Noble Dreams

Noble Dreams

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#21 Fri 31st Dec 2010 08:29 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


In early springtime it was time for me to go live and work with the Essenes. I was given a special short white frock to wear with my leather sandals and had a new wooden comb for my hair. In late morning Mary, Lazarus, Martha and John (Isha was gone) kissed and hugged me, I climbed on a donkey, and we left. A kinsman led the animal and another loaded with provisions. On the way, he did not speak much, other than to say things like “We stop here.” “Eat.” “Rest.” “We go now.” We arrived at the Institute in late afternoon of the third day.

The brothers and sisters benevolently welcomed me. The same two older women showed me where I would sleep and where to bathe. After my bath, it was time for the evening meal. Between listless bites of lentil soup, I looked at the long wavering shadows from oil lamps placed along the wall. I wasn’t enjoying this visit at all and felt empty and missed my home. Surrounded by darkness all around the enormous dining room, I felt overwhelmed, lonesome and homesick.

That night, and all the other nights, I slept with two other people in an austere moonlit chamber with a floor tiled in a white and dark contrasting geometric design. The high ceiling curved above thick walls of large rough, un-mortared rocks perfectly fitted together. Tall open windows formed a pointed arch almost at the roof. I slept on a low built-in sleeping platform of wood and porous brick along an adjacent wall to the right of the two huge windows. As I lay with wide-open eyes in this enormous room, I sensed an unearthly peacefulness and clarity, even grandeur in that place. My home with Isha and Miriam was cozy and small, and this magnificent room intimidated me. Even though I was ten years old, I would not have had the courage to sleep there alone.

We rose with the sun, a few minutes before the first rays came over the top of the bluff outside the east-facing windows. Still feeling disoriented, I hiked up the wadi as I had on my first visit, following the system of cisterns in the shadows. I saw birds and friendly small animals just like at home.

When I returned, Cook, a nice motherly woman, hugged me and gave me breakfast. While eating yogurt cheese, grains and fruit, I spied a large black cat peering around a corner at me. I jumped up to go to him, but he ran away. Cook helped me entice him close enough to pet. And, once petted, he immediately purred and rubbed his head against me. I knew I had found a friend. I held him and knew that he was as delighted as I to be together. I asked the sister for some goat’s milk.. Then I spent the day exploring with him. He showed me all his good places—where to take naps, where to hide, where to catch little tidbits to eat. He still loved to murder birds. I decided to spend my time thwarting his bird-hunting, but he knew what I was planning, and intended to disappear for that entertainment. During supper, he sat in a dark corner, watching me eat. In later days, he followed me everywhere and was always watching me from a hidden spot. At night he slept on my bed, crowding my feet.

Committed to the serious and important work of creating writings and translations, the Family, as the Essenes called themselves, were an elect group of disciplined scholars and mystics who had gone through years of training before coming out to this sanctuary on the Dead Sea. They had an ordered, comfortable rhythm to living; going to bed with the sun and getting up with it all year long, sleeping more in the winter and less in the summer. They ate unleavened bread, fresh sprouts, lentils and other grains, kefir, cheeses and fruits. The brother or sister who prepared the food for the day was considered special because that person was performing one of the holiest of functions. Blessing food was not a tedious act so I didn’t have to suffer through long prayers before eating. As in every other facet of their lives, the Brothers and Sisters acted with elegant simplicity, briefly and silently charging the food with the Light of the Father from the palms of their hands. They believed that the body was light; therefore, it must be fed with light.

They placed a particular emphasis on pure clear drinking water, treating it with sunlight, words and hands. I learned from them that this pure water would be more effective if exposed to the very first rays of the rising sun and blessed at that moment by putting one or both hands palm open to the water as it was poured in the sunlight, saying, “I charge this water with the Light of the Father.” After the water was charged, one could feel heat from it out to about six inches. At that point, the water was programmed with prayer to give healing, abundance, love, and/or spiritual evolvement.

They believed that fasting, meditating and drinking this special water would bit by bit raise the vibration, cell by cell, of the body and mind, clearing the consciousness and lifting the whole personality to a state of listening to God.

This water, charged with the enormous energy of the white light of the Father, when drunk daily, fasting with reverence and faith, reversed aging, disease, and all worldly afflictions. It changed the very atoms of the body, increasing the energy of all the bodies, approximating the pure light of our being, somewhat like tuning a radio to the proper frequency. 

And anyone, even the worst of us, could do this.

As at home, we bathed every day and wore immaculately clean simple white clothing. And, like Isha and His Mother, the Essenes communicated silently with each other. Everyday chores were performed as a sacrament, and no one personally owned anything, which gave all great freedom. Early morning, noon and sunset were times of prayer and meditation. The phases of the moon were observed with ceremonies and prayers, the full and new moon being the most important. Throughout all the days I heard gongs, bells and the beautiful singing of my brothers and sisters. Living with these people was magical.

They grew their food in various hidden gardens, orchards and vineyards secreted about the huge rocks on the alluvial plain below the buildings. In these places springs bubbling out of the ground watered olives, figs, nuts, grapes and other fruits. I enjoyed watching the herd of milk goats. Studious young men loudly reciting and singing sacred verses watched over those conceited pampered ladies as they wandered about the grassy slopes.

Inside the entrance, my old friend Grandfather Snake had taken up residence, but he ignored me. He thought he was important here, and he was. Cook set out a bowl of clabbered milk for him every few days. Sometimes he would empty it, sometimes not. He liked to sun himself in a spot just out of the morning shade but where we might walk. He was proprietary about his sunning spot. Of course, we never disturbed him. This snake was a dangerous viper, but we stepped around him out of respect rather than from the fear of being bitten.

Oh the studies! The knowledge and scholarship here was immense! I tried to put it all inside me all at once! I was taught how to make my remembering go back to the time of the designing of the Great Pyramid. Thousands of years ago, as a member of a mathematical team, I had worked one full lifetime on it. The project was so enormous that some of us after our deaths came back to work almost another full lifetime. We did this to properly set the astrological specifications in relationship to the function, as it was called, to the Earth, the universe and the future. (That future is now!) The actual construction occurred in later generations. There was a problem or defect, a three-degree offset to either the polar star or the Center, not the sun of our solar system. Three degrees was not a negligible number. The Family was trying to ascertain the problem and also to get information for Isha.

I thought the Essenes knew everything about everyone and everything. Still, that didn’t seem to be entirely true; they wanted to know what we had put into the pyramid. My expertise while in trance was in mathematics, numbers and their relationships to geometric forms and electromagnetic forces of the earth and humankind. So much to remember! I wrote and spoke as fast as I could. Others wrote what I spoke, also. Because there was a sense of outside destructive events moving in on us, there was much to be recorded and not much time to do so. We didn’t really rush, but worked steadily every day. I would go into trance in the morning and speak for a couple of hours or more, then go play with my cat and watch Grandfather Snake. In late afternoon or evening we would have another session of picking my brain.

