of continuous prayer through the hours of darkness was handed out to the men of the fellowship. If one refused, a not so subtle demotion in the eyes of our zealous leaders resulted, doubting one’s commitment or indeed manhood. The dear women of our group theoretically covered the daylight hours, when they weren’t being model wives and mothers.

Yep, the Prayer Watch, as it was known, marked us out as one spiritual notch above the rest in the religious Bible of Northern Ireland. As dragged ourselves out of bed at some unearthly hour to tumble down to the church offices to pray with our prayer partner, the spirit was willing but the flesh extremely weak. Boy those were the days – days of madness in hindsight. Of course not everything went to plan. I well remember the night when my partner and I got stuck in a snow drift and couldn’t fulfil our obligations. The poor duo who we were supposed to relieve on watch, had to do our stint as well. I’m sure many employers wondered why once a week their model Christian workers would turn up to work fit for nothing, catnapping their way throughout the paid working day.

I guess we were peer pressured young idealists willing to join the revivalist treadmill. After all, if we put in the effort God would surely deliver – wouldn’t He? Of course it was a recipe for psycho-spiritual burnout. A presented but unreal God who expected us to put in a good penny’s worth in order for others to discover him for themselves.

Is it any wonder that we eventually fall off our religious treadmills, exhausted and somewhat disillusioned by the modus operand of our particular revivalist sect? There is much madness in the Christian world whilst wisdom, true wisdom lies within. So, if you’re tempted to sign up for a spiritual gym with the carrot of revival set temptingly before you, best return to the privacy of your own Self and listen for the still small Voice.

Next week I’ll tackle the crazy practice of fasting as a prayer enhancer. More crazy tales of a semi-starving religious junkie.

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The Fall

The Fall

The Fall

Copper cauldron of a golden fire

Lies carpeted beneath these passing feet

At one with earth’s Autumnal mire

As darkness fades its deathly light.

Days long gone when glory shared

With trees so tall amidst the joys

Of summer’s sensuous flight.

A letting go, a death has come

To woods forlorn and fearful of mad Winter’s chill

This sea of colour’s last waved show

For all who walk with eyes to see

And ears to hear the dwindling gasps of life

I wonder if,

When this scribe’s time has come

To lay aside the glory of his days

And words and songs of spirit heart,

When Self, its fateful journey drifting down

To earth and dust from whence it came,

Will some one stand on me and see

The Light that passed my way on sojourned path?

Shall Source return to lift me up

To Garden fields of Golden Light,

Where I shall join those joined to One

Who hangs on wounded tree,

Where I shall bend in Spirit Breeze

On endless boughs of Tree Of Life

And taste and see

That All is well

That Time has passed and gone.

©dylanmorrison20/11/2014