NunStory: #24, Experiencing God

 For a few months. I enjoyed the prayer of simplicity or acquired contemplation.

It was very nice, and peaceful.

Saint John of the Cross wrote about God bringing the soul into the wilderness,

and there he talked to the soul.

It felt that way, a time of sweet gentle communication with God.

A few months of that and dryness set in.

I thought I lost it due to infidelity at prayer and was distressed by it.

I did not realize in spiritual life, we went from consolation to desolation.

Desolation to periods of consolation.

Hence when I felt an inner pull to go into myself, I resisted it.

I told God, God I am sorry but I am no longer able to go within myself.

A few days of it and I was simply pulled inside.

It was as dramatic as that.

One moment I was resisting it and the next I was pulled inside myself.

For four days I walked around in a stupor, taken over by this strong Force I know to be God.

This time, I did not want to lose this grace at prayer due to any carelessness.

And walked about, carefully nurtured this possession of me, 

like a pregnant woman nurturing something of immense value inside.

I lived, divorced from everything around me and did not talk.

I was afraid talking would distract me and take me away from that inner possession of me by this Force.

I did not want to leave it ever but after four days, the feeling of intensity eased.

I slowly came out of it though not totally.

After that experience, it was very hard to apply my mind actively to anything.

It took tremendous effort just to engage in work around the community.

And the prayer of quiet happened, or infused contemplation.

At meditation, I would close my eyes and found myself engaged by this same energy.

I could stay in that darkness, that seemingly empty dark space for hours,

my attention held in thrall by this energy I called the dark presence.

The dark presence in the apparently empty void.

The Something in that apparently empty void.

And that was how I first experienced God and knew God to be a Force, energy.

NunStory: Prayer of simplicity, to dryness to the great awakening

For a few months. I enjoyed the prayer of simplicity or acquired contemplation.

It was very nice, and peaceful.

Saint John of the Cross wrote about God bringing the soul into the wilderness,

and there he talked to the soul.

He felt that way, a time of sweet gentle communication with God.

A few months of that and dryness set in.

I thought I lost it due to infidelity at prayer and was much distress by it.

I did not realize in spiritual life, we went from consolation to desolation.

Desolation to periods of consolation.

Hence when I felt an inner pull to go into myself, I resisted it.

I told God, God I am sorry but I am no longer able to go within myself.

A few days of it and I was simply pulled inside.

It was as dramatic as that.

One moment I was resisting it and the next I was pulled inside myself.

For four days I walked around in a stupor, taken over by this strong Force I know to be God.

This time, I did not want to lose this grace at prayer due to any carelessness.

And walked about, carefully nurtuing this possession of me 

like a pregnant woman nurturing something of immense value inside.

I lived, divorced from everything around me and did not talk.

I was afraid talking would distract me and take me away from that inner possession of me by this Force.

I did not want to leave it ever but after four days, the feeling of intensity eased.

I slowly came out of it though not totally.

After that experience, it was very hard to apply my mind actively to anything.

It took tremendous effort just to engage in works around the community.

And the prayer of quiet happened, or infused contemplation.

At meditation, I would close my eyes and found myself engaged by this same energy.

I could stay in that darkness, that seemingly empty dark space for hours,

my attention held in thrall by this energy, I called the dark presence.

The dark presence in the apparently empty void.

The Something in that apparently empty void.

And that was how I first experienced God and know God to be a Force, energy.

NunStory : More suffering and prayer of simplicity

The pain of not being loved, not being accepted as I was, ate into me.

The older nuns did love me, so why did I feel so unloved?

Because the hate was louder, voiced in criticism and looks of displeasure.

While the love was mostly silent, spectators looking on,

while the younger nuns tore me apart.

Walking in the garden one day, I cried out with distress.

A leopard cannot change its spots, neither can I.

I am like a wild plant, a wildflower, shower me with love and I bloom.

Placed in an environment not ideal and it brings out the worst in me.

And it did, that loveless environment did bring the worst out of me.

It was so bad, one night, I saw Sister Assunta talking to the mother prioress,

her good arm raised showing her outrage and displeasure.

I sensed it had to do with me.