Many nights when the moon was bright, my mind would obsessively return to the semi-trance state, and I would rise from my bed to sit on the cool floor in the moonlight, arranging clay and wood blocks. My roommates told me that for hours I would mutter at top speed while rapidly moving the objects about. I was a small girl away from home, but the Family didn’t give me any special consideration, treating me as an adult, which, obviously, much of my brain was. I felt a sense of emptiness and loss, of having to grow up too soon. But these were important times, and who was I to ask for a childhood?

A few days before the winter solstice, the same taciturn kinsman arrived to take me back to my original (extended) family. However, instead of going back to Miriam’s house, we went to Uncle Zebedee’s. The family had got together for feasting and dancing for the solstice and also to welcome me back. I was embarrassed, but tried to behave properly and accept the honor with grace. I felt much older, but enjoyed being back with my parents and relatives in this large happy family.

My Grandpa Joseph was glad to see me and I him. We sat together, not speaking, while others danced in front of the fire. The moon was full, and the clear air amplified shadows on the big boulders from the craggy trees and shrubs. We listened to the usual musicians playing cymbals, flute, drum and zither. They sang with magical song, beautiful and mysterious, as if they had come from the stars for us to listen to them.

I tried to stay awake, but my habits of going to bed with the sun while staying with the Essenes made my eyes droop and close. Grandpa carried me to a mat on the ground. I pretended to be asleep so as to enjoy being tucked in. It was wonderful to be home and to be a child again!

The next morning, my mother tried to have a conversation with me, beginning with “Did you have a nice time at the Institute? We’re glad to have you back.” She looked at me with a combination of love, exasperation and puzzlement in her blue eyes, because I was so, so, whatever. Poor woman, she did want to be a mother to her only child, but that child was me. Such an awkward situation. She never had quite known how to relate to me. Both my parents had always been at a loss as to what to do with their strange child.

I understood, and hoped that she didn’t feel so obligated.

Soon after, I went to visit the shepherd cousins up on the hillsides to get a month’s rest and vacation after so much hard mental work at the Essenes. I learned how to milk a goat! I ate the cheeses and played with the baby goats.



#22 Fri 31st Dec 2010 08:33 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


Women of my class, and all classes actually, were needed by their husbands to manage the family businesses, especially when the men had to be away. Since my parents had chosen a future husband for me, a trader with many caravans, I had to become literate and be able to keep the accounts. I needed to know business so as not to be cheated when dealing with foremen or agents, and was also expected to be reasonably well versed in literature and history so as to play my part as the grand dame of the house.

My pampered childhood was over, and I was growing up. At age eleven, although I still lived with Miriam and Isha, it was time for me to do lessons. My parents engaged a tense, disagreeable little Greek-Jewish man to tutor me in many subjects. He thought that he belonged in the big city (Rome), but here he was in this god-forsaken place and teaching a girl! I’m sure I made his life difficult. I had a knack for mathematics which astounded the little man. He was actually impressed! For my part, I didn’t want to do anything at all. Isha was gone most of the time, so I cared for nothing. I was miserable and wasn’t particularly interested in growing up, and even less in getting married. I was difficult for my tutor. Auntie Miriam once put a few moments in to calm me and get me started, but I rebelled by having appalling penmanship.

For the next few months I studied under the little Greek man. However, due to various underhanded strategies I used to irritate him, I managed to nearly drive him mad, and he left in great agitation. I was quite satisfied to see him go. I wanted only to read and educate myself and was left to do exactly that. I loved to read!

I imagined disguising myself as a boy so I could go read the holy books in the temple. I thought that it was outrageous that the priests would not permit a female to read them.

Isha was away from the home more and more, and Aunt Miriam was often not there either. When They were gone, life seemed dead and uninteresting. One empty hot afternoon, I was moping about in the garden. I didn’t know that Isha had returned. He came out of the house and said to me,
“Blessings be upon you, my small sister. You understand my words and take them to your heart. You are as simple and open to my teaching as the butterfly is to the sky. I have not forgotten you, and will not, not to the end of time.”

I understood that He was speaking to me not only as Isha but also as the Christ.

Often, Isha left for months, teaching and healing in different lands. At the house, we faithfully kept up the meditations for Him. Then, oh joy, He returned! He was often very tired and preoccupied, but He was back! Though it was difficult to keep people away, we tried to let Him have complete rest.

I felt quite grown up when I brought food to Him, and I loved to wash and massage His feet. He would sometimes take a moment to touch my head, and I would feel a brilliant flash of power and energy, like lightning. He had been changed on a molecular level with the brilliant and powerful Christ vitality. Since time was a precious resource for Him, I knew that I shouldn’t take up His time or energy. Still, I missed the wonderful close friendship we had had when I was little and He was my Isha.

While out teaching, He was around much sickness and human negativity, and it did drain Him. When He came home, He needed time up in the hills to replenish Himself by communing with His Father and the angels. Sometimes he stayed a week or more. He had been away for two days, and early one morning the women of the household (and I!) left the house secretly so as not to be followed.

We carried food and clothing wrapped in white cloth for Him. Only His Mother washed His clothes, and she was the only one to touch the garments when He wasn’t wearing them. After hiking silently for some hours up a rough footpath, we suddenly came upon Him when we climbed up over a rise in the rocky path. Dressed in white, He sat on a table-like rock under a large oak-like tree across a tumbling creek to the east. He was deep in meditation, which He had been in for days. A magnificent energy surrounded Isha in meditation. We didn’t disturb Him, quietly setting the bundles down and leaving immediately.

We all gave Him our love and energy, following the example of His Mother. I knew that His human self was often fatigued and worried, frustrated that so very few understood him. Sometimes I felt that He was near tears of despair, feeling that He was not accomplishing His mission. The Christ was, however, of complete omniscience and confidence.



#23 Fri 31st Dec 2010 08:37 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


At home, the nightly classes continued. A faithful core of students who had attended from the beginning were there. Isha spoke with precision and certainty:

“Seek, and ye shall find. Ask, and all will be given. The Christ of your being stands at the door and knocks. Open that door, and He will enter your being, flooding your soul with love, a glorious energy, blinding in its intensity, lifting you up to the heavens. You are more magnificent than angels, a Heavenly Being of light and wisdom.

“As the wind coming before a storm quickens the awareness, so may the understanding that enters your lives in meditation quicken your consciousness for the great awakening to come. All is of the Father. Know this, and be at peace. His love enfolds thee. All is one. Understand that Love IS. There is no other. Love is all, pure being, pure light.

“The first rays of the morning sun fill us with the promise of the Father; of life everlasting, forever pure and loving. Listen to the birds when they welcome this glorious event, for they are Gods singing to thee, a praise to the most high, sung in such great exultation as to lift our hearts.

“Listen; be still and listen, for God is in His Heaven, and All is Holy.”


“Women are beloved of men, a gift of loveliness and gentleness for their life. Fathers, husbands, brothers and sons, cherish the women of your family, because they came to be such as a gift of love from their hearts, a thought and desire they felt before coming to this earth to be with you.

“And women, cherish the men in your family, for they chose to be your protectors and providers, even as you provide for them and give them solace and gentleness in their lives. All are one with the Father, beloved children of his blessing.”

