It’s Saturday night, and just as I settle under the bed covers, the phone rings. I pick up and hear the voice of my mother’s caregiver. “She has a nosebleed that’s not stopping.”

I call on the Beloved.

My mom comes on the line. “I’m pressing the button,” she says, meaning her Lifeline, a signal that sends a dozen people into immediate action. Within 15 minutes, five emergency responders stand in her bedroom, an ambulance and fire engine rumbling in the driveway.

Her private nurse receives notice and heads there too. Meanwhile at my house, I pull on leggings and a sweatshirt, say goodbye to my cat and head to the hospital, sensing that this may be a long night.

The ER doc stops the bleeding, and just after midnight, I settle mom back in bed at her home. But in the coming days the sense of emergency increases. My mother already breathes oxygen from a machine 24 hours a day, yet in the coming days she can’t seem to get enough.

On Tuesday, after a few restless nights of sleep I struggle to keep pace with the directions from her nurse and caregiver. All want to fix this problem. They want her calm, breathing, alive. And she, of course, wants that more than anyone, so with her will and fear she pushes, she wants. She is like a drowning victim gasping for breath.

And yet…her oxygen levels are okay.

We have set an appointment to see a pulmonary specialist on Thursday, and I hope this will bring some understanding.

I’m lying on the couch trying to gather back some energy when the nurse calls. Tired, I barely grasp the details: the nurse has set up an appointment for a medical evaluation and she wants me there at 3pm. I listen, say okay, and hang up.

Suddenly, a surge of anger rushes through me. It’s a fiery fury that manifests in a scream. I don’t know what it is about, but I cannot ignore it. I want to go outward with it, yell at the nurse. Tell her I’m exhausted, I’m not going. After years of caring for my mother, I fear I can no longer prop her up, be her strength. Instead of yelling at anyone, I call on the Beloved.

I take out a spiritual contemplation note and read it, directing my attention off my anger and onto the loving message on the printed page. My mind wants to stay with the anger, but slowly it submits to the love. I finish the reading in a state of peace.

I go to the kitchen to make lunch. As I cut a beet, a lightening bolt of truth strikes.

“There is no emergency,” the Beloved whispers. “It is all perfect. Your mother is experiencing the expiration of her physical body. It is a beautiful piece of the whole of life, completely natural, wonderfully loving, all in sync with the Divine plan.”

I see how the nurse simply doesn’t know of my mother’s eternity, and so I forgive her pushing. And my mother doesn’t know, so I forgive her neediness.

But I do know that she is a spirit with so much life yet to experience. Soon she will be ready the leave her physical body, which is bed-bound, and enter into a new incarnation, where she can experience the adventures that still ignite her imagination.

As I eat my lunch I feel my own life force return. I can easily be there for her during the medical evaluation and during this whole transition. In the next few days I keep the Beloved close as I do my best to spontaneously follow the Divine nudges in each moment.

I can love her and let her go. (Read more about this in My Mother is Not My Mother.)

I see how this sense of emergency around mortality reflects my own mind’s panic as I let go yet more of my attachment to the material world. My passion for possessions, prestige and satiating my body’s hungers, though still present, dwindle daily as I come to more deeply desire the Beloved. As I let go, mind mobilizes untold emergency responders within me. It wants to run away to a tropical beach, find another soul to lean on, drink red wine and eat chocolate.

Meanwhile, soul only desires to bathe in the soothing current of Divine love.

When systems fail, sometimes we need to push the button and bring in the emergency teams, but there is only one true emergency: to leap into the Beloved’s arms.

Just days after this realization, my mother, Barbara A. Doolittle, transitioned into her next great adventure. We all miss her, but are relieved and joyous for her perfect journey in soul.

I heard this poem read more than a year ago and it has stayed with me. The other day I ran into the poet. Blessed timing.

Before Your Gates

At last, Beloved, this insurgent stands
before Your gates, without a guard or chains.
I bring no army; I make no demands.
Blood-stained and battle-weary from campaigns
against Your grace, I offer nothing more
yet nothing less than my own helplessness.
How self-defeating this armor I wore:
my arrogance, my pride—so powerless
to blunt Your volleys of mercy and truth!
My swords of vanity, these spears of greed—
whose blood was shed but mine?  Still but a youth
in ways divine, I fought in thought and deed.
At last, Beloved, this disciple kneels
in service to the Will Thy peace reveals.

