Stefan’s
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(group member since Feb 26, 2017)
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Done, Stevie. Please check.
Thank you Rahima for posting in this group. :-) I hope readers will like it.
Welcome! :-)
It is fantasy and magic (like on Amazon)
These are the steps:1. Click on 'new topic'
2. Add the title of the chapter, poem, etc. in the Topic Field
3. Add author or book in "This topic is about"
4. Folder: select genre from the drop-down
5. Comment: Add something like - a chapter of the book Nobody by Name Name - in the first line and then the body text.
A picture how to fill in the fields: https://www.dropbox.com/s/4eh94e5kpox...
A picture of the drop down with genres: https://www.dropbox.com/s/oas0cno0dbf...
Hello M.A., paranormal is in the drop down menue.
Looks like a little crisis ;-). Choose the prominent genre. Sometimes SciFi is more like a setting. For example, Alien is a thriller with a SciFi setting. Please only post excerpts of the book.
- A chapter from The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe -Must it ever be thus,—that the source of our happiness must also be the fountain of our misery? The full and ardent sentiment which animated my heart with the love of nature, overwhelming me with a torrent of delight, and which brought all paradise before me, has now become an insupportable torment, a demon which perpetually pursues and harasses me. When in bygone days I gazed from these rocks upon yonder mountains across the river, and upon the green, flowery valley before me, and saw all nature budding and bursting around; the hills clothed from foot to peak with tall, thick forest trees; the valleys in all their varied windings, shaded with the loveliest woods; and the soft river gliding along amongst the lisping reeds, mirroring the beautiful clouds which the soft evening breeze wafted across the sky,—when I heard the groves about me melodious with the music of birds, and saw the million swarms of insects dancing in the last golden beams of the sun, whose setting rays awoke the humming beetles from their grassy beds, whilst the subdued tumult around directed my attention to the ground, and I there observed the arid rock compelled to yield nutriment to the dry moss, whilst the heath flourished upon the barren sands below me, all this displayed to me the inner warmth which animates all nature, and filled and glowed within my heart. I felt myself exalted by this overflowing fulness to the perception of the Godhead, and the glorious forms of an infinite universe became visible to my soul! Stupendous mountains encompassed me, abysses yawned at my feet, and cataracts fell headlong down before me; impetuous rivers rolled through the plain, and rocks and mountains resounded from afar. In the depths of the earth I saw innumerable powers in motion, and multiplying to infinity; whilst upon its surface, and beneath the heavens, there teemed ten thousand varieties of living creatures. Everything around is alive with an infinite number of forms; while mankind fly for security to their petty houses, from the shelter of which they rule in their imaginations over the wide-extended universe. Poor fool! in whose petty estimation all things are little. From the inaccessible mountains, across the desert which no mortal foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean, breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator; and every atom to which he has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, how often at that time has the flight of a bird, soaring above my head, inspired me with the desire of being transported to the shores of the immeasurable waters, there to quaff the pleasures of life from the foaming goblet of the Infinite, and to partake, if but for a moment even, with the confined powers of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator who accomplishes all things in himself, and through himself!
My dear friend, the bare recollection of those hours still consoles me. Even this effort to recall those ineffable sensations, and give them utterance, exalts my soul above itself, and makes me doubly feel the intensity of my present anguish.
It is as if a curtain had been drawn from before my eyes, and, instead of prospects of eternal life, the abyss of an ever open grave yawned before me. Can we say of anything that it exists when all passes away, when time, with the speed of a storm, carries all things onward,—and our transitory existence, hurried along by the torrent, is either swallowed up by the waves or dashed against the rocks? There is not a moment but preys upon you,—and upon all around you, not a moment in which you do not yourself become a destroyer. The most innocent walk deprives of life thousands of poor insects: one step destroys the fabric of the industrious ant, and converts a little world into chaos. No: it is not the great and rare calamities of the world, the floods which sweep away whole villages, the earthquakes which swallow up our towns, that affect me. My heart is wasted by the thought of that destructive power which lies concealed in every part of universal nature. Nature has formed nothing that does not consume itself, and every object near it: so that, surrounded by earth and air, and all the active powers, I wander on my way with aching heart; and the universe is to me a fearful monster, for ever devouring its own offspring.
- A poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -It was fifty years ago
In the pleasant month of May,
In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,
A child in its cradle lay.
And Nature, the old nurse, took
The child upon her knee,
Saying: "Here is a story-book
Thy Father has written for thee."
"Come, wander with me," she said,
"Into regions yet untrod;
And read what is still unread
In the manuscripts of God."
And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear old nurse,
Who sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe.
And whenever the way seemed long,
Or his heart began to fail,
She would sing a more wonderful song,
Or tell a more marvellous tale.
So she keeps him still a child,
And will not let him go,
Though at times his heart beats wild
For the beautiful Pays de Vaud;
Though at times he hears in his dreams
The Ranz des Vaches of old,
And the rush of mountain streams
From glaciers clear and cold;
And the mother at home says, "Hark!
For his voice I listen and yearn;
It is growing late and dark,
And my boy does not return!"
- A Flash Fiction piece based on a real event by Stefan Emunds - – Based on a true story –
Once upon a time, Saline was born in the small kingdom of Sobra. She was beautiful, kind, and capable of thought.
Too much kindness can be a burden and so it was for Saline. Her kindness prevented her from competing for fame, fortune, and power. When a sister requested coins from her piggy bank she would give. When a friend wanted her toy, she would let him have it, and when her mother asked her to do an unnecessary chore, she would do so without complaining.