Last edited by lorae (Fri 31st Dec 2010 08:37 pm)



#24 Fri 31st Dec 2010 10:03 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


The Holy Land at that time had a Mediterranean climate with more rainfall than now. A lovely place to live, it was a land of forested hills and rich farmland. Because it was a center for trade and commerce, it was a good place to start the dissemination of new ideas.

The Romans were a pervasive presence, but the ordinary Jewish people were, in most cases, allowed to carry out their lives as usual. The Romans actually brought some stability to the area because the Jewish ruling class and priests were a little unstable, if not downright crazy. The priesthood were carrying on an ongoing effort to hold absolute power, material, spiritual and intellectual. For some peculiar reason, they didn’t want people to even think private thoughts not approved by them. The wealthy and powerful merchant class, being well traveled and exposed to many advanced cultures in other countries, had a secular and liberal viewpoint. They were, therefore, a strong opposing faction to the priesthood.

The fairly even-handed, impersonal presence of the Roman occupation was a counter-balance to the priests and merchants. (If tearing through the streets on a big horse or in a chariot, scaring everyone to death, could be called impersonal—only the Roman military officers, centurions and higher, were allowed to have horses. The foot-soldiers were just that. Certainly no civilians could own horses; it would be similar to owning a military tank today. The officers would come racing through the narrow streets with their charges, leaving carnage behind and producing terror before; one could hear them coming from the screams of the people and the general racket emanating from their passing.)

In fact people could often get fairer treatment in a Roman court, because less bribery had to be paid. The Romans really didn’t care; their rule was necessarily brutal, an orderly and inexorable grinding down process, but they simply wanted a quiet, productive province. As a child, I shouldn’t have been aware of all this, but my father was a not-too-pious Jew who served as a combination Jewish and Roman official having to do with regulating water. He was strong-minded, honorable and fair, and most people did not cross him.

But now, the Romans had become more unreasonable, demanding that Jews worship and sacrifice to idols of Caesar and their gods. Further vexation came from the priesthood, who responded to this stress by insisting on the observance of even more rules governing every moment of life. Taxation was heavier and seemingly even more unjust. The people felt squeezed in by ever-tightening oppression from all sides.
Anger and resentment was seething in nearly every man, even in the students of the nightly classes. Isha spoke about anger:


“Red is of the sunset and the sunrise. Red is creative energy. The first fire of your being is red. The love of the Father is creative energy. Red is very different in its character from blue and yellow. Red flowers are a good example of the intensity and energy of Red. Let us now talk of anger; Red Anger.

“Anger is expectation. Expectation with the opposite manifestation. Why do we not accept that opposite manifestation? Because we feel outrage. Outrage is anger. Outrage is the emotion felt when something happens that creates resentment. What is resentment? The emotion created from being forced to give.

“Now, if red is creative energy, which is expansive giving, why is Red Anger brought about from forced giving?

“Freedom is a right, a basic right embodied in cosmic law.  Abridgment of freedom is a crime against that law. Force of any sort is a crime against the cosmic law of freedom. The red of anger is the creative force exploding, manifesting through the abridgment of the primary cosmic law. Freedom is paramount. All other laws derive from that one.

“Anger is energy; energy released in bursts—creative energy forced to express. This explains the disharmony of anger and its intensity. Love is creative energy. Anger is mis-expressed creative energy.
“Therefore, anger cannot, by its very nature, be suppressed. In most cases, it is an expression of forced creativity. Remember, the law of free will is foremost. Force, or coercion of any sort, will produce anger, the energy of creativity expressed in an improper way.

“The force and coercion in this world have brought forth anger, which has built for many ages. Mankind is trapped in this cycle. You are trapped in anger because you have chosen to use it as a way to interact with others, to fill the empty boredom and loneliness of your lives.

“This cycle will cease when you see that coercion leads to anger, which leads to improper action, which creates improper reaction, which creates anger, and on and on. God will not save you, unless you ask for release from this endless, pointless cycle of non-creative energy [anger]. There is no other escape.

"Winning over your adversary leads to his experience of anger, which will come back to you in further provocation from him, which you will react to with anger and another provocation, in life after life.

“To be free, you must desire to be released from this wheel, this endless, downward, constricting cycle. There are other cycles for you to experience, which are more difficult, but such is your path. Know that you are Children of the Father, and He desires for you to become one with Him.

“The desire not to experience anger leads to its negation. Forgive yourself for creating another’s anger in the beginning. By forgiving yourself, you will automatically forgive them. Ask for the gift of self-forgiveness. The Father will grant you instant freedom, the blissful freedom to soar through the heavens to be with your Heavenly Family in love and rapture.

“You, and you only, hold yourself to limitation. I am here to set you free. Limitation is not your true condition. When you have tired of it, you can leave it. It benefits you nothing. From this feeling of limitation, all troubles follow. Throw it off! Ask to be free. Now!

“The law of freedom is paramount. The law will prevail. Limitation is in direct contradiction of that supreme law. You were meant to be free, to create. Stifling the creative impulse leads to anger, which leads to more limitation, which leads to more anger, and on and on, through the ages of man.

“Now, there are some who have abused the gift of freedom, choosing to enslave others. The law will be upheld. Know this. There will come a time when all will have chosen their path, the path of freedom or the path of limitation. There, indeed, will be a separation of the wheat from the chaff, but each will choose of his own accord which he will be. There is no judgment. All is. You are free to choose.”

Often, a phrase from the Master would set off a discussion which would continue throughout the night. His listeners, being educated philosophers and theologians, did not hesitate to question Him as to the exact meaning of His Words. I heard many learned subtle arguments of metaphysics and theology in that modest little room, with only the smoky light from the two oil lamps making dancing shadows on the white clay walls.

A man asked Him about eating meat or drinking wine. Isha said that we are human, not flawless, and what we put in our mouths, or did, was not so important as our attitudes. However, our spoken words had more power, and we should be careful how we exercise that power.

“You are perfect as you are. You need not eat special foods or pray in special ways, as those who would have you as slaves tell you. You are perfect now, and always. The Father is in you and does not judge His children. Seek only to be at one with God, and judge not yourself or others. Lift up your mind to the mountain tops, and know you Father as yourself.

“Your very imperfections are a manifestation of the perfection of the Creator.

“These imperfections are the doorway, the path to the Christ of your being, opening your soul to the true glorious perfection that you are, beloved children of the Father.

“By the effect of this doorway, the Children of God move on their way to eternal light. Thus we are led, step by step, out of one consciousness into the next. This perfection, this perfection of being, that contains all that is, is movement, creative energy, the Father’s love expressing through us.

“Perfection is creative energy, ever moving, ever expanding, as light flows in glowing colors from a revolving crystal. You are that light, expressing the creativity of the essence of being by the very activity of your life, as you create perceived imperfection from the present perceived imperfection, ever revolving, ever evolving up the spiral of time and space.

“Know that you are perfect as you are, and that your everyday life, with all its perceived tribulations, is an expression of the infinite creativity [love] of the Father.”

As usual, the thin rabbi put forth the questions that others were too embarrassed to ask: “Master, how can imperfections be a doorway?”

Isha answered: “By the perfection of your being, including your imperfections, the perfection of the Creator is expressed. Without those imperfections, you could not change, and through change the creativity of God is manifested. Thus imperfections are the means, the doorway, if you will, for change and growth.”