Robin Tawney lives in Albuquerque, where he has a private practice in body-centered psychotherapy, and writes poetry about his ever-evolving relationship to the Beloved.

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We are all heroes living our own tragedy, until we wake up and realize we’re in a romantic comedy, with the Beloved as our lover.

As a travel writer, one of my duties has been to rate accommodations. Of course I have an ideal against which I measure all. These hotels or resorts possess a five-star ambiance. A room in such a place might have thick Persian rugs on maple floors, gold tile in the Jacuzzi bath and silk bed covers over 2,000-thread-count sheets.

A bottle of French wine and an array of sushi await me. I pour a glass and head to the balcony, where a turquoise sea stretches to a limitless sky. I sit and sip the nectar, experiencing the refinement surrounding me, the quiet lapping of waves, the sweet scent of bougainvillea. My whole being settles into this elevated ambiance.

And such is my true work daily, to create and sustain a five-star ambiance within my inner temple.

When I stay at a fine hotel I always know the refinement of the room will carry through my whole experience at that place. During the day I might play on a pearly beach and swim in crystalline water. At night, I might sit on a cushy banko and watch the sun blaze scarlet into the sea, while I feast on grilled halibut with roasted root vegetables and broccolini, followed by chocolate mousse cake. Every detail is colored by that quiet, luxurious feeling. For more on this, see I Am Love.

And so does the ambiance of my inner temple permeate—create—all of my experience. I can go to great lengths to set up a five-star inner accommodation—fast, chant or be silent, recite affirmations, think positive thoughts, read inspiring books. But the truly elegant and lasting atmosphere is created when I reside with my Beloved. I work and play with the Source, eat and sleep with It. And thus, It permeates all, allowing me to bask in the love that I truly am.

Photo: Shutterstock

Every experience is a journey in spirit. A poem by my friend Mary Johnston illustrates this perfectly.

My Lesson from Boston

There was a terrorist attack at my front door today
The bomb was constructed meticulously with wires of worry and angst over all that had to be done in a day
The explosive fuel chosen carefully, an attitude of ungratefulness refined by thoughts of wanting all obligations to vanish in a puff of smoke
The timer, my own clock, the one I fight with daily, the false idea that it can solve problems if I had more
Tic…tic…tic
The day lies before me
The choice is mine
I am about to go for a jog on a beautiful morning
But the clock is ticking and the bomb is poised to go off
Spewing its effects, barren of love, across my day and throughout my house
Removing laughter and joy and peace
I go inside myself to find the dismantling tools
He hands them to me before I can even speak
A river of gratefulness rushes into every corner of my mind, and I am humbled by the recognition of every Divine gift in my life
The bomb is dismantled
There will be no little explosions snapping at my children or shrapnel flying into my ex’s back, or smoke clouding my inner light and His brilliance all around me
Every bit of work, every obligation to family and friends and myself colored in calm, peace and acceptance
Only the soft breeze of love can be felt behind my words today, fanned by His awesome Grace of gratitude

Mary Johnston, a mother of two teenagers, teaches fifth grade in the Boston, Massachusetts area. She pursues spirituality through the Light and Sound teachings of MasterPath.

Most every day I take a walk through the piñon-juniper forest surrounding my house. On today’s journey, I relish the quiet. Finches chirp and flit among the treetops, puffy clouds skate across the broad sky, and the azure Sandia Mountains stand tall in the distance.

As I pass some horse stables, where the air smells beer-like from the manure, a dog races over a hill straight toward me. He is mid-sized with a blue-merle coat. Head down, hackles raised, tail flagging, he means business. My heart pounds and my palms become damp. Immediately I call on the Beloved and hold my hand up in front of me like a traffic cop signaling “stop.” The dog pauses, paces sideways and growls.

Through the years of my spiritual path I have learned to use my mantra as a means to ward off attacks, whether from animals or people. In dreams, a simple uttering of my Beloved’s name dismantles all adversity. Similarly, in my waking life, if a colleague, family member or neighbor comes at me with anger and I chant my mantra, the situation diffuses. Either love come in and calms all or the person suddenly hangs up the phone or leaves.

I am protected.

Today, however, the dog stays. I keep my hand up while I silently chant. He circles me, bears his fangs. He backs off, lunges at me. I yell for an owner to call him away but no one answers. I walk backwards, my front always toward him. He circles again, and again I chant my mantra.