Saline’s wishes remained unfulfilled since she did not want to fight for them. By the time she turned into a young woman, she surrendered to melancholy, but she didn’t want to bear her troubled heart. She visited Sobra’s archmage and asked him for the magical spade. First, the old wizard refused, but when she threatened to take her life on his doorstep he gave in. He was a wise man and knew when to respect a person’s path, even if it lead to darkness. He worked all night. At dawn, he handed Saline the magical shade that glowed with a somber promise. She thanked the old wizard and went home where everybody was still asleep. With the magical spade, she dug a deep hole in the garden. In that hole, she laid her heart, covered it with earth, and crowned it with a large pebble. She mourned her heart for an hour and then left Sobra to never return.
Saline traveled from kingdom to kingdom to find life to be the same everywhere. Struggle for survival and success was the order of every single day. Though heartless, she was still kind, and when she passed by a beggar she would give in to his pleading. She even lent her body if someone so desired. When she missed her heart, she sought oblivion potions that witches sold in the dark alleys. And so she turned into a living ghost, a soul lost in daydreams, while her body was tossed back and forth between men.
One day, Saline ended up in the arms of a rich man named Rasmus. He noticed her brightness and kindness and fell in love with her. He took her to a tower and made a residence for her in the top chamber. “You deserve a safe haven,” Romulus told her. In that chamber they became lovers.
He did not allow Saline to drink the oblivion potions she grew accustomed to. So, she dulled her mind with sleep and dreams. She resented dawn which called her to life. She covered the windows with thick curtains and slept through the day to wake up at dusk. That’s how she got her nickname ‘sleeping mistress’.
Saline grew lonely in the chamber at the top of the tower. Rasmus was a man of life and fulfilled his duties. He could visit her only a few hours at night. She asked her lover to buy beautiful and rare things. But since she was heartless, Rasmus’ presents could make her happy only for a short while and she would soon toss them into the corner.
As time passed, Rasmus couldn’t find new things for Saline anymore. She demanded a pet that should keep her company. Pets are happy, maybe it can make me happy too, she thought. Pets are creatures of life and like to roam, but Saline didn’t allow her pet to leave the chamber. Much too soon, the pet’s heart gave in and it turned into a sleeping pet. And so it happened with all other creatures Rasmus brought to keep Saline company. This is how the first year passed.
It so happened that at the summer solstice of the second year, the sun was exceptionally strong and Saline woke up in the middle of the day. She tried to go back to sleep, but this time she couldn’t escape. She sat up in her bed and looked around her chamber to find something to distract her mind. She rummaged through the pile of luxuries in the corners but found nothing that spurred her interest. She tried to wake up her sleeping pets, but they just glared at her and went back to sleep. The entire afternoon, she sat at the window and stared down at the busy kingdom, waiting for Rasmus, but that day he didn’t come.
“Life or no life, that is the question,” she mumbled. “Heart or no heart, that is the question.”
After the sunset, she took her cape and left the tower. She went to see the archmage of the kingdom to request a magical potion. First, the old wizard refused, but when she threatened to kill herself at his doorstep he gave in. He worked all night. At dawn, he handed her the potion that glowed with the sweetest promise. Saline held the potion tight and rushed home. In her chamber she sat on the bed, surrounded by her sleeping pets. She winked at the dawn who called her to life and drank the potion. She laid down and closed her eyes to slumber evermore.
- A poem by Stefan Emunds - we pact with the devil
but who really knows?
we feel like saints
but whom do we serve?
we’re bound to an ancient
oblivious pact
I notice a child
it misbehaves
I call it bad
instead of immature
Oh – my pact with the devil!
I watch a man
steal bread
call him thief
instead of hungry
Oh – my pact with the devil!
I mind a woman
who sells herself
regard her fallen
not option-less
Oh – my pact with the devil!
I witness a fight
ignorant of cause
I favor a side
not resolution
Oh – my pact with the devil!
we all pact with the devil
but who really knows?
we judge
no empathy
what binds us
to this ancient pact
but ignorance?
- From the Memoirs of a Geisha, a less gloomy adaption by Stefan Emunds - a broken heart
wilts slowly
as a tree prepares
for winter
one by one
it surrenders
its dreams and hopes
like a tree sheds its leaves
now it stands bare but tall
against the cold
waiting for the sun’s return.
- The beginning of the nonfiction book Feng Shui 101 by Stefan Emunds -Think Energy!
"'You have found the spot,' he said. I did not understand him at first, but he assured me again that the place where I had fallen asleep was the spot in question. He again asked me how I felt lying there. …I asked him if each of the two spots had a special name. He said that the good one was called the sito and the bad one the enemy; he said these two places were the key to a man’s well-being, especially for a man, who was pursuing knowledge. The sheer act of sitting on one’s spot created superior strength; on the other hand, the enemy weakened a man and could even cause his death. He said I had replenished my energy, which I had spent lavishly the night before, by taking a nap on my spot. He also said that the colors I had seen in association with each specific spot had the same overall effect of giving strength or of curtailing it."
- The Teaching of Don Juan, A Yaqui Way of Knowledge, page 3.
How To Live In Harmony With Nature’s Finer Forces?
According to the string theory, the state of the art concept of physics, atoms are made of tiny, fast-moving, vibrating strings with vast spaces between them. Things are tangible energy matrices. We are bouquets of vibes.
We live in a grand illusion, a cosmic play of energy.
Have you embraced the concept of Gaia, that nature is a living matrix? Energies and forces have (subconscious) intelligence and resonate with human mentality.