An erudite man said, “Are you saying that we are already perfect, but that that perfection is not the perfection of ordinary understanding, which is of something static, fixed, complete and flawless; but rather that our imperfections complete our perfection, because these imperfections are the means for change and growth?”

Isha answered again: “Our Creator is dynamic, and His Love is expressed through change and movement, the creativity of light and life.”

Last edited by lorae (Fri 31st Dec 2010 10:04 pm)



#25 Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:16 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


New faces had began appearing at Isha's classes.  An older tall, distant Roman known as Lucius was one.  Clean-shaven, ramrod straight and always dressed correctly in drab colors, his formal and abrupt manner seemed foreign.  He appeared to be almost haughty, but in actuality might have been simply a dignified man of few words.  He gave an impression of stern attention; the severity of almost shoulder-length straight grayish-blonde hair, and long narrow nose was intensified by thin lips and a square jaw.  Sensing that he would have little tolerance for a little girl underfoot and out-of-place, I gave this imposing man a wide berth.

In contrast to Lucius, the baby-faced Philip was small and fine-boned.  He had dark hair and big brown eyes that looked out at the world in an overly sensitive and almost pitiful way.  The over-all impression of youthfulness was further defined by a soft voice, a fine olive skin and soft hands.  Partial to wearing stripes and elegant sandals, Philip had a seemingly infinite wardrobe of expensive clothes.  He could have been unattractive, yet when his sweet smile lit up his whole face, he won everyone with his simple charm.  His white teeth and shining eyes were irresistible in their beautiful sincerity.

Timothy exuded stability.  A large square muscular frame carried on solid legs intensified his sensible personality.  He loved to grow things, and sold produce and herbs in the marketplace from his large farm.  Nonetheless, as the son of a government official, he had a solid classical education as befitted his class and was equally interested in philosophical and spiritual matters.  His beardless face looked as if it had been copied from a bust of a Roman patrician, with straight nose, full, well-shaped mouth and broad, high forehead.  Light blue eyes showed great kindness and concentration.  He spoke carefully and well, and all who knew him were the better for it, for he was a kind and gentle man.

Thomas looked somewhat like Timothy.  A big solid man with a high noble forehead, he had an imposing nose and well-defined jaw with determined, thin lips.  He spoke forcefully and often.  Though he was slow to absorb new ideas, his devotion to Issa was complete and total.  Once he understood a concept, he wanted to impress it on everyone immediately.  He came from a wealthy Jewish family, and had been well-educated in the Greek tradition.


In the early morning light just before the dawn, Isha spoke:
“Your day-to-day life is more important than you realize. Your thoughts, your desires, your emotions, your words, your actions create worlds upon worlds. Know this.

“Your conscious mind was given to you for the purpose of discernment. Logic is to be used in the correct perspective. That is, the soul must turn to God upon awakening in the morning—a time of listening and dedication of service to the will of God is the way—the way to orient the self in the world for the day to come.

“The conscious, discerning, logical mind is the tool of the soul, to be used to affect the purpose of the day received in the morning meditation. Remember, the relationship of the soul to the Father is primary, and the conscious mind is the tool in service to that relationship. If this correct balance is maintained, all else follows in Divine Order. The conscious mind cannot hear the words of the Father. Its function is that of a servant, to carry out the directives of service for that day; but the open, childlike soul hears the Father, and is one with Him.

“Put your trust and guidance wholly in the Father. Have no fear. Fear is of the conscious, lower mind, and it is through fear that our faith is tested. You must choose. Do you place your faith and trust in God, or do you let fear and the lower mind rule your life?

“Remember, if the relationship of the mind and soul is reversed, with the mind setting the course and the soul sensing, asking the way for that directive, great discord results. One must listen with the soul to the Father; then, when the guidance is given, the conscious mind is the tool to effect that purpose.

“In the first rays of morning, ask the Father your task for the day to come. Do not plan your day from the anxieties of the conscious mind: This is contrary to the relationship of God to His children. Begin the day by acknowledging God as the guiding light of your life. This sets the course of the day in the way of God. Your very words, asking for guidance, open the doorway of your being to the blinding light of the Christ, which will cleanse and purify your life. This may seem to the conscious mind to be disruptive and unpleasant, for the old ways of the old self cannot exist with the new light of the Christhood.

“Come, follow Me, and be at one with our Father Who loves you with vast magnificence. He has given you free will, but longs for you to turn to Him, that He may eagerly guide you back to His heart, to be at one with His creative delight. Wait in quiet meditation: He will speak to you, giving you comfort and direction for the coming hours. His light about you envelopes you in certain safety, giving you a serene courage and wisdom for proper thinking and action in your life.

“Many feel that they will establish this rapport with the Father at a later time, when various temporal considerations are resolved. This is backward, and contrary. These worldly concerns are never resolved with the mind. When the mind is used for direction and guidance, the usual course is the creation of greater and greater complexity, until the situation appears hopelessly sliding on a downward spiral to death and destruction. This is, in fact, the case.

“Do not despair. This consciousness that you think is your life is but a dream, a dream to teach you patience and compassion. You are a student in a school for Gods! Learn your lessons well, but know that you are always sustained by the Love of your Father, the Holy of Holies, the Nameless One. Your every breath is holy and He is upholding you with enormous love. Look about you and know of His Love.

“Do not take as true reality this impression of human fear, strife, envy and cruelty, which you think is all about you.
[The beginnings of the Jewish uprising were stirring.] The fear of being lost to the Father leads to all manner of negative emotions, thoughts and actions, as a panic-stricken baby chick rushes about peeping for his parents. At some point, the pain becomes so great that the childlike soul cries to its Father, and He is there. He is always with you, but, when you exist in the [false] awareness of separation, you sometimes do not sense the presence of God, and having free will, do not always listen.

“Know that when you think you feel fear or anger, you are separated from your true Self, a child of God. The loneliness you feel is the illusion of the activity of your earth-self [the False Ego], a part of your being that you have chosen to know and master in this cycle. Your true being cannot, by its very nature, experience the emotions of fear, anger or loneliness. It cannot experience want in any form. The time is now at hand to cease the preoccupation with self, a fascinating aspect, an ability to separate from God. You have now experienced that separation in all its manifestations.

“It is by your very effort, your very desire, that you become aware of your oneness with God. Always know that you are one with Him. The Christ of your being is at all times one with God. Have the desire and put forth the effort to perceive that unity. You have never been separated. As a child of God, a God in your own right, you are perfect and complete.

“Put yourself in quiet meditation and listen! Hear the heavenly choir singing to you! Know who you are, His Beloved Child, as He surrounds and fills you with the light of His Love.”

These concepts were simple, but their very clarity and simplicity were a great break with the legalisms of the established religion, which were rules governing almost every part of life: What to eat, how to cook it and when to eat it; laws regarding marriage, children and inheritance; rules regarding the proper relationship of the sexes, who could go where and when; rules for farming and the harvest; laws for business, and most importantly, laws regulating what could and couldn’t be done on Sabbaths and Holy Days; important regulations concerning money and other gifts to be given to the temple priests—how much, from whom, when and how often; strict rules of worship; what kind of clothes to wear and when to pray and what to pray for—everything in life.

