A New Humanity in a New Age

Is our problem that we do not take seriously and literally the often encountered prediction of a new humanity living in a new age? Is it for real? Is it already here, and we are now only living through the dregs of the old and already completely outmoded?

I have to ask myself seriously these questions, as I have been born and bred in an age which has realised all too well that change does not happen by waving a fairy wand in the air and saying a few magic words for the accompaniment. And, if change really is in sight, it will happen slowly and grudgingly, like all the other things we have tried to move along in our life.

Yet, I have to be honest. I have been the witness of too many things which I realized, in each instance with a shock, had been in a gestating state for years, and perhaps even centuries. And it was only now, in a short space of time, that their results had passed some critical threshold of conscious visibility, which had caused me to neglect them in the past. I am not exactly slow in getting off the mark, but things especially connected with the deep patterns of human nature I have always regarded as being especially resistant to sudden change.

But now, frankly, I think we have passed the threshold of a real New Age, and the old has suddenly and visibly become outmoded and no longer valid. Let me cite "worry" as an example of what I am speaking about. I have had for a greater part of my life a wonderful friend who has led me by the hand through events and the discarding of old patterns I would never have thought possible. I was in my mid-thirties when, each time I left him at the end of a visit, he would say to me, and to the others present, "Don't worry, be happy."

I knew what he was saying to me to be the truth, as after my first encounter with this great man I had no more worries. Having met a truly perfected being gave me a confidence in Creation I had never had before, and through the years I have found all the reasons why our habit of worrying is no longer valid - not needed; It is outmoded. The planet and the level of human development has passed the stage where worry was an integral part of daily realistic living.

"What? No problems?"

Yes, that is, not real ones.

"And what about all the massacres going on, and the bombings and killing of the innocent everywhere?"

Yes, but it is now only the last gasps of an outmoded and no longer propelling force. And I know that the very people who are still living through the dying gasps of the outmoded form with all its fairy-tales appended to give it a magic touch of attraction, will be corrected and erased through the victory of a knowledge of love that has reached its highest pinnacle within their own ranks and philosophy. There is no way that the New can be stopped, as all the roots and creative force needed are already in position to dissolve these dying paroxysms of an outlived form from the old humanity in its past dying mode that has now been surpassed.

There is one thing, though, that I could wish for in this crossing over from the old to the truly new. That is that the destruction of beauty that goes on at such a time be limited to the absolutely necessary in the closing of accounts. When I think of the destruction of those two magnificent statues of Buddha carved into the cliff of Afghanistan, I really do feel as though I could cry out with Jesus Christ, "Forgive them, O Lord, for they know not what they do." And what they do not know is that these have been among the dying gasps of the dying forms of a very long age indeed.
Let us be happy that the succeeding one is well en route and will have the soft warmth of pure gold and the diamond sparkle of Reality everywhere.