For an instant I consider that he actually might bite me. The image crosses my screen—torn flesh, blood, pain. A tremor of fear runs through my body.

I have to take more extreme measures, I realize. Without even making a decision, I suddenly envision myself as the Beloved. My posture straightens so that I feel over six feet tall. My being settles into a state of loving strength.

Within seconds, the dog’s tail lowers. The fury in his eyes softens.  He turns and slinks away, his back curved in submission.

I’m astonished as I continue to walk, glancing back every few steps. His eyes track me, but now he stays lower to the ground, making his way over the hill from where he came.

It occurs to me that these days my lessons are like this. Where once it was enough to simply call for help, now I am asked to be the help, to own my true power, to wear it, walk within it, live it. (To read more about this, check out We Are Gladiators.)

When I return home, I recognize that for much of the day I have been under attack, not from a dog, but from myself. Since my recent health challenge I have chosen to relax more, to rely on the Beloved. But this day, my mind has its own agenda. It wants me at my computer, writing, editing and corresponding. Rather than stand up to this force, I’ve avoided it, hoping the pushy, biting vibration would leave.

Of course the dog manifested as that vibration in physical form.

Once I recognize its more subtle presence within, I call on the Beloved and chant my mantra. The dark force growls just as loudly as did the dog. It does not want to leave. In its presence, my heart beats fast. Still, for a half hour, I stand tall before it and own my Beloved strength.

Suddenly, it disappears over some inner hill.

I move into a state of pure love. I know that all comes from the Divine power, not from my little efforts in the material plane.

I am all the power of all creation. Any time I own It, I am It.

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Occasionally the Beloved brings me a poem that I can’t resist. This is one by my friend Logan Jo’el.

The Beloved Physician

I have nothing and am too happy, they say.
Why does he smile so often, what drug or wine does he imbibe?
My body aches at the end of the day, yet I rest without qualms.
Some babies actually envy my sleep for I don’t fall asleep, I fall in Love.
I’m not the only one though, just one of many who have met The Beloved Physician,
Who heals from the marrow of one’s bones to the sheaths surrounding us.
The Beloved Physician told me this:
“Take all prescriptions as directed, but don’t forget to read between the lines. That perhaps is the easiest remedy for all aches and pains.”
“Exercise your Heart for at least five minutes a day, adding minutes as you feel stronger.”
“Dwell on what you love most every moment you can to relieve unnecessary burdens.”
“You may share a dose with someone who may need it but be wise. If necessary, consult with The Beloved Physician, or refer them to My Office.”
“Most importantly rest as much as possible . . . yes, rest in My Arms.”
Oh, the fee you ask? It’s nothing really, just the life you no longer wish to bear.
Your trust, willingness and sincerity are the only insurance The Beloved Physician will need to see.
With these in place no dis-ease stands a chance.
All else will be delivered to you through the care of Love,
Especially what you have sought after so ardently . . . your Freedom Here and Now.
Look within your Heart to schedule an appointment.

Logan Jo’el works in shipping, what he calls “simple and peaceful work.” He lives in Boston, Massachusetts, with his Bulgarian wife and their daughter. In 2000, he became a student of MasterPath under the tutelage of Sri Gary Olsen. Of this he says, “I could resonate with the Light and Sound teachings as expressed in MasterPath because I finally felt with all my heart I was where I needed to be. What drives and inspires me? Love!”

Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that crushed it.—Mark Twain

I awaken from my first full night of sleep in weeks. Lemony sun shines in the window, and when I stand I feel a hint of the life force that faded during my two-week illness. In my spiritual practice my body fills with luminosity, a lightness of being that is pure freedom.

But afterward, when I look in the mirror, I see the toll of these weeks. Blue shadows hang below my eyes and a mustard tint masks my skin.

Normally I would shrug this off, but today it matters. In just a few hours I am to sit in front of a video camera to give a testimonial for my dentist.

I call on my Beloved and remember that I am soul.

It is no big deal, I tell myself as I apply powder to my cheeks. I smooth away the blotchy patches. I conceal the shadows under my eyes. With a mascara wand I take extra strokes, as do I with my lipstick. I even dig through the back of my closet to find a curling iron to add life to my limp hair.

I’m ready.