The rabbis, being accustomed to leading the people in the ways of God, presented the argument that this trust in the basic goodness of the ordinary masses could be dangerous, because certain deluded ones would listen to and be possessed by demons who would use that person’s desire for power to gain a purchase in the mind. But Isha said that the very prayers asking for the Christ-self to enter “your being with blazing light” would provide complete protection from evil.

Lucid and direct, His words, phrase by phrase, demolished most religion as His listeners understood it. He taught that all people had within them the innate ability to hear their Heavenly Father, stressing over and over that “You are one with the Father.” This simple teaching alone was an affront to the old ways in which the ignorant populace was led by a holy man who alone spoke with God.

From these fundamental ideas, Isha led His students to understand that each person was a child of God, greatly beloved and cherished; and that, as the child of such a Father, each would discover his own unique path back to God, listening for guidance for “each small step.” Through the separate activity of each Brother and Sister, He explained that, by each choosing his own path, the infinite creativity of God would be expressed. Paradoxically, if a group decided to proceed on the path together, that was an example of each of them acting according to his or her inner communion with God. Freedom was the basic tenet.

He said over and over again that He was our Elder Brother, our teacher come to show us the way back to God, and that we were to follow Him. His ideas really were revolutionary, leading to a state of mind that would not bow readily to man-created authority. This understanding was not lost on the Jewish hierarchy …



#26 Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:24 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


When I was eleven years old, the Master couldn't easily come home without being followed by the crowds, so stayed often with Lazarus and Martha in another town.  He continued speaking at night but was not often there to do so because He was teaching in other lands.  Now I could see a great unearthly golden white aura blazing about Him.  Even Time itself seemed to stop or speed up around Isha, charged and bent with enormous energy of the Christ.

The very last class was short, given to each of us as individuals:


Isha: "Know ye that all of heaven is focused upon thee!  Yes, I do come through the portals of the stars to thee.  Thou art My Child, and I will speak to thee!

"Know that I love thee beyond understanding.  Thou art, indeed, greatly beloved.  Do not despair, but know that thou art being sustained by My Love.  The fact of thy very being is proof of that love.  Accept!

"Return, now, My Child, to thy home, to thy true being, making a triumphant ascent up the rainbow stairs of heaven, while the angels herald thee with golden trumpets, and all thy teachers will walk beside thee in loving gladness.

"Thou needst not leave thy present concept of life to make this journey.  Be with Me, because I, also, long for thee, as thou longest for Me.  Come!  I call thee NOW!"

Later, we gave a supper for all who had attended the classes.  It was held in the courtyard of the fine home of the Essene lady who had recorded all the Master's words.  Isha's friends, Andrew, Peter, John, Philip, Matthew and Luke, as well as three Essene healers in white were there.  Several of our cousins, Lazarus and some townspeople attended.  Even the young Roman Report Writer, Lucius, came, creating a stir with his late arrival during Isha's opening prayer.  A servant brought him a small bench to sit on.

The early fall evening was warm, and a lovely dry wind from the desert gently blew our hair.  I was allowed to help Auntie Miriam and Martha serve everyone, which made me feel grown-up.  We put many kinds of food, including roasted lamb, a special treat, on long, low tables.  Uncle Solomon had provided several unopened jars of an excellent wine.  In the twilight, Isha played a small harp-like twelve-stringed instrument and sang to us.  I knew that this meal marked the end of the classes, an end to learning from the Master such a different way to think of ourselves and our world.  As a full moon rose at the horizon, colored clouds wisped in front of it, and somehow, although the evening was fine, I felt a sad and empty nostalgia.

I brought honey cakes to Grandpa Joseph, who, sitting on a cushion of intricate design, smiled at my clumsy efforts to serve him gracefully.  Finally, all the guests left, and we helped the lady's servants carry everything back into her house.  I felt that something very magical, very wonderful, had ended, and that it was now time to return to the routine of everyday life.

The next day, Isha left again, not to return for weeks.  Auntie and John were not there, and I was alone in the household.  I felt such an empty feeling of loss, as if all anticipation and excitement of life were gone forever.  I sat by the little pool, trying to meditate, but felt no power there.  Even the morning light seemed thin and lifeless.  By afternoon, this sense of gray banality had settled in with certainty.  I prayed for hope, for life, but felt only and empty nothingness.

The days moved on relentlessly into the cold season.  Political troubles disturbed the land.  The Jewish resentment of Roman rule was reaching a point of revolt.  This unrest brought people to the house asking for advice because many were agitated, unsure and confused.  The advent of the Christ amongst us had unsettled all our minds, as it should have.  We had lost our old bearings and were mentally crashing about like so many un-moored ships in a windstorm, the windstorm of the Christ Consciousness and teachings.

A sense of difficulties, agitation and strife beset the countryside.  The Romans had begun to break in on families at unexpected times and drag off those members they suspected.  No one felt safe.  Small household tasks became a refuge for my mind from the gathering terror sweeping the land.  Since there was still much to be done, it became vitally important to drink the blessed water and concentrate while we focused on daytime meditations to create a center of power for the Master.  Miriam showed us by example how to remain stable amidst such uproar.  As one of the household, John helped with the meditations.  He filled Isha's place in the family, helping Auntie with household affairs. His brilliant mind and strong personality were a source of energy and strength in a difficult time.

With extravagant love, Isha gave healings, teaching, and His very beingness to all.  His Mother seemed caught up in His power, or rather, a part of it.  She also no longer seemed human, and took on an ethereal quality of dynamic love.  It seemed that Her feet no longer touched the ground as She effortlessly carried out Her many tasks.  Many came to Her for help and solace, and, while She gave gladly to all, as now, She kept Her attention on the Master.

Last edited by lorae (Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:25 pm)



#27 Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:38 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


It was almost my twelfth birthday when the day came for us to go to the Holy City for the Spring Festival.  We knew this was a serious time, and we three women, Aunt Miriam, Martha and I, walked in somber quiet the long dusty miles to Auntie Sara and Uncle Solomon's home in Jerusalem.  When we arrived in late afternoon, the city seemed disturbed and unsettled.  Closing up early, shopkeepers fastened strong covers over their wares and glowered at us as we hurried through the narrow streets. 

We seemed to feel an unseen menace and walked quickly, almost running.  The weather seemed unusually dry and dead-feeling for early spring, and a fitful wind blew dust devils as we climbed the deserted hill to Auntie Sara's house.  I felt dizzy and nauseated, but didn't know why.

I couldn't sleep that night, getting up many times in a state of unfocused anxiety.  We didn't go down to the city the next day because there were crowds yelling and running about.  Apparently there was some kind of political trouble.  Miriam appeared distant and preoccupied.  She was mentally with Isha, as usual.  Finally, exhausted and tense, we went down to the city in late morning on the third day.  Crowds were milling about and all the shops were closed.  Something was happening.  I stayed with Martha, for she knew the city.  The streets seemed dirtier than usual, and the people were ugly and unpleasant, as difficult as bad-tempered camels.  The noise and violent negative emotions upset me.