Fred

In the general period in which I inherited Bobbin, I also acquired a canary. I don’t remember the circumstances at all, but I think if my mental body memory is working well, which it often is these days as it substitutes more and more for the slowing physical body memory, I recall that one of my male friends had a girl friend who owned a canary, and the girl friend moved her home to another city. For some reason even more obscure, it turned out that she could not take her canary with her, nor could her boy friend take it either. So in this period I not only fractured my devotion to dogs with a cat; but at almost the same time took on a bird as well.
I felt no qualms about the canary, as my break-down from being devoted to dogs felt no further crisis in adopting this much smaller bit of living matter clothed in yellow feathers
I do feel a bit shame-faced though about the origin of the bird’s name; which rests without further details as being Fred. His upkeep was very simple and feeding costs frugal in the extreme, certainly in comparison to a dog, or even a cat. We seemed to take to each other without the least ripple of adjustment needed. I was early to bed and Fred apparently even earlier. In fact, I never did try to understand when he was asleep or awake, as his eyes seemed always open when I passed by, even when I returned late at night. Maybe they don’t sleep. I had never thought of that, but that would be very strange indeed considering that they live and breathe.
Fred seemed to thrive on whatever passed his way, but gradually I thought I ought to make a bit of effort to extend the hand of friendship to this very intelligent and good-mannered bit of fluff. I tried to compose a few words of greeting and welcome, hoping that in some way the gist of my sentiments would give him pleasure, and tried not to think of whether I was getting a bit dotty in the absence of any other human habitant in my small apartment.
Those were the days of the hippies, and San Francisco, where I was living, contained as far as I knew the mecca of all hippiedom, the Haight Ashbury district. As one of my closest esoteric friends lived in that sainted domain, I had actually seen one or two of what I suspected were hippies while calling on my friend there. She was invalided at the time, and died not too long after I inherited Fred. I missed her greatly as she had been about the first person initiated into the Chistia Order of Sufis by the great musician and poet, Inayat Khan, when he first landed in San Francisco in response to his Chistia master’s command to go to the West from India and take with him the principles of Sufism and its great love of music and the arts.
Getting back to Fred, I put him in the second spare bedroom and there he reigned unchallenged in the alternating fogs and sunny spells so natural to the Bay Area.
We got along very well together as far as I could tell. Then a small band of hippies attracted by the poetry of Inayat Khan started the train of events which altered completely Fred’s simple life routine, and added a truly unique and very special chapter to my own collection of completely incredible events, which rapidly gathered speed from that time on. In fact, I would make a guess that Bobbin and Fred should have alerted me to the fact that my own life was moving into a sphere of reality which was so far divorced from mathematics and science in which I had specialized, that it has always been a wonder to both me and my friends that the two areas could possibly exist side by side for so many years in intense living and in equally intense harmony with each other. This marked the beginning of deep and constant experiencing of events in daily life and human relationship involving the finest essences of science and mysticism.
One day my telephone rang and the new head of the little mystic group in which I participated was on the line with an unexpected request to make of me. It seems she had been in the office of the little group when a knock at the door introduced four bedraggled young men whom she correctly sized up as hippies, of whose unexpected visit this was her first experience. It seems they had been caught by the beauty of the poetry of Inayat Khan which they had been reading. A bit of research in the San Francisco telephone book had turned up a name which included the magic word Sufi, and an address which was obviously an office of something to do with the Sufis. They went baying at once on the trail, and wanted to know if there were some more books of poetry around written by Inayat Khan.
Next thing I knew my name and address had been given to them with the advice that this would be as close as they could get to their goal if they could make an appointment with me for a conversation.
We duly met, and when I saw what had arrived at my front door I just hoped that my landlord was not around to see what was being admitted into his well-kept and very bourgeois building. After I had gotten over the shock of a close-up view of these four classic examples of hippie dress and care of body and clothing, I wondered how I was going to get out of this gracefully without losing my apartment lease.
So be it. I have never changed an opinion on human nature as fast in all my life as I did in the next few minutes. After a short word of explanation from the fellow who was the obvious leader of the foursome, one of them asked me a question about Inayat Khan. Fortunately I knew the answer, and abandoned immediately my census of their clothes and hairdo. It was something such as I had never witnessed. I wondered if free water had ever run over any part of their bodies or clothing. I would swear that it was very improbable.
Then a second question came from another boy. I can’t remember what he asked, but it had something to do with the formation of Inayat Khan while he studied in the Chistia group in Ajmer. It woke me up with a start, and I forgot all about clothes and unwashed skin and clothing. I never got back to that. We shortly made a date for another meeting the following Saturday. The long and the short of it was that I found myself volunteering to meet with them and several of their friends once a week to take a careful look at the roots of mysticism; about which I knew nothing, but hoped I could bone up during each intervening six days.
I had to limit that group to 35 persons maximum, and after three months went over the same newly minted ground with a second group, and then another , and continued on for a total of three years of the most intense pleasure and very special human functioning I have ever experienced. And during all this was when Fred quite literally made his debut.
One Saturday I was having a private interview with one of the charter members of the first hippie group, who had become a fast and deeply value friend. As Bob asked me another bit of advice on a very puzzling human situation in which he had become involved, I thought I heard a strange sound coming from the spare bedroom in which Fred was housed. As Bob’s conversation was intense and important I dismissed the strange sound from Fred’s room and continued. Then, suddenly, Bob stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked at me.
“Do you hear what I do?” he asked.
Then I did listen, and what I heard was unbelievable. It was Fred whistling the solo part of what I swear was a violin concerto that the good music station of San Francisco had been playing repeatedly for several days. I recognized it, although I had not known that particular violin concerto until it had become a favorite of that radio program. We both listened in amazement while Fred went faultlessly over the theme, again and again.
Not terribly long after that Fred and I moved to London and Fred took up his solo concertizing in South Kensington and of course became famous in a small intimate circle of mystics strangely resembling the ones in which Fred first became the reigning soloist.
But sad. In London I had to hire a new house cleaner, and once when I was away on a business trip she forgot to water Fred. When I returned Fred lay dead in the bottom of his cage.
I was heart-broken, as were several of the London hippies. But Fred established unquestionably one great fact for me. All of animaldom and dogdom and canarydom had had some sort of an evolutionary push that was so general and clear that it witnessed a push in creation that had certainly occurred only recently. Thus I was prepared to accept and build on evidence presented to me much later, which Fred had so neatly provided to me years before.
Dear Fred, I am sure you are now a great leader of orchestras and bewitch the musicians into a harmony such as you projected to Bob and me at my home in San Francisco near the royal domain of hippidom in the Haight Ashbury district.

