“The perception of beauty is a kind of barometer telling each of us how close we are to actually perceiving the energy…once you observe the energy, you realize it’s on the same continuum as beauty.
…The things we perceive as beautiful may be different, but the actual characteristics we ascribe to beautiful objects are similar. Think about it. When something strikes us as beautiful, it displays more presence and sharpness of shape and vividness of color, doesn’t it? It stands out. It shines. It seems almost iridescent compared to the dullness of other objects less attractive.”—James Redfield, The Celestine Prophecy
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They walked together at evening shade in woods of yellow light, hour of sun and day when God and man gaze eye-to-eye.
In wane of the light, cool returned and breath shown as cloud in exhale that soon dispersed, life-force’s dissipation into air and aura of the hour.
Throughout their walk, inspired by a something in light and hour, she thought on the story and its tell of energies present and belonging to life-forces all around. She tried to see as the story told, light distinct in envelop and belonging to distinct life-energies, but the nearest she made was the halo aura surrounding he and her exhalations of air and the life-force cloud.
She wondered if he saw more, further light within woods, gossamer strands—one being to another—in connect of life and space of the mystic woods in yellow light’s hour.
Curious, she asked.
“Do you see energies as the story tells?” she asked believing that he might.
He smiled, his grin given into distance and fall of the yellow light source of sun.
“I don’t,” he answered as stripped and naked as the directness of her questioning. “I don’t see energies, not as the story tells, but I feel them; and I believe that you do too.
You feel something in the dawn and eve—in yellow light hours such as now—just as I. You feel something in this place, in its wood and its fields, in its openness and private hides as if place mirrored soul akin to yours and near to mine. Isn’t that the magic we find?
It’s an energy felt, not seen, and trying to manifest the sensory into a quantifiable and material—that’s when the story takes to fiction. The Truth is not scientific—it’s Spiritual. The Greatest Truth will not be found in science but in spirit—in return to what science rejected and, doing, became cause for man’s despair and restlessness of identity and place in the Cosmos despite our lives and modern plenty.
Enlightenment is wisdom, not scientific process of evidentiary affirmation. It’s a knowing without immanent evidence. It is a wisdom of Faith.
In the end, the energy and spirit to which story alludes is not an ascension in evolution. It is return to acknowledgment and alignment to our unique Creation. The energy is God—the answer which man’s pride and man’s vanity has done all it can to dispel and deny believing killing God will raise one’s own glory; but it doesn’t work that way—as the fallen angels and man both live and learn in our own degrees of despair and emptiness in divorce from the God life-force.
When we sense the energy, we open to God. No longer seeking to force and control, we open again to discernment and eventual alignment to who and what we are meant to be.
We do not evolve. We do not ascend. We do not become something new but amend and attune to what it is we were always meant to be.
It is not an act of pride and achievement. It is an action of humility. ‘Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.’ ‘All things are possible for he who believes,’ as Jesus spoke and Mark wrote—the Great Impossibles are made possible in faith and attuning what we wish to that which God desires and intends for us. We do not shape a new. We simply sense and follow that which is, was, and will forever be the True.”
She listened, unsure of direction of his speech.
She returned to questions of the story, ideas it had presented.
“Do you believe we have the capacity and ability to project our spirit and energy to others without bodily force or action?”
“Do you ever feel mine?” he asked, slowing them in walk. “Do you ever feel me in a story, sense me in a thought—know what I think, know what I feel without ever saying or showing, whether near or far from you? Do you ever know and understand me without logic-reason or a why—you just do?”
She blushed, knowing all the ways she had and did—right then—in the yellow hour sun; gossamer dreamings amongst the light in suspend through stand of the winter woods.
“And, mystical experience—have you ever…” she trailed, uncertain of her asking.
“I believe I have…whatever that means and is worth…I know what it means to me.”
Yellow light pulsed in sky. Warmth sensed in wash and pass through trees as if life-breath of the Cosmos engaging as sign—whether true or mind-conceived.
Flutter warmed in her body center as he felt pang and tie to design and commune of a transcendent Universal.
He felt it too, similar but different than of ways and times before.
It was never the same, never completely.
It was not a science. It was faith.
“Do you feel a something now?” he asked.
Discerning spirit, he already knew, watching her eyes widen in gaze, center fluttered in new-aware.
“Maybe that’s the mystical,” he spoke in meek of open soul. “Maybe you are nearer than you know, and the longer you stay and the more you feel, you move nearer to Its Truth. That’s why It calls you home—this place, these woods, home and the open fields—back to a beginning place you thought you’d left in death of a past and history.
The Truth is never dead. It returns to call, engage, and reveal again to those of open souls.
There’s more for you to find—that’s why It calls you back to what evermore becomes as home—where heart and spirit rest, a peace like nowhere else.
Light and sky pulsed again. She felt melting of the flutter into warmth and low-ache longing in desire of a strong and deep-love settle.
His words, his spirit, she received as eyes and spirit opened to mystic wonders of the yellow woods in hour of yellow light when man and God gaze eye-to-eye.
Mystic still but body-bound, he felt strongly of her spirit. Sudden, intense, he desired union, one in her beauty changed in a radiance and iridescence in opening of the mystic-sense. Beautiful, supernal, in the yellow light and halo cloud of exhalation in expansion of sun-captured aura.
He wanted her in different light, new yellow glow and heat of sense—of fire and one another—in embrace and spread, bodies’ roll and move, before hearth and yellow light of shared and strong-made fire.
She felt his spirit, knew his thought and soul-desire. Pang pulsed through her own low-ache.
She took his hand. She kissed his lips. Flutter in body center returned, and she thought of it as soul. Together, they walked through the mystic woods, through yellow light and gossamer auras in return to home, return to hearth, union of the mystic knowing.
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“Seeing the energy—grasping this new way of perceiving the physical world—grows through a kind of contagion. We don’t understand it, but when a person hangs out with others who see this energy, usually they begin to see it, too. So, go show it to someone else.”—James Redfield