Energies are amenable to suggestion.
The subconscious interaction between physical and mental energies is the essence of Feng Shui. Feng Shui shows how energies behave, how your mentality impacts them, how energies impact your state of mind, and how you can align your mind with the cosmic energy flows.
Don’t swim against cosmic currents!
Luckily, nature’s finer forces are just twenty-two (twelve zodiacs and ten planets). They are cataloged and you can calculate their rhythmic progression.
While Feng Shui has been part of the Chinese culture for thousands of years, Christian cultures lost this art a long time ago. In the Middle Ages the clergy associated geomancy with witchcraft and prosecuted those who practiced it.
Feng Shui is an ageless art and stands the test of modernity. Companies like Intel, Dreamworks, Citibank, and the hotel chain Hilton use Feng Shui to design their buildings and offices. Feng Shui agrees beautifully with modern designs as the illustrations in this book will demonstrate.
How Can We Harness Energies?
Feng Shui shows us how to live in harmony with the energies flowing through our home.
Feng Shui is not a problem solver. All it does is boosting mental and physical energies. It neutralizes weaknesses caused by either a lack or excess of energy. Balance is the key.
You need to use your mind to solve problems. However, problem solving is easier if your mind is strong. And a mind is strongest when it exists in harmony with its environment.
A sailor maneuvers with the winds, not against them. After all, the strongest factor of your Feng Shui is you!
Yin and Yang
Yin and Yang symbolize the harmonious interaction of the cosmic male and cosmic female. Don’t think of gender, think of Yin as an active and driving force and of Yang as a restricting and forming force.
This concept is part of all religions, even Christianity. Check out the first verses of the Genesis: "At the beginning of time, spirit [Yin] was hovering over an abyss of waters [Yang] and there was light [Chi]."
When Yin and Yang embrace each other in a harmonious, rhythmic flow - dancing that is, they produce vitality - Chi that is.
You want Chi in your home, a lot of Chi. And you want it to flow freely through your living space.
Feng Shui means wind-water. Feng, wind, is a manifestation of the cosmic Yin. It is a fast, free-flowing energy that moves above ground like wind. Psychic people can see it and how it carries electromagnetic-charged particles. Shui, water, is a manifestation of the cosmic Yang. It moves inside the earth and in a building’s structure. It is slow, gravitates, and psychic people can see it as a cool, blue energy.
How to Avoid Superstition?
The bad news: Feng Shui has mingled with superstition. The good news: It is easy to expose that.
Objects have no power on their own. If someone suggests buying this or that figure or picture, don’t bother. Exception: things that can channel, focus, or dissipate energy, like gems or crystals. For example, a crystal chandelier in the health section of your house is auspicious, because the crystals fan out energy.
Another exception: Some objects can exert a positive influence on your mind - a positive suggestion that is. Like a Buddha figure or an inspiring picture. Such figures or pictures have no power on their own either, but they can kindle dormant energies inside you.
By all means, avoid the crude separation between good luck and bad luck. Feng Shui has nothing to do with gambling. It is the art of boosting or diminishing energies.
Luck is a blur anyway. Bad luck takes us to the next level since we only learn from failures. And good luck can lead to disasters, for example, when it makes us cocky - you get the picture.
- The first chapter of The Priest Whisperer, a novelette by Stefan Emunds - My name is George Mykal Ferluci and I’m forty-five years old. Grown up as an orphan, I never knew where I was from or who my parents were. At the tender age of six months, I was discovered one rainy night on the doorstep of an orphanage in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. All I had was a brass necklace that hung from my neck. Fixed to it was a white pebble with my name carved into it. I think Ferluci is Italian - at least it sounds like it. I have found other people with that name, but theirs are usually spelled Ferlucci - double c. My middle name, Mykal, is definitely not Italian. Somebody once remarked that it sounds Eastern European, but I couldn’t find out more. I started this diary because something strange happened to me yesterday. I saw something alien and scary, something that forced me to re-evaluate my life … and my calling as pastor. It happened yesterday afternoon as I was sitting on my porch facing the front lawn. My porch serves as a refuge for my mind, which is sensitive and needs to recover from the noise of the day's activities. After completing my morning duties, I usually have a peaceful moment or two there. I own a beautiful bench - simple, of thick fir wood, smoothened over the years by my holy butt. Somehow, the bench and I have grown together; it reminds me of a loyal pet, welcoming me happily when I sit down. Although the sun was already descending, its glow could still warm my bones and lighten my nerves. The afternoon air was clear, and the colors around me brilliant. From time to time, a breeze delighted me with the scent of a magnolia tree that grew beside the porch. For some reason, the mottled tints of the cars parked along the alley allured to me, contrasted by the street’s smooth grey - an impartial background on which the shadows displayed their rigid shapes. Some elderly were enjoying a stroll; smiles and kind words bounced between neighbors amid the laughter of happy children. It was a beautiful day. I felt on top of the world, on my little porch there, content with my life, somewhat curious what was still to come. In fact, I adored my life, because it had been simple, safe, and orderly. Exactly as I like it. But my calling satisfied me the most. My profession has been meaningful and every extra effort I have made was visible and appreciated.