The following day, Mother Therese told me, 

"Last night, Sister Assunta told Mother  Prioress,

'Sister Mary Gertrude has to be sent home. There is no way she could be a nun here.'"

Sister Assunta entered  the monastery same time as Mother Therese.

Mother Therese held her in high regard and often extolled her virtues,

how she lived through a painful childhood and survived breast cancer twice.

Immense suffering was enough to turn anyone into a saint but not for me

I was not impressed with Sister Assunta.

While mother Therese was very humble and self effacing, open minded and flexible.

Sister Assunta has a strong personality and was inflexible.

Everything had to go her way or she would get visibly agitated.

The entire community bent to her but not the newest edition, the postulant.

I clashed with her a few times and was not afraid to go against her.

They did not sent me away, probably because for all my faults and failings,

I was intent on attaining to God.

Everything happens for a reason, as also here.

Not experiencing love, dying for want of love,

to survive this state of unhappiness, I went into myself and found God.

"Be a soul of prayer," I took to that term and applied myself to it.

Whenever we have feast days and on Sundays, I spend as much time in meditation as possible.

This led me to the prayer of simplicity.

I was to enter into prayer of the Quiet soon.

But first came the great awakening.

NunStory: Prayer of quiet

That night I went to the tabernacle.

My inner being was full of turmoil.

I wanted to believe God was giving me the prayer of quiet.

At the same time, I was afraid to believe it.

What if I become proud?

A part of me could not believe also that God was really giving it to me. 

In that state of inner turmoil, I asked God, "Are you giving me the prayer of quiet?"

I heard very clearly the words, "Not yet but I will."

Instantly, calm and peace took over me.

It was what Saint. John of the Cross termed as locution.

It was also the first time I heard this inner voice.

The voice was correct.

What I was experiencing was what Saint. Teresa term as prayer of simplicity.

St. John of the Cross calls it acquired contemplation. 

A contemplation we are able to attain with our own efforts.

Prayer of quiet is what Saint John of the Cross termed as Infused Contemplation.

He held the same belief, that it is a supernatural state of prayer which God gives the soul.

A state of prayer we are not able to attain through our own efforts.

The voice was correct, a few months later, I did move into infused contemplation.

NunStory: New Postulant

What I dreaded happened. 

A new girl was entering the monastery.

This meant there would be three of us at the Novitiate. 

This meant also, except for feast days, 

We would not be joining the recreation with the community.

We would be spending it by ourselves at the Novitiate.

It was a blow too hard to bear.

Those earlier days, I literally lived for recreation with the community.

How could I do without it?

How could I live without it?

It was a crushing blow for me.

My survivor instinct kicked in.

I started writing poems and learning how to read in spanish.

I used the autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux,

One in English and one in Spanish.

By comparing the two, I taught myself how to read in Spanish.

At recreation, I often mentally worked on ryhming the poems I was writing.

The new postulant, sister Helen, was in her early thirties.

She was actually very nice and wanted so much to do things with me.

She could not understand why I did not want to.

I stayed aloof, I was jealous of her. 

With her entry, she had become the youngest though not in age.

She lasted a year.

I felt awful when I learned she was leaving the monastery and blamed myself for it.

I went to the retreat priest and confessed that I was mean to her

And now she was leaving the monastery.  I drove her away.

He assured me she did not leave because I was mean to her.

That it was due to something else.

I told him about my meditation.

That I was not able to meditate, though it does not really bother me.

I was just happy being in the presence of God.

Like the story of the man who sat at the back of the Church,

Happy and kicking his legs, happy just to be with God.

He told me, "Sister, God is giving you the prayer of quiet."

His words left me stunned.

My immediate reaction was not awe God was giving it to me, 

but fear of committing the sin of pride.

According to St. Teresa of Avila, it is a supernatural state of prayer.

One cannot attain it by one's own efforts.

God gives it to whom he wills.

This meant, I am an elect of God.

Many are called, few are chosen.

I was one of the chosen ones.

Little wonder I feared pride would set in.

Importance of spiritual reading

 Knowledge feeds the soul.

It opens avenues for you.

That is why it is good to read spiritual books that resonate with you.