Bobbin

I am a dog lover. I was given my first dog when I was one year old, for my birthday, by my father. I watched him come into the living room with his arms behind his back. I knew at once that something was up because he never walked with his arms behind his back. When he saw me looking at him with great curiosity he took his arms from their unusual position and in one hand he held something that looked a bit like the fur collar of my mother's overcoat (it was winter at the time but I didn't know what the white stuff was that was lying on the ground outside our house.)

The mop of fur fell or sprang from my father's hand and made a direct line for me, propped up on the couch at the side of the room. It leaped up at me, knocking me over, at which point I let out a scream and my mother came running to inspect for injuries and other fatal signs. None were apparent and I remember no more of that first meeting with my dog, with whom I lived happily, yes, even blissfully, for the next fifteen years until he had to be put away from causes stemming from old age. I was broken hearted and cried for the last time until I went to a movie in which an equally wonderful dog was killed in the course of the action.

I think animals are often among the most beautiful things that exist. I have always loved to share my dogs with my favorite friends with whom I feel I must share the best things in life. Dogs and canaries are about the tops. In fact I still have the same conviction that I grew to believe in profoundly, that the reason people are as frequently really human is due to the fact that so many families have dogs as close friends of the family. Learning the abc's of human decency is simple when you have the constant presence of a dog about as an example of complete, unconditional love and faithfulness.

My dog, Denny ((a thoroughbred Scotch collie) was automatically recognized wherever we lived as the king of the town and respected and loved by all. He also I have to add was a superb fighter and was never known to have been bested, even when protecting me against heavy odds, which could happen on occasion, as my own temperament was not very carefully attuned to running around in harmless surroundings, but more to the natural haunts of my Indian (red skin) and sheep herder friends who lived nearby.

But this is not the story of Denny, but rather of my cat Bobbin, whom I inherited to my astonishment and trepidation, when I was rapidly approaching my thirties, a frightful age I had always felt. He was one of two cats - half-brothers - left homeless when their mistress, one of my most loved friends, died of cancer and had no immediate family left to care for them except for aged mother, who would have been hard put to care for a canary. So Tuffy, the younger, and a real tough, was put away by common consent and I took Bobbin home to a house he knew already but in which he had never lived. He was a very wise animal; even I, a non-cat-lover, could see and grant that. And he had seen so much coming and going of nurses and doctors during the time of my friend's illness and death to know that life was probably due for more unexplained circumstances.

I took Bobbin the short distance to his new home and showed him where he was expected to sleep, put a dish of milk for him and then some water and all this beside a basket with an old piece of blanket which I had rescued from his previous abode. He seemed to sense what was expected and after a brief wander in the garden, came back and curled up as if he had always lived there.

Next morning as I was starting my scales on my piano in the living room, I noticed that Bobbin looked up from his half-curled position on the living room rug and showed modest surprise at my antics and the noise I was creating. Not much later I felt Bobbin jump up onto the end of the piano bench seat on which I was sitting and he looked carefully at what I was doing. He offered no comment. Just deeply interested and concentrated.

As I continued playing the scales rapidly and then the Isidore Philippe exercises which were my great technical mainstay, I noted Bobbin begin to steel himself for action. I was deeply interested in his next move. Slowly he lifted his left paw over onto my right leg and very gently dug his claws ever so tenderly into the skin of my upper hip region. I knew what he wanted at once. I stopped playing and folded my hands on my lap. Then he took the same left paw and placed it on a note in front of him. Slowly he pressed down on the key. When he heard the note sound he looked thoughtfully pleased. Then he did it again, and again, all very deliberately All very assured and thoughtful.