My future seemed equally promising - like a smooth path winding gently into a green valley. I didn't worry about what was to come. Maybe I'd have to jump a few more hurdles or dodge an attack or two, but that would be it. Life begins at forty - so the saying goes - and I was right in the middle of it. At least, that's what I believed. God, how wrong I was! I almost felt happy that afternoon, which is difficult for a man like me. My basic temperament is melancholic, and I tend to take things too seriously. On top of that, I have to deal with human issues on a daily basis – the dark side of mankind, as I like to call it, compulsions, paranoia, addictions, psychoses, abuses, and even crimes. You cannot imagine what people have confessed to me over the years. In the early days, my work used to keep me up at night. Since then, I've learned to keep a distance from people, their flaws, and their problems. However, I still struggled to de-stress from my work’s dreary side, and that’s where my porch came in. As relaxing as my porch is, I never manage to unwind completely. My mind is always on the jump. People look at me and say that I think too much, and I have to agree - thinking is my second nature. I contemplate about everything - even about the French fries I eat. If I make an effort I can let go for half an hour or so, but then, my mind inevitably returned to its reminiscences. Sometimes it feels like an addiction. Yesterday, my mind was mulling over a good dozen things at the same time, upsetting my afternoon recreation. At one point it got so bad that - for the first time in my life - I got tired of it. It occurred to me that my mind has never given me a break, as if it has been racing toward an unknown goal. An image grew in my mind and I saw myself sitting on a train that was speeding through my life's rapidly changing landscapes. So far, the train hasn't stopped anywhere, and it seemed like it never would. The lucidity of this image made my porch appear surreal. A strange uncertainty shivered through me: was I daydreaming the train, or was I actually having a nap on the train and dreaming of myself on the porch? As I stumbled into confusion about what was real and what was not, the strangest thing happened. The world disintegrated. Reality collapsed, or my perception of it. It ripped apart like dry skin under pressure, giving way to something I can only describe as ineffable dimensions, depths upon depths. From within this fathomless vastness, I felt something reaching out to me, calling me. As I heeded its invitation, a wave of brilliant light hit me, flooding and charging me with an incredible livingness. My eyes and ears flung open, and I became aware of a thousand things at the same time. I have never felt as alive as in this moment. I was brimming with livingness. And there I hovered, alone, utterly lucid, paralyzed in awe, staring at the splendor of interweaving worlds that circled around me. Although I could see countless things at the same time, I couldn’t make out anything concrete or objects as I was used to. Everywhere I looked I saw rapidly moving energies of various shapes, colors, and velocities - whirling, mingling, and interlacing - spirals within spirals.
A painful trembling shivered through my lips and chin and spread to all my body parts. Or was I vibrating? A particular complex of whirling forces caught my attention: within an invisible boundary, various shades of light moved in a slow, beautiful rhythm. As I focused on it, the energy system took on a form, solidified, and I recognized it as one of the trees in my garden. The tree remained visible for a second and disappeared to give way to these rhythmic shades of color that seemed to produce the tree. My vision flipped back and forth a few times between the tree and its energies until I dropped out of this strange experience. Although all this had happened within the blink of an eye, my body reacted vehemently to this glimpse into the unfathomable. I jumped to my feet and stooped over, panting heavily. I had to keep my balance by grabbing onto my thighs as heat waved up my spine and shot out through my eyes. For a moment, I was sure that I would go blind. I must have been standing there for ten minutes or so, gasping for air, until a long, merciful breeze brought me back to my senses. What on earth was that? And what a reaction! As I sat down to recapitulate and understand what had just taken place, my mind intervened, reasoning fervently that nothing had occurred at all. It pulled out all the stops of common sense, trying to persuade me that the afternoon light had played tricks on me. But another, deeper part of me knew better, what I witnessed was real - more real than the everyday world. After my mind had exhausted its denial, it went blank, and I was left with the feeling that life was artificial, constructed - as if someone had made it up. And I don’t mean civilization, I mean the whole thing, nature, and everything visible. The world as I knew it turned out to be an illusion produced by invisible, energetic processes that were endlessly adapting and improvising … offering nothing to hold on to. Yes, there’s no doubt that my common perception of the world is man-made, although I have no idea who set it up. It could have been civilization, education, media, or myself - knowingly or unknowingly. I accepted this perception when I was a child and, while growing up, have been busy learning how to maintain and improve it. It never occurred to me to question it. I think most people are like me, stuck on that fiercely racing train I envisioned, rich and poor, literate and uneducated, strong and weak, famous and unrecognized. All of us are caught in natural and social frameworks, subject to an overwhelming abundance of challenges and enticements that prevent us from questioning reality. My God, what am I saying - questioning reality? Can reality be unreal? What is the meaning of life, then? As these questions flickered through my mind, I suddenly felt fatigued, almost exhausted. I dragged my body into my bedroom and dropped it onto the bed. Instantly, darkness embraced my frenzied mind and I passed out. I slept through the remaining afternoon and night and woke up six a.m. The long sleep somewhat relaxed my mind, but the feeling that something was terribly wrong persists. What to do? How do I get to the bottom of this? I couldn’t think of anyone I could ask for help. I’m worried people call me crazy. I am on my own. And that’s the reason why I started this diary, to record what else will happen to me and my thoughts of it, and write down anything else that will come to mind. I have a hunch that this incident was just a prelude to a far-reaching and sweeping turn of events.