Notice, we say spiritual books that resonate with you.

That is the key, whether a book, a subject matter is for you or not for you.

You know it when it resonates with you or does not resonate with you.

Spiritual readings feed that spiritual part of you,

just as food feeds the physical part of you.

Just as the rain that falls, soaks the earth.

Just as the universe is never void of sound.

Do you ever wonder why when you cough, an object inches away moves? Vibration,

As Nikola Tesla said, when you think of the Universe,

Think in terms of energy, vibration and frequencies.

These are the hidden forces in the universe.

Forces you are able to feel and sense but do not see.

Those belong to physicists looking and studying things that are not plainly visible to the eyes.

The which things mystics are able to see,

For they look beyond the apparent world, to the unseen Universe.

Now you see the benefits of learning.

It is sharing, drawing from experiences of all.

Remember you are all oneness.

There is no duality.

There is only that Oneness of richness of beings.

Where you all come together and whether you are aware of it not,

You create for each other.

You learn with and from each other.

You exist in this Whole, this Oneness which is wonderful to behold.

When you are able to behold it,  you have merged into that Oneness, the Eternal Being.

There is no duality, no separation. There is only that Oneness, God, Supreme Being.

NunStory: magical nights

I love night time.

Often I stood at the novitiate window and looked out.

The garden was wrapped in darkness and silence.

I could see the silhouette of trees, bushes.

It all looked so magical by night.

I felt like a princess in one of the story books.

Instead of a seventeen year old postulant at a monastery.

The night felt so warm and tender, and God was never more near.

I would stand there and soak in the feeling of closeness to God.

A few minutes, savoring the magic of the night, relishing the closeness to God.

And I would make my way to the Novitiate oratory to engage in meditation.

That was not easy. In fact, it was very hard.

It means walking up the dark staircase, along a dark corridor before entering the oratory.

I would kneel, half turned toward the opening,

again, in case devils or spirits enter in.

I would engage in meditation, my mind petrified with fear.

Yet I did it often.

The draw was the tabernacle.

From the oratory I was able to look into the chapel and see the tabernacle.

It was being with the presence of Jesus.

Meditating in his presence.

It was at the oratory, four years later when I heard the words,

"Not yet but I will," when I asked God if he was giving me the prayer of quiet,

a supernatural form of prayer.

And that was the first locution I received or inner hearing.

But I am moving ahead of time.

NunStory: Meditation

We were getting ready for evening prayer, Vespers when Mother Therese handed me a book,

"This is for you to use at meditation. You cannot recite the rosary during the meditation hour. Newcomers tend to want to do that. It is silent meditation."

I was very dismayed on hearing that, it was just what I had intended to do.

And that was all the instruction given to me on how to meditate.

I would say, meditation is one of the hardest of spiritual exercises for anyone new to it.

The book was on the passion of Jesus.

I devised my own method. 

Monday, I would engage in Jesus' agony in the garden.

I would imagine myself with him on that mountain, dark with his disciples sleeping.

I would tell him I am awake and with him there.

I imagine his agony of mind and soul, his sweat pouring out as blood.

Tuesday, it would be the scourging at the pillar.

I would drag the scene out.

In a similar manner I occupied my meditation hours.

It was still very tortuous but the one spiritual exercise I applied myself seriously to.

I was not very much into Mass.

I would see Sister Bridget pouring over preparation for the Mass,

going into near ecstasy talking about the liturgies.

I relate even less to the Divine Office which was in Latin when I entered.

"It does not matter if you do not understand it," my novice mistress told me,  "God would hear you regardless."

Very often I did not get the pages correctly marked.

At night prayers, or Matins, I would fall asleep while reciting the divine office.

I would sway to and fro standing on my feet, and woke up, eyes blurry and unfocused.

Very often, I would stare fixedly at the mother prioress until my eyes focus.

Often, she appeared in strange shapes before coming into focus.

And I would look at her with terror on my face.

It spooked her, the way I stared at her, as though she was some kind of monster.

It was almost like a precursor of things to come.

She would turn out to be one of my staunchest of adversaries.

A persecutor in later years when I revolted and walked my own way to God.

She was also held as very holy by the nuns.