Then a short slight man dressed in brown, an Essene friend who lived in the city and was concerned about our safety, rushed up to us.  Walking near, but not with us, and not appearing to speak with us, almost muttering, he quietly told Martha and me what had come about.  We couldn't, or didn't want to understand him, and he had to repeat himself.  At first I couldn't believe it, but it was true!  Isha had been taken before Pilate.  He was to be crucified!

We thought we should go back to Sara's house, but decided to stay in the streets because few would know who we were and of our relationship to the political criminal about to be executed.  Martha and I wandered confusedly about in shock for hours; then, almost as if we had planned it, found ourselves watching at an intersection of a main pass way with a narrow alley as Isha began his long tortured walk to the Hill of Skulls.

When the Christ first took up the cross, He carried it as if it weighed nothing, and the sun was shining as if it were a glorious spring afternoon.  He laughed and joked with His friends.  We could see Him coming toward us down a straight part of the street in a slight incline to our left, with the brilliant sun behind us.  To me, He seemed larger than usual, as if I were looking at a scene that had been visually enlarged and amplified.  He got closer, and I watched His almost naked body go by.  His muscular arms and shoulders quietly strained as He carried the huge timbers through the narrow unevenly cobbled street.  People lined the way, crowded back into nooks and crannies, mesmerized and watching with silent curiosity this punishment of a young rabbi from the country.  I felt sick and uneasy from the violent energy starting to build in the flat brassy air.

As He passed us, His bare and bloody feet tripped and stumbled.  From that point in time, everything seemed to go wrong:  The deadly quiet crowd suddenly exploded into loud violent hostility.  Ragged men and women with leering faces jeered and threw garbage and rocks, while soldiers roughly pushed and beat them back from my poor Isha.  He began dragging the cross rather than carrying it.  I saw that His beautiful hair was matted and dirty.  He struggled on.  Bent over under the crushing weight, His back and shoulders showed deep bloody whip marks from a cruel and vicious beating.  My body began to shake and my teeth to chatter.  I wanted to help Him, but was held back by hypnotic terror, paralyzed shock, and years of conditioned behavior for a proper young lady.

He passed out of sight, turning to the right as He slowly struggled up the narrow inclined street.  The people began to run about in a wild kind of panic.  We had no choice but to run with them.  The black sky roiled with dreadful colors of reddish-gray, with streaks of chartreuse and dark green-blue, and it became dark too early.  I shivered in the rough swirling wind.  The chilly air seemed full of roaring sound, both inside and outside my head.  Violent lightning flashed and crashed above the city.  In enormous confusion and dread I was pushed about by the maddened crowd in the narrow twisted streets.  The very Earth beneath our feet shuddered in pain.

In the late evening, hours later, Aunt Miriam appeared out of the crowd through the dark heavy mist.  Not serene, but quietly controlled,  She led Martha and me through the terrifying city.  We followed a rough path in the strange darkness, climbing up a hill through huge ugly gray rocks appearing in the gray fog.

As we came around a big rock, I saw Him up on the cross.  I heard moans all around.  In the dark mist of this horrible place other men nailed on crosses suffered and died, but I saw only Isha.  There was no light about Him.  He was just a naked man nailed to some boards, bleeding against the wild dark sky, surrounded by the hatred of the people He had tried so hard to teach.  And He was crying.  Isha was crying!

One of the Roman soldiers, a big handsome man with short black curly hair, stared at me in silence.  His brown eyes looked miserable.  The soldiers actually tried to be kind to Isha, offering Him a pain-killing drug on a long pole.

In spite of the chill night air, I felt covered with a clammy sweat.  My whole world had turned upside down.  Something dreadfully evil and wrong was rampant in our world, making it into a nightmare that shouldn't have been.  In a state of shock and disbelief, I began to disconnect from my useless shaking body and went into hysterics, a state of complete hopelessness.  Life had become a horror.  The young Roman Report Writer proceeded to slap me to bring me to, demanding that I be taken away from such a terrible scene for a child.

A girl about my age was clinging to the cross, looking up in a dreamy trance.  I thought her behavior bizarre, another unreal detail of a terrible day.  I was taken away from there in a state of delirium.

Isha's torn and dirty garment lay on the ground, near the cross.  An onlooker saw the wind toss it up into the air.  Swirling above, it was struck by lightning again and again, as it ascended, finally disappearing up into the black-red clouds.

Last edited by lorae (Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:55 pm)



#28 Thu 6th Jan 2011 03:58 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


I wasn't in my right mind, so I don't know how much time passed.  I remember nothing until days later, in a washed-out gray dawn, I walked with Aunt Miriam and Martha to the tomb.  We carried fresh clothing and supplies to wash and anoint the Body.  As the sun rose, the day gave a little of the same kind of pristine promise that I had felt on that very first morning with Him when I was three.  It had rained, and the world seem clean and fresh.  The horror was past, and I felt a great peace, as if in a dream.

We climbed toward the sunrise on a path winding around huge boulders.  At the tomb, carved columns in the limestone stood on each side of the dark opening.  This was to have been Grandpa Joseph's resting place.  Inside, in the sharply defined shadows, there was nothing on the stone bench.  I felt relieved.  I didn't want to see Isha dead.  Still in great shock, I didn't think as to why the Body was gone; I was simply glad that it was.  However, the bench showed streaks of blood.  I wished I hadn't seen it.

We saw a man in white coming toward us from below.  He seemed quite ordinary, and we didn't know him, thinking him to be a stranger, perhaps a workman about this place.  The whole scene had a flat surreal dream-like quality.  I looked down at the large azure sapphire ring on the first finger of my right hand that my father, Grampa and Uncle Solomon had given me.  Mesmerized in contemplation of the sunlight refracting through the stone, I forgot where I was and lost track of time.

I could barely hear a conversation.  Miriam and Martha were talking to the man.  Staring at my ring, my mind stopped, and I could see Isha in the gem, standing in white and speaking to the children and the family, as if I were watching that day at the pool over again.  My head began to spin, and I felt so dizzy that I had to sit down on a big rock under a craggy tree above a sharp turn of the trail.  I heard them speaking, but couldn't make out the words.  They sounded as if coming from far away.

My mind stopped.  I felt heavy, as if I couldn't move my arms even if I'd wanted to.  The whole world seemed to be whirling clockwise, first slowly, then faster, then changing direction to whirl the opposite way.  I felt as if I were falling down a spinning tunnel and moving outward through it at the same time.  I saw an all-encompassing bright white light, and it seemed to be neither outside me nor in me, for I could perceive, but the me I knew no longer existed.  Enormous explosive energy was all about and in me.

Much later, alone in great mental confusion, I walked weakly and unsteadily back, getting lost trying to find Solomon and Sara's place on the hill.  I finally found my way to the house, but no one was home.  I drank some water and lay down in a dark cool room to a feverish sleep.

Suffering waking nightmares and hallucinations, I lived through the following days in hazy confusion.  Weeks later, at Miriam's house, I suddenly woke at night with a clear mind.  Isha stood in the room in glowing white.  I wasn't surprised; for I understood that there was no death.  He said, "You have done well, my little sister, and are beloved by all of heaven.  Know that I will always be with you, and will always love you, as I loved you when you were but a babe." I stared without speaking, tears pouring down my cheeks.  He disappeared as suddenly as He had come.



