Fierce  Focus

Clear  Sky — Open  Heaven — Holy  Earth

November 9, 2016 

This is a day to let the Voice of authenticity ring out clearly. This is a day to sing out loud, to sound poems of stirring rhythm and harmony in melancholy and in joy — to and for each other, as we stand within the open sky of our eternal Cosmic Home.

This is a day to rejoice in all that is glorious and free in ourselves and in our visions for the future of humans becoming authentic Human Beings within this Whole World — joining with the community of All Beings who compose the Symphony of Glory within Planet Earth, within this Solar Family. Together, we do the messy, mop-up work required as an old way passes and a new way emerges. These are the dying days of an old order and the dawning days of a New Order of Cosmic and Planetary Being.

We have the hard work and the joy of ushering-out the old and birthing what is now crowning — now at hand. We have been watching for, working toward, waiting for, creating this New Day over the whole of our lives. Here we are now, all of us together, with this degree of knowing that all is well. How perfect — this moment of opportunity for a new and Fierce Focus of the Great Work to which our lives have been given over the long and wondrous, creative years of this Incarnation. Many are called but few are chosen to know, and know that they know — I know.

My heart sings in sorrow, and in thanksgiving — but mostly in thankfulness for another day of radiant life and service on this Holy Earth, in what remains of this current Incarnation.

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from  Hanta Yo  by  Ruth Beebe  Hill

I  Stand  At  The  Center

I stand at the center

and the light shines all around me

and now I know my spirit glowing makes this light.

I come into power with the sun for I am the sun.

I am my own light.

Here at the center I see the meaning of things, all things.

And now I know that I am the meaning.

The whole meaning.

The four directions come together in me.

I am the center

and everything flows from me, returns to me.

I am that which they call Great Mystery.

I am that which each one calls Wakantanka before coming here,

before seeing the light.

I am here and so I know.

Here I know everything.

Here I know myself.

I am thought and will.

And nothing sits above my will.

I am pride and joy.

And nothing sits above my joy.

I own my life.

And only mine.

And so I shall appreciate my person.

And so I shall make proper use of myself.

I stand here in the light of my own presence

and I recognize my power.

I am reason.

And nothing sits above my choice.

I am truth.

And so I live in the spirit.

And so I live forever.

I am the oneness of the whole.

And whatever happens, happens in me.

I am Ahbleza.

I own the earth.

The  Robe

by

Lloyd  C.  Douglas
  

an excerpt

They were on the way from Cana to Capernaum. All day their narrow road had been gaining altitude, not without occasional dips into shallow valleys, but tending upwards toward a lofty plateau where the olive-green terrain met an azure sky set with masses of motionless white clouds.

It had been a fatiguing journey, with many pauses for rest, and as the shadows slanted farther to the east, the two men trudged the steepening track in silence, leaving the little pack-train far behind. They were nearing the top now. Justus had promised that they would make camp in the lee of the great rock they had sighted two hours ago. There was a cool spring, he said, and plenty of forage. He hoped they would find the spot untenanted. Yes, he knew the place well. He had camped there many times. There was a splendid view. Jesus had loved it.

Throughout this tour of Galilee, Marcellus had paid very little attention to the physical characteristics of the province. Until now the landscape had been unremarkable, and he had been fully preoccupied by the strange business that had brought him here. Marcellus had but one interest in this otherwise undistinguished land of rock-strewn fields, tiny vineyards, and apathetic villages drowsing in the dust around an ancient well. He was concerned only about a mysterious man who had walked these winding roads, a little while ago, with crowds of thousands surging about him.

It was not easy to-day, on this sleepy old highway, to picture either the number or the temper of that multitude. The people must have come from long distances, most of them, for this country was not thickly populated. Nor was it easy to imagine the confusion, the jostling, the shouting. Such Galileans as Marcellus had seen were not emotional, not responsive; rather stolid, indeed.

That weary, weather-beaten woman, leaning on her hoe, in the frowsy little garden they had just passed—had she, too, bounded out of her kitchen, leaving their noonday pottage on the fire, to join in that curious throng? This bearded man in the meadows—her husband, obviously; now sluggishly mowing wisps of grass with his great-grandfather's scythe—had he run panting to the edge of the crowd, trying to scramble through the sweating pack for a glimpse of the face of Jesus? It was almost incredible that this silent, solemn, stodgy province could ever have been haled out of its age-long lethargy and stirred to such a pitch of excitement.

Even Justus, looking back upon it all, could only shake his shaggy head and mutter that the whole affair was quite beyond comprehension. You could think what you liked about the miracles, reflected Justus, soberly: many of the people were hysterical and had reported all manner of strange occurrences, some of which had never been satisfactorily confirmed. The air had been full of wild rumours, Justus said. A few Nazarenes had been quoted as remembering that when Jesus was a lad, at play with them, he had fashioned birds of clay, and the birds had come to life and had flown away. You could hear such tales by the score, and they had confused the public's estimate of Jesus, making him seem a mountebank in the opinion of many intelligent people.

But these passionate throngs of thousands who followed, day after day, indifferent to their hunger and discomfort—all Galilee knew that this was true because all Galilee had participated. You might have good reasons for doubting the validity of some of these miracle stories, but you couldn't doubt this one! Obscure little Galilee, so slow and stupid that its bucolic habits and uncouth dialect were stock jokes in Judea, had suddenly come alive! Its dull work was abandoned. Everybody talking at once! Everybody shouting questions which nobody tried to answer! Camels were left standing in their harness, hitched to water-wheels. Shuttles were left, midway of the open warp. Tools lay scattered on the floor of the carpenter shop. Ploughs stopped in the furrow. Fires burned out in the brick-kiln. Everybody took to the road, on foot, on donkeys, on carts, on crutches. Helpless invalids who couldn't be left were bundled up on stretchers and carried along. Nothing mattered but to follow the young man who looked into your eyes and made you well—or ashamed—or tightened your throat with longing for his calm strength and flower-like purity.

Now the bright light had gone out. The great crowds had scattered. The inspired young man was dead. Galilee had gone back to sleep. It was a lonely land. Perhaps the Galileans themselves were now conscious of its loneliness, after having briefly experienced this unprecedented activity.

Lloyd C. Douglas

The Robe was published in 1942. It is a sweeping, visionary, historical novel about the crucifixion of Jesus — written by Lloyd. C. Douglas. It was one of the best-selling titles of the 1940’s, and was released as a movie, starring Richard Burton, in 1953. Lloyd C. Douglas began his literary career after leaving the ministry at the age of 52. All of his novels drew from his spiritual background for thematic inspiration.

You can read the book on-line at Project Gutenberg

gutenberg.net.au/ebooks04/0400561h.html

First published by Houghton Mifflin Co., Boston, 1942