To me, she was cold and distant.

Her mind always seemed to be somewhere else, caught in day dreams or thoughts of her own.

As a result, she always appeared distracted and disconnected.

She shared about having to leave the monastery during the Franco Spanish war.

She lived with her cousins during those years.

She confided that it was terribly hard returning to the monastery when the war was over. 

I often wondered if she should have returned at all. 

I entered the monastery to find God.

Somehow, I just knew meditation was the means to finding God for me.

It was not the liturgy or Divine Office but meditation and I applied myself to it seriously, putting all efforts into it.

NunStory, Discipline/whipping and chains of penance

After a month, it was time to introduce me to penance also.

Every nun possesses two implements of penance.

One is called the discipline or flagellation, it is made of hemp with five hard rods, designed to hurt striking on bare flesh.

The other is a metallic cilice, a metal mesh with multiple metal endings which dig into the flesh, and worn around the thigh.

Three times a week, after the evening prayers, we would go silently to our cell.

There, we would pull down our inner pants, pull up the habit and bunch it around our waist, holding it in place with one hand. 

The first time I did it, I felt very embarrassed until I reminded myself, all the nuns were doing the same.

The mother prioress would intone the psalm, miserere mei, Deus. 

We join in, chanting or singing it while hitting ourselves in a left right left right hand motion, each stroke hitting at the bare flesh behind.

It is very hard to hurt oneself. I invariably felt guilty not hitting harder.

"Sister Immaculate, she hits so hard, her rods are bloodied," one young nun told me.

I tried it and succeeded only a couple of times, even then there were mere traces of blood.

The chain was easier to apply. I would close my eyes and tie it tightly at my upper thigh.

That done, one has to only endure the pain, instead of having to administer it with each stroke like the discipline.

However, the chain, tied tightly was very hard to endure.

It left me on edge, every step or movement I took was pure agony.

For some reason, the pain pulled at some nerve endings of my abdomen, adding to the discomfort.

Apart from physical penance, we were taught mortification of the senses.

I started applying it at the refectory.

Looking back, I wished I was not such an extremist.

Life was hard enough as it is, yet I seldom allow myself the pleasure of eating.

It was very easy to ruin a good meal because we always have a bowl of soup.

Often it was a very difficult to eat soup of mung beans. 

All I had to do was pour that over my plate of vegetable and fish,

and the plate was rendered rather tasteless.

I craved cream crackers and would love to eat those served to us instead of bread.

Yet I seldom allowed myself to eat it.

Those days, I only had to be told something was not right, not good and I would not engage in it.

The same goes for whatever I was told would lead to attaining to God.

NunStory: Inordinate Love

It was very easy to love my Novice Mistress, Mother Therese.

Mother Therese actually had a blood sister there, Sister Bridget, the holy looking nun I described earlier in the video where I visited the monastery.

The sisters were of mixed Portuguese blood.

They looked more Portuguese than native, with deep seated eyes and beautiful features.

Both of them possessed that look of sanctity.

Both were deeply spiritual and contemplative.

I considered Mother Therese a saint, she was older and had the markings of a saint.

Deeply humble, she possessed a peace unfazed by anything.

Mother Therese was a mother I did not have.

She had that nurturing kind of love which my mother, not experiencing it herself, was not able to give it to us.

Mother Therese encouraged me to achieve, prevail and proved myself,

with the words, "Never say I can't, my boy."

I knew my love for her to be somewhat sexual in nature when I developed rashes on my back.

I had to bare it for her to put ointment on it.

I liked it so much, I did not want the rashes to heal and scratched them hard so they would not heal.

Alas, my skin was so good, it healed in no time.

With that love came jealousy.

I have almost always been fairly happy with what I have,

As a result, I was seldom subjected to jealousy.

And jealousy is one feeling I never care to experience.

It is pure suffering, a most unpleasant suffering which eats into a person and distorts everything.

The other issue was my attachment to the parlor.

That was a bad one since we were supposed to not want to see or be seen.

Not having love of the community, I found myself looking outside for love,

and nothing can be worse for an enclosed nun, than to look outside for love.

Being the youngest and newcomer, my place was right in front of the parlour.

