My first teachers

[Guest guest]

She knocked on the door; one of those heavy metal security doors common

in apartments in Manhattan. She was a little nervous standing there in

the hallway. She was surprised that a holy man would live in such a

run-down building.

 

Suddenly her mind took her back to the hotel lobby in Chicago, waiting

to meet His Eminence for the first time. "How will I know who he is?

she asked Father Andrew. "Don't worry, you'll know." Not very

reassuring. "Maybe you have more confidence in my spiritual/psychic

abilities than I have." Enigmatic smile. Have you ever seen a 6

ft.4" football player type, Irish no less, with an enigmatic smile?

Quite impressive.

 

Anyway, there I was. Yes, I might as well admit it, she is me. There

I was sitting on an extremely uncomfortable horsehair settee staring

(unobtrusively, I hoped) at everyone who got off the elevator from the

upper floors where the hotel guest rooms were located. I wished I had

worn more comfortable clothes, but it was the fifties and a young lady

was not supposed to be comfortably dressed. She was supposed to wear

high heels, nylons attached to a torturous girdle or garter belt, and a

dress which was not supposed to get wrinkled. Add the Chicago 90

degree heat, 90% humidity weather in a time prior to air conditioning

and you get the picture. Just the thing to prepare one to meet your

first holy man.

 

Then I saw this small silver-haired man walking across the lobby. He

just happened to be surrounded by "white" light radiating about a foot

in all directions from his body. It was an unusual white. I had

never seen the "white which includes all colors" before. The next time

I saw this subtle luminescence I was watching the total eclipse of the

sun in Mexico and the corona of the sun had that same subtle radiance

of color/no color.

 

So why should I worry that the hallway of the apartment building had

piles of garbage and smelled of wine. Although, being eighteen, I was

at the age when men made noises at me when I walked down the street and

even chased me down alleyways.

 

Then the door opened showing the tentative, then welcoming smile of

Brother Basil. When I entered the apartment I realized that there was

an entirely different "atmosphere" than I had ever experienced. I felt

like I was floating down the hallway surrounded by friendly faces. I

heard distant voices saying "welcome home". Despite the fact that I

had never been there before it seemed completely natural. I felt more

at home than I had ever felt before. I completely relaxed. All my

worries (yes, even eighteen year olds have worries) left. All I wanted

to do was to soak up the healing rays from the all the surrounding

smiles.

 

Maryangela looked me squarely in the face and said "so, this is Ardis.

No wonder everyone is in love with you." Brother Basil, being

celibate, blushed. Suddenly I realized that there were only four of us

in the apartment. Who were all those smiling faces?

 

Maryangela took me on a tour of the apartment. She showed me the

archbishop's chapel. She showed me the model of the Egg, a vision of

the church they hoped the Church would someday build. Then she led me

to the kitchen table where we prepared tea and rye toast; the beginning

of my spiritual training.

 

I thought I was there to be in the presence of a holy man. In fact,

one of my happiest memories is of being in the chapel for liturgy with

Archbishop James; just the two of us. He was a dear, brilliant and

holy man. I didn't know what a treat was in store for me in the person

of Maryangela.

 

She was magic. She was my path to the Divine Mother. She was humble,

down to earth, filled with compassion. She had the gift of teaching

deep spiritual matters on a practical level. She used every skill God

had given her, no matter how simple, to pass on her spiritual knowledge

to others. She wrote lessons, she sang, she made models. She taught

me by taking my body and showing me how to stand and how to locate the

Secret Place of the Most High over my head. In the same way she showed

me how to do the Cross of Light. She made wonderful, colorful collages

(the charts) filled with mystical truth from the Kaballah and other

esoteric sources.

Whenever I asked her about herself or attempted to thank her or to

compliment her about the Work that she had devoted her life to she

would say “I am nothing. I am the lowest servant. It is all God.”

The lessons I learned in Maryangela’s kitchen have lasted me a lifetime.

 

After many years of visiting and communicating by phone and letter with

Maryangela, I finally asked her about the atmosphere in the apartment.

"Why do I feel so warm and relaxed and happy there? Why do I float

down the hall? Why do I feel more whole and peaceful there than I do

anywhere else in my life?"

 

"You are resting in the arms of the Mother."

 

Maryangela's greatest gift to me was to help me to experience first

hand the powerful presence of the Mother. Once I felt Her Presence and

knew the Grace of resting in her Arms, I knew I was home.

Attachment: (text/enriched) [not stored]