Then he did something totally unexpected. He gracefully jumped onto the keyboard at about middle C and quickly and assuredly ran up and down the keyboard two or three times, rarely playing two notes with the same paw. I am tempted to read some sort of new animal crackers piano prodigy as having been performed, but I have to be honest. Without ado after this brief command appearance he jumped gracefully back down onto the bench beside me and without casting the slightest glance in my direction jumped from there to the floor, proceeded out the open front door and into the garden. Neither of us ever referred to his musical venture. As if in so many words, he let me know that he had mastered the playing of the piano and had no further interest in it.
Soon after this artistic event Bobbin and I moved several miles into a new bay-front property. He took to hunting in the fields behind the row of houses that lined the bay at that point, and one day he did not return from his afternoon hunt. I regretted his going but always felt it was thoughtful of him not to have put me into the position of having to choose between cats and dogs as my favorites in the sub-human species.

Tenderness

In my last Blog I described an experience, which was one of the most important and powerful happenings in my life. Recently, several decades after that happening, I was doing some morning work chores when words began forming in my head in a manner, which I have come to associate with the format in which I feel my intuitions come to me on an especially important occasion. I should clarify briefly here that I have long believed that humanity now participates in a greatly expanded availability of intuition, to the extent that often even complex engineering problems and in the scientific disciplines are resolved in a flash by one trained in the intuitive techniques, and all this without involvement in psychic phenomena nor visions. I have personally used my own intuitive processes for report writing in research laboratory work and creative writing, of which I am extremely fond.
During my rather long and kaleidoscopic life I have known quite a number of what are often termed as searchers for the Truth, and we often continue for a lifetime our personal relationships with great enjoyment of one another. But one theme I have found coming up rather distressingly frequently and poignantly, the old bug-a-boo of sex blockages. On occasion the most wonderful and sincere find themselves blocked repeatedly in one after another relationship which starts with great promise and then tragedy ensues with a stone wall that refuses all efforts to resolve its impasse.
I love my friends, so my heart really bleeds for some of these who have gone through constant repetitions of the same stories of total frustration. I think I have prayed more on this subject than for anything else. But the incredible fact is that slowly I think I have seen a route spreading out which shows great promise of reducing and shortening the agonies these wonderful persons endure.
At this point I jump into my own intuition period that lunchtime in Paris, and without any further attempts at explanation or clarification I will copy down herewith what I regard as one of the most powerful and promising expositions of the Truth that I have ever touched.

Morning Intuition, Paris, November 16, 2007, 12:30 noon
Tenderness
In your next blog, describe God’s tenderness for humanity, for what they go through in the dream of Creation, and the agonies of separateness, in order to manifest the latency of love in the infinite individualized consciousness of God. I took you by the hand some years ago along the white hall leading to what you felt to be the door to where God our Father was sitting. You felt the intensity of his tenderness powerfully and have never forgotten that experience. Now it is time to see that all this I anticipated long ago in a discourse on love in the words, “Love is the reflection of God’s unity in the world of duality. It constitutes the entire significance of Creation.”
Now is the time when these words can be continued. It is through the processes present in Creation that the latency of love in God can manifest, and which can then be expressed within the principles of Creation as tenderness. In the past it has been assumed that it is the act of sex, which is the means of expression of love as manifested in God’s being. This was partially true in the past, even in the stages of the involution of the drop-soul, but as the force of the energy of the act of sex is gradually diminished, the manner of the expression of love within the physical domain, while still physically expressed, becomes progressively centered in acts of tenderness.
This realization will be especially helpful for those consciously and deliberately traveling on the Path, and was anticipated in your intuitions some months ago on “Tactual Sublimation.” This in turn can now be understood more simply and clearly through the more central and accurate word of “tenderness.”
Concurrent with the clarification and extensions now possible in the very important realm of love and its development and expression in Creation, it has become feasible as well to develop a strategy to preserve and utilize more productively the great forces developed in the devotional aspect of religions. This energy has long been wasted largely in animosities and wars between the various religious sects, but now will be used progressively for demolishing barriers on the Path of return to Oneness.
This, too, was foreshadowed in the press conference I gave long ago in London when I said I had not come to establish a new religion or sect, but to revivify the great existing religions and to gather them together like beads on one string.
You and others have been able to piece together the pains I have gone to in planning the forms and the energy resources needed to put this great new chain of progress in place. The acts of unconditional forgiveness of enlightened spiritual devotees you foresee as central in placing the principle of forgiveness in a key role for this great process are necessary for the salvage of the great resource of devotional energy for the future spiritual progress of humanity.