- The foreword of the short essay The Second Coming of Jesus Christ by Stefan Emunds - Many people have tried timing Christ’s return. Some early Christian scholars predicted 500 A.D. Pope Sylvester foretold 1,000 A.D. - maybe because it is such a nice, round number. Disappointed by an eventless millennia change, Sylvester adjusted the date to 1,033 A.D. - one thousand years counting from Jesus’ death. Again nothing. The list goes on: Sandro Botticelli, an Italian painter of the early Renaissance, was wrong to place it three and a half years after 1500. And so was the Astrologer Johannes Stöffler, a German mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, priest, astronomical technician, and professor at the University of Tübingen. He assumed that a planetary alignment in Pisces in 1524 would do the job. Emanuel Swedenborg, a Swedish scientist, philosopher, theologian, and mystic, claimed that he had visions of Christ almost on a daily basis. He couldn’t resist either and singled out 1757. Noteworthy, Emanuel postulated that Christ's comeback wouldn’t repeat history, that he wouldn’t return as Jesus, but instead clothed in the Holy Spirit. John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist Church, anticipated 1836. Joseph Smith, the founder of Mormonism and the Latter Day Saint movement, advocated 1891. The Catholic Apostolic Church picked 1901, Jehovah’s Witnesses 1914.
Rudolf Steiner, an Austrian philosopher, social reformer, architect, and esotericist, assumed that Hitler was the Anti-Christ and estimated that the end of days would occur sometime between 1930 and 1939.
In his essay The True Nature of the Second Coming, Rudolf argued against another incarnation of Jesus. His reasoning: He came before in a physical body of flesh because human faculties were dependent upon His presence in such a body only at that point in time. But now, with higher faculties, people will be able to perceive Christ’s etheric body as an even greater reality.
Hence, the Second Coming of Christ would take place in the etheric world (astral universe), or rather people will become aware of Christ’s eternal presence in the etheric world.
Kinda disappointing, isn’t it? Since Christ hasn't returned for such a long time despite great anticipation, there is either something wrong with him or with the prediction. Is he too busy somewhere else, was it a vain promise, or did it promise something different than wise churchmen thought? What other interpretations are possible? Well, Jesus could show up as a different person under a different name. He could return in secret*, but that would kinda defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? He could also visit each one of us in private.
What do you think?
* Dostoyevsky played with this thought in The Grand Inquisitor, an inspiring poem in his novel The Brothers Karamazov.
- The first chapter of the short story The Second Coming of Jesus Christ by Stefan Emunds -It’s mass time on Sunday morning and the church is packed. A hush of peace and the scent of frankincense is in the air. My eyes tiptoe from person to person. I hope to chance on a fresh face, but I’m disappointed once again.
Mayor Mills is caressing his costly belly that is beaming from a heavy breakfast, while he rubs his equally luxurious behind on the bench, hoping to carve a comfortable dent into the harsh wood.
The women are flashing smiles at each other and restrict themselves to a quick hello-what’s-up-long-time-no-see to keep chat hushed in anticipation of Father George’s entrance.
Their teenage kids compete in who can display the most credible I’m-so-cool-I-know-it-all-the-world-sucks face. The younger ones have a hard time sitting still. They babble, hum, and gesticulate their unbroken strings of fantasies in the pious ambience of the church.
Ol’Eduard takes a seat on his habitual spot on the front bench, stiff like a mummified soldier. His rigid, wrinkled face stoically ignores the others as if he wishes to be all by himself in the church.
I wink a hello at dear uncle Tom. He works at the kolache factory down the road. He’s a jolly, chubby man, but a little sissy, wrapped in a pale, soft skin. He’s a loyal churchgoer, looking forward to the weekly confirmation that he will get his place in the sun eventually. If not in this life, at least thereafter.
No newcomer! I puff out my disappointment like exhausted cigarette smoke. There is nothing in our tiny Nazareth in Castro County that tempts stray strangers to linger.
A new girl would be great. One of those sensitive, melancholic city girls. Who could bring some clouds to Nazareth so rigidly tempered by the inconsiderate Texan sun.
It is time and I, the altar boy, ring the bell to call Father George to the stage. He floats across the marble floor to the pulpit. When he opens his mouth, the main door bangs open and a stranger steps in, introduced by the midsummer heat and the fine dust of harvested fields.
The man’s clothing is unusual: a long white sackcloth and sandals as if he arrived from a time long gone. This is no ordinary man, he looks youthful, but up in years, masculine and feminine at the same time. He waits at the door for everybody to turn their heads. It feels like in one of those Westerns. It is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop. I wipe my sweaty hands over my vestment hoping to turn it into body armor. As the man walks through the nave, I detect a disarming smile and a bright halo sparkling above his head with rainbow colors. My hands drop, disarmed by the imminent fulfillment of a daring dream I have secretly cherished since I first heard of Jesus Christ.
Could it be? No, this must be a prank! But the halo looks so real!
The man who looks like Jesus arrives at the altar, where Father George is glued to the spot. He broadens his smile and opens his arms with a tender motion that reminds me of my mom welcoming me when I return from summer camp. Father George jerks his body into a hostile posture and addresses the man in sackcloth: “Excuse me, but we’re having a mass here.”
“I know. Am I disturbing you?” The man has the gentlest voice of all.
“Uh … of course not, but why don’t ya take a seat?” Father George points at an empty spot next to Ol’Eduard. The man ignores him. Instead, he turns around and examines the church.
“Your church looks expensive. Don’t you know that the temple I talked about is our body, the living temple?” He notices the crucifix and his eyes widen. ”Oh my … why do I look so miserable?”
“Sir, please, take a seat!” Father George points at the front bench.
“Why are you so serious? This is a celebration, isn’t it? Why don’t we all get up and dance? I love to boogie.” He indicates a dance step.
“Take a seat!”
“Excuse me!” The man widens his eyes and shakes his head in a funny way. His curly white hair bounces left and right. “This is a mass in my honor!”
