ONE OF THE MOST CERTAIN THINGS in life is that we are always free to either
shut our eyes and ears against the truth, fearful and afraid, or to embrace it,
uplifted and secure in ourselves and brave. In my own crazy way I saw this
plainly one day in the underneath writing in the seven colours of light.
A fine blue sky day it was with a humming of
bees in perfumed air; and in a further episode of insights I found myself
slowly wandering through the summer garden of the Mission House at Waitangi.
Sketchbook in hand I was making very poor drawings of the things I noticed. The
garden captivated me, because it was laid out like an English cottage garden
filled with old fashioned flowers and of many colours. It made me homesick, in
an idealistic sort of way. It was so very far from England …and Wales.
The heady warmth of late afternoon was
making me sleepy and I went and sat down on a vacant garden seat amongst the
loveliness, to drink it all in. After awhile, and being in no hurry I slumbered
a little, I think; or did I just daydream it. I actually do not know if I was
awake or asleep. So, whether I imagined it of myself, or not, I cannot say.
Looking at the garden, steadily I was becoming
aware that there was an awakening going on all around me; which was a bit
strange because I was so sleepy. But I was quite sure that everything about me
was waking up. For I could see the life within every living thing being turned
around to face the inner light, and having no fear was becoming all
see-through-ish.
The breath of the flowers I saw, meet and
mingle with the breeze that was wafting through them in the golden light of
day. Once again – like I did once when I was high up on a far distant mountain
in a foreign land, I saw faint ribbons of light flying, and in many colours.
And from waves of another understanding which was flowing through me, and in
new writing this time, I was slowly copying them down in the sketchbook on my
lap. Time itself was being healed, for I saw there was no hurry in the
awakening. It was all rest. If it had taken a few thousand years to come what
was another few hours?
The new song quietly sounding in the inner
garden in which I was immersed, I was again being filled with new things that I
could not at first understand. It was only now, as I was given to see a second
time that I saw there was writing written in the colours of the light – in the
flying ribbons of it – and there were many more colours in this light than the
seven of the rainbow. But they were so different in nature that my natural mind
was incapable of comprehending them, and I was unfit to describe or name them;
but, oh, they were of great beauty, and very costly.
If I should wait now and watch, and trust to
my not knowing anything, which was the way of spirit, then I can recall a hue
which was like red; yet it was more transparent than any hollowed, hallowed
emptied glass it was utterly untouchable! And there was a blue like no other as
clear as the sweetest breath that could escape from your mouth on a warm day.
And I saw a yellow so piercing it was like the centre of a great fire. But in
the writing in the ribbons only the seven colours of the rainbow as we know it
were named: Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet; and it was from
the first letter of each name, that a word was written there which was
describing their character: Revelation, Opening, Yielding, Growing, Believing,
Inside, Veil. When I looked closer I saw a sentence written in the ribbons in a
strange writing, but it seemed I was immediately able to translate it or
understand. It read: ‘Revelation Opening through Yielding your heart Given you
through Believing Inside the Veil.’ Instantly, I knew. I could only enter into
the full glory of the most holy place within myself, through the veil of my
pride being torn in two.
Suddenly I sat up widely alert remembering
something and I was taken back in memory to an incident which happened years
ago. It was when I was living on an island 54 nautical miles off the east coast
of the North Island. I was with a boy in a bedroom; in a house filled with many
of us young people. In a tangible awareness of overwhelming holiness and purity
I turned my heard towards the window in the room, but the wall and the window
were no longer there, and I saw a hill, and two figures standing upon it, a man
and a woman, and out of the mouth of the woman came a sharp two-edged sword. So
huge it was terrifying and I could not comprehend it. I turned my head away and
looked towards the wall at the foot of the bed upon which we lay, and before me
there was the appearing of the writing of light, and I saw truth written in the
air in large capital letters of light pulsating with life. In the light was the
answer. And now I had seen written again, the second time, the truth in the
faint ribbons of light flowing from the garden, and the garden inside: light
being divided, and made so plain, no longer invisible or to be told in
mysteries; even as was promised long ago.
But nearly every one of us we were running
from it, fleeing the light going in the opposite direction; the wrong one
because it led only to darkness! Oh, for how much longer would we not hear, I
wondered? But there will always be those of us who do not wish to hear; those
of us who prefer to shut our ears to the new song, and our eyes to the writing
hid in the seven colours of light.
I lifted my head. In the red light of day I
heard a sound. It was very late, and all the visitors were gone now, but before
any custodian could chase me away I opened the sketchbook on my lap and quickly
drew the things that I had seen, and wrote down the words of it. But what was
the point, I sighed, as I got up to leave the garden, who would believe me? Who
would ever read these story-letters which I wrote so endlessly? Was there only,
my Fynn?
Was there no one else who was, same? ….Oh,
not same in any outward way! Not by beautiful words, or even by lovely actions,
but only by the spirit in us did we know and recognize one another. We cannot
hide the spirit that is in us: there is no creature which is not manifest to
the light. All things are naked and opened unto the life that is the light of
men; which life is in us only by love; the love which seeks not its own profit.
As I was leaving, walking through the garden
towards the gate, my sad thoughts as to who would ever believe me seemed to be
leaving, too. I was looking at my shadow on the white shell path in front of
me. Although with the dying light of day the shadows were lengthening, my
inside shadow seemed to be doing the opposite! Barriers to the light: my solid
pride, and my thick self pity was evaporating; the blinding covering veil of my
unbelief being taken away! The more I knew I knew nothing, and had nothing, and
was nothing, the more the flying ribbons were becoming clear and the writing in
the light explained. And I knew that life-giving revelation could be as near as
my next breath; opening to me wherever I was, by my yielding up my heart. Its
continually being given me through my believing I was so utterly forgiven all
and everything that I could face the bright light inside with joy and not fear.
The only barrier was my pride! For just a moment I thought what it would be
like if it wasn’t there; why, I would be so clear of clouding clutter the light
would shine right through me!
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