The morning intuition session closed on this note, and I likewise close this blog without further development of the exciting doors that appear to be opening in a critical area of the current development of mankind’s inner resources. I have left out large areas of intuitive inflow related to these forms that seem to have so much promise, and I will judge from reactions of readers whether I dare risk opening the door to another head of the great hydra of mankind’s need to pierce the unknowable of God’s intent, and to explain His patterns for Creation and its progeny of humans.

Tenderness in the New Age

Tenderness

While reflecting on exactly what I would include in my next blog, I had an early morning intuition which centered on a fascinating esoteric experience I had some years ago. In fact it occurred not long after my spiritual guide, as I always called him in my thoughts, had died, but under circumstances which made me extremely happy for him, as it meant his release from the excruciating pain he had undergone for several years.

The morning intuition I had on this recent occasion referred centrally to this decades ago experience with my spiritual guide, which was so beautiful and deeply meaningful in my life that I would like now to describe that happening. Then, in a second blog, as a Part II for this perhaps rather lengthy project, I will give my recent morning intuition, which curiously enough was on the subject of tenderness, which was epitomized in the event which I will now describe.

Without any memory of how I got there, I found myself walking hand in hand with my spiritual guide along a lengthy white hall, and I knew at once I had never been there before. How I got there I have to this day found no clue. Nor did I know why we were there. As I awakened to my surroundings, I simply noted the fact that I was walking with someone I adored and trusted completely, and that was enough for the moment.

After a few steps it came to my mind with absolute certainty that my guide was taking me with him to introduce me to God. Normally I would be overwhelmed by such a realization, but to my astonishment I sensed that this seemed completely normal to me and needed no further reflection. I had long known that my spiritual guide had such a relationship with the One Reality, so I found it completely normal that he would choose one day to introduce me to the One whom I had come to realize I would know sooner or later as my own Real Self.

So, no fussing around, Dusk, just get on with getting to that open door which you can now discern in the distance.

As I focussed for a moment on the open door, I found I knew with an inner certainty that could not be questioned that God Himself was inside that open door at the end of the corridor. How? It was all simply the very nature of this experience. Even the incredible seemed normal and in absolutely no need for questioning or even reflection. IT SIMPLY WAS.

A millisecond after realizing that God was inside the open doorway, I felt a surge of great tenderness swirling quietly around me. It was God’s tenderness. No question. All that formed as a question, was: tenderness for what?

As I asked the question, I knew already the answer. It was His tenderness for His children.

That was incredible, and I had to reflect quickly, and no sooner the reflection started than again I knew the answer, indelibly. It was for having had to ask them to do a very great and important job for Him: to pass long years completely cut off from all contact with their own Self which remained within the fact of infinite Oneness, which is the Truth of everything.

Dusk! Stop trying to reflect and to understand!

But I could not reflect for one moment, even, as another wave of tenderness hit me and it was all I could do to continue to stagger along with the helping hand of my spiritual guide clutched in mine. The depth and sweetness of that wave of God’s tenderness for His children hit me so hard I felt I could not stand another moment of it without bursting like a big popped balloon. But I did take the next step, and the next, and even another. And then I knew that my entire life had been changed in these few moments of uncanny inner experience and realization of the nature of the experience. Here was a secret of the nature of God so central and important that all else seemed nothing in comparison. Even the greatest heights of joy and incredible inner attainments I had sometimes thought I had achieved, were mere nothings in comparison to this. Here was Truth and Reality such as I had never imagined it. If God could have one small part of His being so incredible and full and explosive and filled with the Harmony as I was experiencing it, then what must all of God be?

As I thought of this, I wondered how I would be able to give one glance up to His face when I passed through that door?

I did not. After a few brief moments of black space interpolated in the film of the Now, I found myself doing the dishes in my kitchen and following without the slightest hesitation to raise a glass under the faucet to rinse it.

How did I get there? I don’t know. Where had my spiritual guide gone? I don’t know. How had all this happened? Stop it, Dusk!

All I can say is, that life has never been the same after that walk hand in hand down the long white hall. It is simply incredibly full and filled, whenever I pause for a moment, with the incredible sweetness of God’s tenderness for His children, whom He has asked to do a job for Him that entails being separated in a dream from the infinite tenderness and reality of Oneness that I know now as the essence of His being.