Father George stomps down the pulpit and grabs the man’s arm. “I think ya better leave now, or we’ll throw ya out.” Some men on the front benches, who feel that they have enough muscles, lift their butts, ready to lend our pastor a helping hand. Mayor Mills hisses instructions, coordinating the imminent assault. My chest tightens.
No, please don’t turn my dream into a nightmare!
“You want to put Jesus in jail? I thought you’re my pastor!?”
“Ya ain’t Jesus! How dare ya! Sacrilege! Ya’re just a tramp. Now, get out of my church!” Our pastor points at the door that Jesus left open.
“They all say that when they see me for the first time,” Jesus grins. “Do you want me to prove that it’s really me?” He rests his hand on Father George’s shoulder. People drop back onto their benches. Thrill wrestles down their doubt and pins it to the church’s marble floor.
“Watch me!” Jesus approaches Matthew Davies on the front bench. “Matt, please tell these people how long you have been blind.”
“Since birth. How d’ya know?”
“Do you want to see?”
“Please don’t make fun of me.” His blind eyes try to bridge the darkness between him and Jesus.
“Open your eyes and see!” Jesus makes a dramatic hand gesture. My heart pounds thrice.
Matt takes off his shades and stares into the space in front of him. “I still can’t see. I knew it!”
“Hmm, wait!” Jesus scratches his head. “Something is missing. Right … no faith! You guys have less faith than the Pharisees. Let’s do it another way.” Jesus kneels in front of Matt and takes hold of his hands. I sense that some kind of exchange takes place - the exchange of energy, or love, or both. By now, my heart pummels like a timpani drumroll. Suddenly, Matt’s eyes widen. ”I can see! I can really see!” He grabs his friend Harry to his right and then hugs his wife Margaret to his left. He withdraws and glares at her. “I imagined ya differently!”
Jesus stands up, straightens his sackcloth, and addresses Father George, “Do you believe me now?”
“Maybe if ya could turn this water into wine.” He points at a basin with a trembling finger. The water turns red in an instant. Father George dips a finger into the red liquid and tastes it.
“Oh my God, it’s wine!”
“Hallelujah!” A woman shouts from the back of the congregation. My heart hammers at my rib cage as if it wants to break out and fly into Jesus’ arms. Jesus smiles like a magician who just presented the highlight of his show. Father George is holding onto the large candelabra besides the pulpit, worried he may disappear with Jesus’ next magic trick.
I cannot believe it! Jesus is back! The YouTube sensation of a century! I fumble for my smartphone. Damn! It’s back in the office.
- The beginning of the nonfiction booklet A Modern Crash Course in Spirituality by Stefan Emunds -Why a crash course in a subject that could fill libraries? It’s true, one could talk about spirituality forever, but one could also sum it up in one word: 'Love'.
We can also describe it by refusing to do so - Lao-tze did that.
These days, many religious minds hear the spiritual call. Maybe it’s our fast-changing society. Maybe it’s the dawn of the Aquarian Age. Maybe because religion is too old school. Hence the need for a crash course. The spiritual landscape is fragmented, obscure, sometimes weird. Modern people need something concise. Hence, the need for a modern course.
Most spiritual scriptures are ancient. At that time, people thought differently, felt differently, and they used language differently. It’s high time for some modernization. Hence, a modern crash course.
So, what is spirituality all about? In one word: Illumination. What is illumination? Access to experiences and knowledge beyond sense impressions and reasoning. For example, there is nothing in the world you see, feel, hear, or touch that indicates the existence of a soul or a creator. And they can’t be reasoned either. The same is true for love, beauty, happiness, and purpose.
There is so much more to our existence than survival, success, and sensual experience. We are so much more. “Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,” said Yoda.
This is spirituality: the realization of the totality of our being. Notice the choice of words: realization, not faith. It means realization in both meanings of the word: knowing and fulfilling. And that makes all the difference. Usually, religion contains itself with faith. Spirituality wants to know and experience higher states of mind and being. It wants to wrestle with angels and look the Creator in the eye.
A crash course needs a simple method. Let’s take the most effective one: reversal. Spiritual truth is usually the opposite of common sense. There’s nothing wrong with common sense, but it takes the world at face value. It holds us back. The method of reversal is simple and effective. Reverse a feeling and idea and see if it can inspire you.
Summary: Illumination is the realization of the totality of your being, in particular, your higher self.
Assignment: Write down a pledge, in your own words, which states that you will dedicate the rest of your life to the realization of your higher self.
- The first chapter of Gawain and the Green Knight by Stefan Emunds -Gawain’s eyelids quiver like butterflies in a thunderstorm.
His brain is on fire.
“Argh!”
He shakes his head but stops at once. It feels as if his brain is loose and banging against the inside of his skull.
“Swyve!”
He pushes his forehead against a cold rock.
“What’s that noise?”
Fifty yards away, a river whirls fire, water, and stones into the air. It’s a ferocious, elemental wall, ready to obliterate anything that gets too close. The deafening clamor pumps up the pain in his head.
“Where am I, by God’s bones?”
His tongue is a lump of hot sand, his body limp as if bled out, prostrated on a rock. He summons a prayer and rolls over. A vast, flat stone desert boasts there. On the horizon soars a violet, oval mountain of perfect proportions. Raindrops are floating in the air.
Awe adulterates his agony.
“This is no common land. How did I end up here?”
A few meters away, a horse snorts, weary, feeble, and twisted like him. From its mouth leaks thick, green saliva.
“Were we poisoned?”