#29 Thu 6th Jan 2011 04:05 pm

From: San Simon, AZ
Registered: Wed 25th Nov 2009

Re: I REMEMBER ISHA, the book


In the year after the crucifixion, the Jewish officials were out to eradicate those of us who believed in Isha's teachings.  The Roman soldiers had begun to randomly snatch young men for the street or drag them from their homes at night.  They were then tortured or killed.  Relatives were leaving our ancestral home and scattering in all directions, some never to be heard from again.  As a member of His family, I was especially suspect, and for my own safety, my parents decided to marry me to the trader two years before the appointed date.  A glamorous older man, he was a trader of various goods and owner of many caravans.  I don't know why they chose a man so remote from us.  Though I knew that they loved and cared for me, I had never been close to my parents, and I understood and accepted that the reason for our estrangement was a combination of their intense attachment to each other and my peculiarities and rebelliousness.  Maybe the trader was the only one who would agree to marry such a politically dangerous person as I.  My father gave him a very large monetary dowry, so perhaps for my future husband it was a business arrangement, and he considered the risk less than the gain for him.  Because I was very young, he promised my parents that he would care for me and not touch me until I reached the proper age of fifteen.

I had never seen this man until the wedding which was held in my parents' city house, the same that I had climbed out of to visit the shipbuilders when I was little.  Even though the ceremony was private, and not attended by the usual horde of relatives and friends, it was formal and, for me, terrifying.  My new husband awed me because he was so big and so much older.  His dark red-brown fuzzy beard and beautiful blue eyes below a high wide forehead intimidated me.  However, he behaved toward me with the utmost gentleness and concern, helping me with parts of the ceremony when I seemed frozen with inaction.  Afterwards, he carried me in my finery to a litter, where, shaking with apprehension and excitement, I was taken to our new home.  This house had be given to us as a wedding present by my father, and was wedged against other equally lovely homes on a west-facing hillside.

That first night, he held me and comforted me while I sobbed and sobbed.  He left two mornings later with one of his caravans.  For many days after that, I existed in silent melancholy.  With only strange servants for company, I wandered about my new home like a newly caged animal from the wilderness.

In the early spring after my wedding, when I was almost fourteen, I went up on the mountainsides to be with the shepherds.  Springtime on the hillsides lifted my heart, with wildflowers, baby lambs and warm, fragrant breezes.  I could see angels there.  Yosa and her dignified portly husband insisted that I sleep in their tent.  He had occasionally come to the night classes, and this couple welcomed me into their lives with warm affection.

Unexpectedly, one day I began to speak to the shepherds and their families because Isha was present, but in another realm, and they couldn't hear Him.  Their warmth and open simplicity encouraged me to start.

"I come to you, my precious friends, as a humble messenger with glorious tidings.  You all knew Isha, The Christed One, and He is not departed from us, but is here, right now, this day and all days to the end of time.  His love is that of the Father, which is manifested all about you by this marvelous spring day.  God's love is ever expanding and unfolding in creativity, which we can see by all the new life surrounding us.

"Know that you are one with the Father, an expression of His love and creativity.  As children of such a King, you, also, have the ability to love and create.  You, Oh Brothers and Sisters, are creating this day and the beauty around you, as co-creators with your Father.  Enjoy!  Feel the love and the life and the energy about us.  Our very bodies and minds are created this instant and every instant by our desire to be an embodiment of our Father, who is delighted to effect from that desire.

"Even as the Father creates the eons of the Universe with His inbreath and outbreath, so you, His children, do create your life and days in this world with your breathing and thought.  Miriam, the Blessed Mother of the Christ, is present here in the materiality of our Mother Earth.  She anchors us here and surrounds us with nurturing love, a love that knows no favorites, as a mother knows no special child.  All are beloved.
My beloved kinsman, Isha, who became the Christed One, is always with you, as a comforter and teacher, as you knew Him when His body was present among us.  Know that He is always here, to the end of time, and will manifest Himself in your life if you but desire it.  Make your minds as clear as this sky today, and you will know God."

They had listened in amazement, but asked me to come back and speak again.  I had no idea what I would say next time, but agreed to return.

The early years with my husband were pleasant.  He was always kind to me, gentle and loving, and I began to like him.  I missed him when he was gone while I lived in my fine house on the hill.  When he returned, I joyfully hugged him.  The following morning, we ate fruit and cakes in the sunlight, smiling at each other, happy to be together again.  His dancing blue eyes showed a hint of wonderful mischief as he produced a surprise present from a distant city.

He held to his promise to not come to my bed until I was the proper age.  On my fifteenth birthday, the two of us leisurely ate a formal dinner of special fruits, small pieces of spicy meat with flat breads and sweet curds.  In the next room, musicians played flute, lute and drum.  From the balcony, the moonlight came through to highlight my husband's handsome forehead.  Feeling loved and cherished, I sipped a fine wine.

When we were finally alone together, he carried me to his bedroom.  He began to gently kiss my face, my neck, my arms, my feet, my legs.  I put my arms around him in perfect trust.  But, he snatched off my gown, and bit me hard on the right breast.  Then, roughly pushing my legs apart, he quickly and violently entered me.  It hurt, but he seemed not to hear my cries.  I couldn't breathe with his heavy body thrusting and crushing mine.  At last he collapsed, roughly pushing me aside.  I ran from the room sobbing in terror and embarrassment.

In the following years, with no warning, he would become possessed with these strange moods of cruel brutality.  He would later beg my forgiveness, only to repeat himself.  I never told my parents about this, and outwardly lived the life of a wealthy, respectable lady.  At times I was sane, as when I went up on the hills to speak to the shepherds, but mostly I behaved as an hysterical woman who frightened even her servants with strange outbursts and babbling.

With Isha gone, I felt that my life was over.  Perhaps I had finished my part and was waiting to go on.  However, I suffered from terrible depression, anger and sadness.  I had been happily spoiled in an extraordinary childhood, which was no training for the bleak years later.  My mind was never really balanced again in that lifetime.

After the crucifixion, without the Master to guide them, His followers squabbled confusedly about what He had said, the meaning of His words and how they were to take this teaching to the world.

When I learned of what seemed to me at the time to be the confusing theology of Paul, I was upset, because many of Paul's ideas seemed alien to my understanding of Isha's teachings.  I didn't recall Isha speaking much about straying from the path of righteousness; rather, His main focus was on showing us the Way back to God, and how much we were beloved of Our Father.  The concept of the Christ being some kind of substitute sacrifice puzzled me.  Why would God want a sacrifice?

Isha had taught that we had only to look for, and see, our essential goodness, our Christ-being, and all else was not important.  Even Isaiah had said that God had ransomed us from Evil because we belonged to Him (God).  Perhaps Paul was trying to say that God wanted us to sacrifice our old frightened self--to be empty, to be filled with the Christ.  Paul had never heard Him speak, so it was not surprising that in Paul's teaching, these little nuances of meaning didn't seem to me to be the same as I had understood them.