Rioting Color

Morning Intuition, London, Cornwall. 14:30 pm, October 9, 2007

The Magic of Shared Beauty

You wrote these words of the magic of shared beauty as you were about to leave for the brief trip to Cornwall as the memory you had just at that moment was so deep and poignant that you felt you must not forget to take it up for a morning intuition on your return. Instead of following that course that you have come to love so well, it has recurred repeatedly in different contexts during the entire three days of the journey. And we have enjoyed it also, as you have shared it constantly with us. So let us examine it together because of the key word of "sharing," which is so central to the experience.

Would it seem to be stretching too far to say that what you feel on these occasions is not dissimilar from the feeling you have of intense joy when an exciting intuition expands its beauty and meaning through an expanse of Creation, whether physical or abstract, and you feel the necessity to share it as soon as possible with those you love? It is in the act of reaching out to touch another, and to find the oneness of your mutual thrill of joy in a united sharing of Reality. This is the essence of Beauty, which produces what can only be termed an ecstasy of inner feeling.

Let us hear you tell again of that great vision of beauty you beheld that late afternoon so many years ago in Hong Kong harbor, which you take such joy in sharing with those you love so deeply and simply
(Don recalls and describes the situation of the short voyage around Hong Kong Harbor in the small sailboat for tourists to see the sights of Hong Kong during a late afternoon cruise.)

I was very self-conscious as I bought my ticket for the short cruise that late afternoon in Hong Kong, as it is almost never my taste to participate in a deliberated tourist cruise or visit. I wondered if I had lost my head to make such an exception to a deeply held credo. But I bought the ride and clambered aboard along with the hundred or so other assorted nationalities so typical of the transient population of Hong Kong.

The boat put out from the berth almost immediately and began heading for several much larger boats which we were shortly informed were for the greater part floating restaurants, preparing for the evening meal by that time. I had had my fill of that type of tourist attraction on the Seine River boats anchored in several spots along the banks of the Seine in Paris, so I had no interest in staring at them.

So it was that I had little to distract my attention even in the early beginning moments of that memorable journey. And so it was also that I was perhaps the first to let my eyes stray to the sky above me and the waters through which our little boat sped along at a leisurely clip. At first I saw nothing out of the ordinary, although it was indeed a lovely scene of busy commerce and an incredible variety of shapes and figures and colors.

Then, as the colors in the sky brightened and deepened, I began to see that we would certainly have a spectacular sunset ranging over the plains of dusty China in the background. It had been a hot day during a hot summer season, and we had read in the newspapers of the dust that had been swept up into the air by windstorms over the Chinese mainland, causing further damage to the parched crops in the fields. In fact, I soon saw that the even brilliant crimson of the western sky matched easily the best I had ever soon in the Rockies, or Golden Gate at its most spectacular.

About that time I saw that others on the boat were beginning to take their eyes off the vessels parked everywhere along the shoreline and were taking increasing note of the flaming sunset. This, once observed, became riveting, and attention soon had shifted almost entirely to the phenomenal sunset blazing all round us on three sides. It was an incredible pyrotechnic display of color so brilliant that one would have labelled it as "gaudy" if it had not been so breathtaking in its intensity and extent. I had never seen anything in nature to compare with it.

The sounds of conversation on the little sight-seeing ship faded and ceased entirely as the entire assemblage stared riveted by the unbelievable intensity of nature on a binge of the rarest order. People stared enchanted totally by what assaulted them through every nerve and pore of their being. It was beyond comment, and no one attempted to break the silence that hung with regal intensity in the late afternoon fiery cocktail of nature gone crazy with the joy of its own creativeness.

Then, unexpectedly, I caught something out of the lower part of one eye. It was the cusp of a small wave shaded from the scarlet of the madhouse sky surrounding us, and---- it was the most liquid living gold I have ever seen, a total contrast to the sky. It was so unlikely and unbelievable that I thought for endless moments that I must have gone crazy in this silent bedlam of riotous color of the sky.

Then I saw another curling cusp with its interior lit with the same liquid gold. What joy unbelievably heaped upon the first banquet of riotous color of the China sky! How was it possible to have found the paint pot with so much golden paint after the heavens had certainly exhausted the utmost possibilities of nature in the splashing of the crimson that still lit the sky for an eternity of rioting color in the soundless silence of our quietly sailing little boat.