He worms his way to the horse and leans against it. The horse’s skin shivers and it moans with appreciation. The horse's sweat smells like urine. He pats the horse, swipes through the air and wets his hand, then his forehead.
“That’s better!”
He does the same for the horse.
“What happened to us?” An inky fog clouds his mind. He fumbles for his memories like a blind man who lost his stick and dog. Nothing. His spirit implodes into the void of his mind.
“My God, who am I?” He shakes his head again, this time he ignores the painful throbbing.
“Did the poison take my memory?”
He looks down at his body. It is glowing with a mysterious, amber light. “Am I a ghost? Did I die?”
He pinches himself and welcomes the pain.
“I think I’m alive!”
He bangs his fist against his chest armor and welcomes the sound. “I’m a knight!”
He trembles his lean but muscular body into an upright position. He unsheathes his sword and tries it. He appreciates his body’s gracious movements.
“I’m a skilled knight!”
“On what errand am I?”
“Who’s my king?”
“Where are the other knights?”
He bangs his sword against his chest armor thrice and exclaims, “I shall not lose heart!” His will is strong, but his energies dwindle. His body trembles like a bony marionette in the wind. He drops to the ground and lets go of the sword that takes a dive into the dust.
He searches through the saddle pockets. Just food and water. Nothing that could indicate his identity. A huge ax is fastened to the saddle, sharp like a razor.
“The ax of a giant!” He scratches the blond stubble on his head.
“What now, horse? There’s no way we get through that mad river. Let’s head for the mountain.”
He rallies himself and the horse to their feet.
The stone plain is flat, vast, and denies calculation. “It may take weeks to get there. Food and water are good only for a day.” The horse snorts a sigh.
The night sets in, and a brisk wind puts up a fight against the two. They bow down to the breeze and tremble towards the violet mountain, gathering a thin layer of ice. The hanging rain turns into hail that clangs against Gawain’s armor.
He crosses himself. “God, no doubt my life is in your hands now!”
- A chapter from the book 'Genesis' by Stefan Emunds -Genesis 1.1 "In the beginnings, God Mother separates the earth from the heavens."
LOST IN TRANSLATION
Words carry various meanings and translators need to face the agony of choice on a daily basis. Or the fun of choice. Every translation is an interpretation, especially in the case of ancient Hebrew, since it is such a fuzzy, mystical language.
It is possible to translate the Genesis’ first verse in numerous ways, for example:
To begin with, Elohim cut the earth off the heavens.
At the summit, Elohim fattened heaven and earth.
In the head, God shaped heaven and earth.
At the source, Powers chose sky and land.
In the first place, Creative Powers formed heaven and earth.
Professor Joe Levinson offers the following translation: "In the beginning of thought is its creating of heaven and earth."
Considering the use of vowels introduced in the Middle Ages, the first verse reads "When in the beginning God created heaven and the earth." This is the common Jewish rendering, also known as the dependent-clause translation.
Ferrar Fenton (1832–1920) came up with this rendering: "By Periods God created that which produced the Solar Systems; then that which produced the Earth."
Which translation is correct? All. How so? Ancient Hebrew is fuzzy on purpose. The purpose: the entertainment of various layers of meanings - social, psychological, mystical, and divine. Truth is relative because what is valid on one level may not be so on another. Hence, religious-spiritual scriptures aren’t concerned with truth, but rather with illumination, meaning access to other realities or states of mind.
B’RESHIT - IN THE BEGINNINGS
Jeff Benner’s mechanical translation offers the phrase 'in the summit'. The root of bereshit is rosh, which means head. In that perspective, summit appears to be closer to the original meaning than beginning. However, the head is the place where all activities begin. Jeff Benner defines rosh as follows: 'The head, top, or beginning of a place, such as a river, or a mountain, or a time such as an event. The point at which something starts; origin, principal, foremost, source.'
Last but not least, rosh hashanah means 'first of the year'.
Why the plural? Jewish mystics believe that the Godness has been engaging in trial and error. The world we live in is not the first and some of the previous worlds didn’t work out that well. Having said that, the Hebrew plural is a fuzzy affair. More about this in a moment.
On a side note, bereshit, beginnings, is the Hebrew title of the Book of Creation. The Greek genesis means origin or birth. The title genesis is already an interpretation.
GOD MOTHER
God Mother is a free and inspirational translation of the god-name Elohim. Elohim’s gender is controversial for various reasons. 1 Kings 11.5 translates Elohim as 'goddess'. A few mystics pointed out that Elohim is the plural of a feminine word, but has a masculine plural suffix. Wanna bet that this grammatical error is none? Elohim is a god-name and the third word in the Genesis! Likely, this indicates Elohim’s androgynous nature.
The author chose the term God Mother to emphasize the Godness’ female side that has been wantonly neglected in Christianity. The term God Mother does not imply that the Godness is Goddess. The Godness is a He-she or She-he, depending on what It is busy with.
Think of God Mother as an abbreviation of God, the Mother, whereby Mother is a title. A title denotes authority or power. Mother implies that the Godness performs creation with Her-his female abilities. Women give birth, not men. But don’t think of male and female as genders, but rather as powers. Cosmic genders are abstract, like active and passive, energy and substance, fire and water, spirit and matter, expanding and forming, Yin and Yang, Prakriti and Purusha, etc.
On a side note, Elohim’s etymological inspiration is obvious to every Jewish kid, but lost to the English folks.
On a second side note, the ancient Jews didn’t give the Godness the title Father. That was a Christian innovation.