I saw John a few times, but my husband was so jealous that I could not have any of my male friends from the days when Isha was alive come to visit.  John came, and we sat by the small pool in the atrium, as we had done when life was beautiful.  He tried to clear my mind, but I was fairly hopeless.  We couldn't get relaxed enough for some real healing because of the consciousness of my violent husband lurking in both our minds.

Martha and Lazarus lived in another town, some distance away.  She was much older than he, and died without me seeing her again.

Several years later, after the births of my three children, the Roman Report Writer, the former young fop who had spent so much time disrupting the nightly classes of the Master, paid a surprise visit.  My servants told me that a Lucius Amatius was at the door demanding to see me, but that the man looked like a ragged beggar.  I remembered, and went to invite him into my home myself.

He hadn't aged, but he did look like a beggar from the street.  I brought him in to sit on fine cushions and had my servants offer him mutton, wine and bread.  I watched in fascination as this formerly fastidious person practically slobbered as he gobbled the food and glugged the wine.

After satisfying his hunger, he told me that he was in disguise.  His father had lost his position due to political intrigue, and he, Lucius, had become a vagabond.  Once, when he saw his mother on the street in Rome, he had to pretend not to know her.  His clothes were poor, but clean and mended, and he did not smell like a person from the streets.  I wondered, but did not ask him, how he had managed to evade discovery with his still-perfect diction of the Roman upper class.

My husband was away on a long trip, and we had a long chat, as old friends.  Lucius must have taken the Teachings of the Master to heart, forgiving me for my outrageous behavior as a child.  He told me that he lived on an island across the sea, and after the death of his mother had made quite a journey to come back to this new teaching that fascinated him so.  When he was a young man, his mother had been interested in the ideas of that strange Jewish rabbi, and had wrangled the appointment for her son to travel to Palestine, ostensibly to make an official report.  He was still writing about it, sending his writing to an official in Rome under the pen name of "Publicus, the Wanderer."

He asked about my marriage and I described my husband as "that horse."  My little boy came to us, whining for attention.  Lucius remarked that he was a pretty child, and I said something to the effect that it was good that he didn't look like me.  I began to wander about the house, babbling to myself.  I went to the door, saying, "I've got to get out of here.  I've got to get out of here."  When I screeched at a maidservant when she tried to keep me from going out into the street, Lucius saw that my mind was not right.  I asked him to stay the night, but he understood the precariousness of my position, and chose to travel on.  We parted as friends, and I never saw him again in that life.

The years passed, and I neglected my family.  The children were physically cared for, but I barely noticed them.  By then, I would not tolerate my increasingly boorish and cruel husband, so he took up with a conniving concubine.  This woman, a dark-haired beauty whom he had brought into our home from some wild eastern country, wanted to take my place in the household and was scheming with him to do this.  I thought that they were planning some fatal accident for me, for her to become the lady of this house bought for me by my father.  She had absolutely no love for my foolish husband who was flattered and controlled by that witch.  One day, while he was away on a business trip, I paid a man to take her with him.  My husband was so angry when he came home that he left the family to go find her and live with her.  She had been interested only in the house, not him, and I was sure that was the end of the romance.

Because much of the family money had come from my father, my life didn't change much when my husband left.  He had been unpredictable and violent, not a good companion, and the household was more relaxed with him gone.  I became a better mother and not so distant with my children, but eventually, because of my mental instability, they went to live with relatives.

After the crucifixion, the Jewish Priesthood embarked on an increasingly vindictive course of persecution of all who believed in the teachings of the Christ.  Many fled the area, but the unlucky ones who were caught were tortured and crucified in public spectacles.  At the same time, the beginning of the Jewish Revolt led to brutal repression by the Roman military, and the priests took advantage of this situation to encourage the soldiers to raid the Essene settlements in the wilderness.  I hoped that their writings survived.

I whiled away my years in writing about Isha's teachings and had very little to do with the early Christian community.  Some did come, secretly, to stay in my home, but only for a short time, for we were concerned about my servants betraying them.  Lazarus came once, but seemed old, distracted and harried, and left without staying the night since my home was not safe.

I also would have liked to leave because I didn't feel at all secure there.  But a woman in her twenties, even a rich one, couldn't easily travel alone, even with servants.  I had hardly been out of the walls of my home all my life, and I knew that I would have a difficult time dealing with authorities if I tried to escape.  Paralyzed with fear and confusion, I couldn't plan a departure.

My life went on and on for a few more years, and sometimes I wished it would end.  I lived alone in the same house my father had bought for my wedding.  One brilliant day in early fall, the serene quiet of my life was broken by crashing and the sound of men's loud voices coming through the atrium.  Soldiers!  My servants had let them in!  My husband must have told the authorities who I was and where I was living because he was the only one who knew my identity.  Had he been tortured?  With no preamble, they roughly grabbed my by the arms and threw me out of the house into the street.

I didn't resist, but tried to walk with dignity.  I kept tripping--something wrong with my foot, a sprained ankle from being thrown out of my house.  I left a bloody trail from my monthly time, but tried to walk with dignity.  We reached the market section and jeering crowds made way for us as I stumbled through the narrow streets.  One of the soldiers leered at me.  He was enjoying my fear.  I expected to be crucified and started to shake, but they had other plans.  After a long agonizing walk, they threw me down into a solitary dark room under Herod's palace.  There was no light at all, but I could feel the slimy filth on the cold floor and walls.  This place wasn't really a room, more a small hole to throw a condemned animal in, with not enough space to stretch out or stand up.

I don't know how many days I was left there with my legs cramped under me in the filthy cold.  I was not taken befor any official in any kind of court.  When they came to get me, I tried to stand in the blinding sunlight, but my knees and legs collapsed.  They dragged me to a wagon, not caring whether my feet were under me or not.  They threw me in it, and hauled me through streets lined with crowds shouting insults.  My fear was too much, and I left my numb body.  I watched from above as we creaked along in the chilly afternoon air.

We came to the high rock walls of Herod's stadium, entering from the shaded side into a maze of buildings built piece by piece over the years.  Immediately, they pulled me out of the wagon and dragged me out into the blazing empty arena.  The bright sunlight brought me back into my body.  Through my fear, I had a moment's perverse pride at being the single entertainment for the day, thinking "At least I have this distinction, to die alone."

They roughly lifted my filthy body up on a scaffold and tied it to a pole.  At the time, it didn't occur to me to forgive anyone--it's impossible to keep your wits about you in such conditions.  I couldn't keep from shaking, my fear was so great, and I didn't think that I would be able to withstand whatever torture they had planned for me.  They lit a smoky fire under and around me.  Strangely, it didn't feel hot, but before I became unconscious, they put it out.  I was cold, so cold.  Shaking with cold.  I cried, "Isha, help me!"  It was difficult to pass over; the body doesn't die easily.  Finally He helped me leave my body, and I floated about twenty feet in front, above and to the right.  From there I watched them put swords in my belly--guts spilling out, my voice screaming.  The crowd howled in ecstasy.

So ended my life at that time.  I had been given a unique and special childhood, and by writing this story, I have tried to present my memories of living with the most wonderful People ever, and to somehow release the ache in my heart for Their companionship.


Last edited by lorae (Thu 6th Jan 2011 04:06 pm)



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