Lesson 15 & 16.

[Guest guest]

Contemplation's on the workbook lessons of A Course In Miracles.

 

 

 

Lesson 15.

 

Love opens up.

Love opens,

and appears as its image

every instant,

moment by moment,

pure lightening.

Be sure your image making

is not idolatry.

or the lightening will not strike.

Image making becomes an idolatry

when draped with fear.

Let love crack you like a lightning seed

in the mouth of God.

 

A tiger becomes dangerous,

when it smells the fright of its prey.

What you make,

turns to you for its reality.

Be sure your creations love you.

 

Dance in the prism of creation.

Surrender your vision

to that One who knows how to see,

and you will be the Light of the world.

Fluid and electric

fire and water.

The disclosure of lightening.

 

By these signs let your Self be known -

A flame in the wind

that will not perish in doubt.

A red poppy in a field of ice.

A heart too soft to break anywhere but open,

A love that is its own reflection,

its own image with nothing between.

 

 

________________

 

 

Lesson 16.

 

Experience is a one off impression.

No one can share your reality,

without the transmission of love,

but you can share a belief in a reality

and that is what dreams are made of.

 

I have no neutral thoughts of you,

but this acceptance of what is.

All other thoughts of you

are a double edged sword

of attack or defense.

Both indefensible.

 

When thinking is our profession,

We stand before our alter of vision

and profess ourselves visible.

This thinking the world into being

is a black magic we all practice

with secret incantations.

Invoking an image into appearance,

but it has nothing to do with truth.

 

Such idle thoughts create a matrix of meaning

where none exists, and yet they become real to us.

Such image making makes a plurality of everything,

and each fragment a threat to the whole.

A hastiness of cooks to spoil the broth.

A charm of finches to bewitch,

A bevy of beauties to ensnare and allure.

A pity of prisoners, and a parliament of crows.

 

Let the heart be

an exhalation of doves for this moment,

not a murder of misperceived crows.

 

Imagine if we could meet.

You and I,

on the shore of Self again.

My adoring bow

would bring the stars

beneath your feet.

Like glittering sand

between your toes.

 

Such golden moments,

are only for queer fish,

that care not to breathe anything

but this love.

 

The cattle come home in the sunset,

the meadow is laid out for my blanket.

Soon the owl will glide like a white ghost

into the fiction of lovers dreams.

 

I am stretched out across the sky

in the silence of this moment, this love.

Gods unbelievers cry out,

and turn in the heart once more.

 

love

 

eric

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2002. Eric Ashford.