On a third note, God’s female side is also important for human evolution, indicated by the fact that two of the most important spiritual realities, the (sacred) Ruach[8] and Shekinah, are female words.
THE GOD-NAME ELOHIM
The literal meaning of Elohim, usually translated as God, is Powers or Creative Powers as Paul Foster Case proposed. The root word is most likely the Northwest Semitic noun El, [אל]. El carries the meanings of 'strength, fronting something, being in an advance position, or being a binding or cohesive force'.
Don’t let the plural vex you. It’s a plural of majesty or plural of excellence. The verbs that accompany Elohim in a sentence are usually singular like in Genesis 1.1. Deu 6:4 puts all minds at ease: "Listen, Israel: Jehovah, our Elohim, is one Jehovah."
This is Jeff Benner’s comment on Elohim’s plural: "In all modern languages, the plural is always quantitative while in Ancient Hebrew a plural can be quantitative or qualitative. For instance, the word ‘trees’ refers to more than one tree (quantitative) while in Hebrew the plural word עץים (etsiym – trees) can mean more than one tree (quantitative) or one very large tree (qualitative). An example of this is the word בהמות (behemot or usually transliterated as behemoth in Job 40:15). This word is the plural form of the singular בהמה (behemah), meaning beast, but refers to a very large beast rather than more than one beast. One of the most common uses of the qualitative plural is the word אלהים (elohim) which can be translated as 'gods' (quantitative) or as 'God' (qualitative)." - Jeff Banner, The Ancient Hebrew Lexicon.
Having said that, a plural verb accompanies Elohim in Gen 35.7: And there he [Jacob] built an altar and called the place House of El because there, Elohim appeared [plural] to him at the time when he fled from his brother’s face.
In Psalm 82.1 Elohim is both plural and singular: Elohim [God] stood in El’s company, among Elohim [gods] did they judge [plural verb].
There are philosophical reasons to consider Elohim plural. One reason is that Elohim’s creative powers are seven - according to the seven cosmic days or phases of creation. More about this later.
Let’s agree that Elohim is a mystery - singular-plural and male-female. And so it should be! Who wants a straightforward Godness?
On an inspiring side note, the Hindu counterpart of Elohim is the goddess Shakti, who has the title Great Divine Mother. Hindu mystics consider her the divine feminine power of creation. Like Elohim, Shakti means 'power', or 'empowerment'.
CREATION MEANS SEPARATION
'Bara', the Hebrew verb commonly translated as 'create', has various meanings, among which are 'to separate, to choose, to make, to cut, to fatten, to shape, and to form'. These meanings shed various lights on the Godness’ mysterious, creative powers.
The author chose separating, because creation begins with a division - the cleaving of the Godness’ primordial unity into the heavens and the earth and ends with the overwhelming splendor of the physical universe where no thing, however infinitesimal, is identical with another. The ability to separate is God Mother’s prime creative power.
'Fattening', a seemingly odd choice, turns out inspiring on a closer look. Why? Because the symbol of evolution is oil. The oiled-one is the literal meaning of Messiah, the Anointed, Christ. Creation fattens (fat is somewhat solid) and evolution oils the machinery.
On a side note, only the Godness can 'bara', not people.
THE HEAVENS
The Hebrew of Heaven is shamayim and that is a plural too. It can be a plural of majesty or quantitative plural. Your guess is as good as that of the author. Having said that, mystics distinguish seven heavens or heavenly realms; however, they are part of the oral tradition and the Genesis doesn’t mention those.
EARTH
In a mystical context, earth is not Planet Earth, but rather the substance of creation. The Hebrew aretz, earth, is a blur as you will see in the coming verses. Besides being the primordial substance, earth can also denote the physical universe, as well as planetary life. In Gen 1.1 it is something abstract, i.e. the Godness’ intention to become something or to make something. In that respect, earth is the alpha and omega because creation begins with the Godness’ want of manifestation and ends with the physical universe - the result.
On a side note, mystics distinguish seven earths, analog to the seven heavens, but the Genesis doesn’t mention them either.
EX NIHILO
There is nothing in verse 1.1 that suggests a creation out of nothing. Most Jewish mystics agree that 'something' was already in place before creation began, an entire world to be precise. This is the common Jewish rendering of the first three verses: When in the beginning God created heaven and the earth, the earth being void and formless, Elohim said, “Light exist!” This suggests that the 'calling of the Light' was the first creative act and that the first two verses describe the precondition.
The issue becomes less sensitive if we stop thinking of nothing as nothing-nothing, but rather as an 'everything-mixed-up-chaos', meaning nothing concrete or nothing perceptible. Actually, that’s exactly what Genesis 1.2 tells us. Anyways, as soon as something exists - which is obviously the case - common sense nothingness becomes an impossibility since nothing cannot coexist with something. But ex nihilo makes sense if we assume that the Godness created out of a chaotic All, which is nothing in our eyes.
Sacred Geometry, 1=2, | |
In the beginning, One became Two. Mind that we are told and not shown. The reason: it is an ineffable mystery. Think about it, how can the All-Nothing (One) become something? It can’t reduce Itself. It can’t find a place either since It is omnipresent. The answer surprises: The All-Nothing creates the world in Its Mind. The first thing the All-Nothing did, and that was the only thing It could do back then, was thinking of Itself. And Its ability to think, to have an idea, to differentiate, is Elohim’s creative power.
The geometrical symbol of the first verse is the Sacred Parallel, | |, two lines facing each other, extending into infinity. One line is the limitless creative potency and the other is the illimitable adaptive creative substance. Wait, what substance?
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