How quiet we all were. It was understood by each person on board that anyone making a sound was doomed instantly to a death so sudden and brutal that it could never be risked.

We sailed along in the deathly stillness of a beauty that had never had a birth and would never have a death. It would live forever in the immortal Truth of Beauty that only God could conceive and His millions of the minions paint from every atom on which they could pin their easels.

As I felt I could not bear one more moment of this unique thing I was striving with every cone cell to see and capture and hold forever, I saw the first person among my companions change the direction of their stare from the heavens to the seas. A silent gasp came from her beautiful and incredulous mouth. As if she were the director of the symphony, all the others caught the hiss of her breath and instantly obeyed her direction. With one concerted jerk they too stared below, and the incredible fact was that no one could croak the slightest caw of disbelief of what they all saw together, the total and perfect complement of what had kept them bewitched for--- I don't know, but it was an eon of experience we had all had by then.

What ensued was timeless and spaceless. It had escaped all of the dimension of Creation and mounted to the celestial Oneness of God Who, one sensed, was the One enjoying the beauty that only His divinity could possibly envision and paint onto the accepting canvas of Creation.

It was a celestial feast of manna and ambrosia with the accompaniment of the angels and archangels muted and chanting the silent praises of love, harmony and beauty.

It was the perfection of harmony that one day I hope to experience with Baba leading me by the hand when there will never again be anything but the presence of Oneness eternal and complete.

The Cleansing of the Truth of Oneness

In fact this is the story of the effect of a series of intuitions I had on forgiveness. The entire sequence grew out of the realization that the great religions have succeeded only very slightly over the centuries in making their combined effect felt on the bitter hatreds growing out of often disastrously cruel wars. This I believe has grown out of the dissensions between the religions themselves down through the centuries. This reflection led me to try to intuit an antidote to these ancient hatreds, and finally I was driven to conclude that forgiveness was the only conceivable manner in which there was some hope of progress. But progress through forgiveness! First, how, where and when could it be applied?

For weeks my intuition time each day was filled with the imponderables in forgiveness itself. It defied every scientific principle I knew to start even a method for measuring and handling this most intangible commodity. But I stuck it out stubbornly as one must do quite frequently with a deep intuition that herein lies a priceless solution if it can be persuaded to reveal its innermost working.

I went so far as to discuss the conviction I had had intuitively, that this had to be the approach taken, with several groups with whom I am in fairly frequent contact. In each case the reaction was like an earthquake, and there was excitement exploding almost uncontrollably until, each time, we finally parted ways to go home.
It was in the third group that the most stubborn and vociferous reaction of all occurred, and this from a fellow we all loved and who rarely lifted his voice in objection. But with this subject, it was clear we had hit something he could not control, and even when someone else was trying to voice an opinion, he continued to splutter just under his breath.

I tried suggesting that his action was all the more reasons to make the gesture of at least trying to forgive the person in his own family whom he could not even contemplate forgiving. He left, finally, in the back seat of a full car of friends, and could be heard all the way down the drive with his continued explosions drifting back to our ears.

When several days had passed and I found myself approaching the date for a month's absence from my old haunts I found that my morning intuition was the deep knowledge that I could not leave my close friend without some effort to calm him.
By spectacular good luck I managed to find this normally untraceable fellow in minutes, and told him at once that we must find the means for a face-to-face conversation.

He broke into my exhortation and said simply, "It isn't necessary." I heaved a sigh of dejection, as I was sure that he was announcing to me that he had already revisited the topic and found his inner reaction was unbudgeable. I tried harder, and again he said it was not necessary for us to meet. This time he went on: "When I was coming back from our meeting in he car I began to think, how small was the situation that I could not forgive, and as I saw that, I found a rush of friendship return for the fellow. No, it isn't necessary, we made a date on the spot to have a big celebration lunch together in two weeks at a deluxe restaurant and it is all already forgotten."
Note, he did not even use the word "forgiven."

I confess that I had hardly expected such a change so fast even in the best of circumstances, and here it had arrived almost of its own without work. True, at the time of the original meeting of the group discussing forgiveness, I had ventured that even in the gesture to attempt forgiveness, forces would be set in motion that would astound by their cleansing capability. But I am frank that what I said at that time was no more than an intuition based on absolutely no personal experience. But I have found that this is often a characteristic of an intuition, that one some way has insight into the future of events, and can predict with an assuredness at times which is almost dishonest when judged on my sainted mother's pretty tough principles.