The videographer, who is one of my closest friends, encourages me through the session. “You look fabulous!” she says. I happily voice praise of my dentist and friend of 20 years, Dr. Richard Parker. It’s a wrap. The videographer packs up her camera and heads out, while I go on with my day.

The next afternoon I receive a link to a rough cut of the video. When my testimonial comes on, I gasp. I look like a faded waif, pale, with too much lipstick and eye makeup. The lighting is so bright it melds me into the yellow wall behind. I take a breath and recognize my vanity.

It’s fine, I tell myself. No problem. I send a congratulations email to the videographer.

But over the next few hours my mind will not let it go. It’s as though Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard has occupied my insides and keeps calling for a new close-up.

I take a walk and with each step call on my Beloved. I talk to my vanity in an attempt to get it to stand down. I recognize that I am more than this physical body, and yet I can’t let the issue go. To compound it, I have heard my friend discuss her challenges with shooting baby boomers over the years, who often scorn their video appearance. I don’t want to be like them.

It’s the lighting that’s the problem, I determine. When I arrive home I send an email to the videographer saying the light was too bright—it blazed out the mid-tones. We have to reshoot.

I receive an immediate reply. She is pleased with the outcome—no reshoot necessary. Her message carries the same cutting vibe as did the one I sent. Of course, we always get back what we give.

I’m infuriated with her reply. “Can’t she see?” I ask my cat.

I pace my kitchen. By now night has settled in. I suspect my sleep is in jeopardy, and with it my fragile remission from my recent health challenge. Worse yet, my dear friend is now upset with me, and I with her.

My mother calls, and after hearing my dilemma, suggests an impasse. I follow her counsel. With what little humility I can muster I email my friend. I tell her I love her, admit that I’m sorting through this and ask her to simply hold until I’m clear.

I sleep a few hours and awaken, my limbs restless. So I rise at midnight and ask the Beloved to guide me. With that loving presence at my side, I sweep the floor, prune the geraniums and clean a linen closet. While I do this, shards of illusion present themselves. I see how much I have relied on my appearance in order to secure love, from my family, in relationships and in my work as a journalist.

I recognize that the love is within me, not something that comes from without. I return to bed to sleep a few more hours.

I awaken with an odd peace. During my spiritual practice more truth ignites. Maybe it’s okay that I care how I look in the video. Maybe it’s fine that I’m vain. My physical appearance, my vanity, these are only small spokes on the great wheel of who I am. I can accept and love those parts.

I go to my computer and tentatively open an email from my friend the videographer.

“Lesley,” she writes.” Let’s do a reshoot, whenever you’re feeling better. I am in no hurry.”

My heart settles.

The reshoot will come, and likely I won’t be thrilled with my 50-something appearance. But maybe I’ll look a little healthier. Most of all, I will know that I am not this physical body, nor am I this vanity. Instead I am the very life force itself, on a great journey through eternity.

I am pure beauty in spirit.

I am soul.

Eternal love.

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The Light and Sound teachings, of which I am a student, instruct that we incarnate into every physical form in our journey to know our true God selves. This happens along an evolutionary continuum, and yet since time and space are an illusion, it occurs in the now. This is the basis for my poem.

The Lover’s Breath

How could I ever forget

The weight of my basalt self nestled against the earth?

How could I forget

The arch of my great whale body as it skims the ocean floor?

How could I forget

The whoosh of my feathery wings while they flap in flight?

Most of all

How could I forget

The Lover’s breath on my neck as I sleep?

All exists here, now

The rock

Whale

Dove

Lover

Love

Born into each, a flicker of memory

Then

The avalanche

The razor teeth

Ripped flesh

Catapult from the sky

Bruised heart

Dim all

Until I sleep in the dark

Of bone and skin of a new body.

This is true

I think as I dive deeper and deeper into the dream of what I am not.

It is not God who erases the truth, but me.

The flame always burns.

It is I who

Leave its illuminating glow.

Of course I forget

Just as any moment I can again remember

The all of creation that

I am.

Take the love road.

It’s best not to turn right or left.

But if you do, no problem.

While you travel the byway,

never forget the love road.

Eventually, you will merge back.

Stop for meals only at Love Diners

and sleep only in Love Motels.

When you know nothing but love

and have become love itself

unpack your bags

and live for eternity.

Alternate route:

Be love now.