Even when it was not, I could not resist moving right in front, as though a magnet pulled me there.

Young and pleasant to look at, I invariably catch the attention of visitors.

And I loved and reveled in it.

That did earn me no end of displeasure from the young nuns.

It grew into a veritable vice.

The other thing that bothered me was being a nobody.

Before entering, I had worked myself into being a visible entity outside.

At any group or gatherings, in class or field trips, I only had to say one line,

and all the attention was mine.

I excelled at being at the center of attention.

At the monastery, until I was solemnly professed, I had no voice and no standing.

I actually found it humiliating to be at the lowest rung,

and could not wait to become a fully professed nun.

NunStory: Hard times come knocking

My honeymoon period lasted one month only.

The nuns decided it was time for me to settle into my new life.

Until then, I was the center of attention at the recreations and I loved every minute of it.

Now I miss that undivided attention.

Not only that, complaints started coming in.

It did not take much to know where they came from.

They were mostly from the younger group of local Chinese sisters.

The community was comprised of two groups, 

the older group of nuns from the Spanish community in Spain and Sabah.

And the younger group of Chinese sisters from Malaysia.

The older nuns were more tolerant, not so the younger sisters.

I talked too much during the day, I was too loud.

I laughed too loudly. 

I was too lively, too exuberant.

Exuberance became a personality flaw.

I did not take it well. 

I began to feel unloved and rejected.

Their objections began to take shape, more in the form of grievances.

When they were in the Novitiate, 

They did not like joining the community for recreation.

Every time they were addressed, they had to kneel and answer. 

They could not speak unless spoken to.

And I did not have to kneel every time when I was spoken to. 

Not only that, I could speak freely to the senior nuns.

They had to kneel and kiss the scapular or hem of the habits of the four mothers,

I had to kneel and kiss only the scapular or hem of the mother prioress and my Novice Mistress.

The rules changed with me, I was the first to enter after Vatican Second.

Then there was the chapter of faults.

Once a week, we had an hebdomadary sister who led the prayers, rang the bell, and also had the duty of advising the sisters on their faults.

I had a big problem with that, because entrenched in my mind 

was the belief obedience was a virtue of the weak.

I had entered with my head filled with Harlequin romance books,

Where the heroine never obeys.

I could not be seen obeying, that would be too embarrassing.

That indeed left me in a quandary, entering a way of life where nuns take the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.

My first test came when the Sister Hebdomedary of the week intoned, "Full of confusion, because I am the one who commits the most faults, I advised Sister Mary Gertrude not to walk so heavily down the stairs."

I accepted it outwardly, hitting my breast with a "mea culpa" and bending, kissed the floor until bidden to rise by the mother prioress.

Inside however, I did the opposite, facing the sister, I was saying, "You just think I am going to obey."

And I did not, the next time I walked down the stairs, I stomped my way down the stairs.

It was not that I did not want to obey, life would be so much easier obeying.

I just could not be seen obeying.

I did not know how to share that problem with my Novice Mistress and clear that trend of thought.

Instead, I let it rule me and was soon labeled a bad disobedient nun.

Then came the other complaint, I loved my Novice Mistress, Mother Therese too much.

Our founder, St. Teresa of Avila wrote extensively against particular friendship.

It was much later I realized particular friendship was lesbian love.

NunStory, Christmas at the monastery

I entered during the Christmas season.

It was the eve of the feast of the Epiphany.

At recreation, the young nuns took a lot of pleasure telling me,

That if I hear noises that night, not to come out, whatever happens, do not come out.

The same goes for the following morning.

With that air of mystery, it was a wonder I was able to sleep that night.

I did hear soft giggles, rustling of things and as directed, I did not come out to investigate.

The following morning was something else.

In the far distance, I heard singing, it sounded like angels singing.

They were singing a Spanish carol, "En Belen, a media noche....."

It was so hauntingly beautiful.

I looked out the window and saw a row of nuns, singing as they walked along the cloister.

The voices approached nearer and nearer.

I could hear them approaching the novitiate.

At the chorus, "Ruido mas ruido," noise, more noise,

the nuns thumped at my door.

Inside, I was frantic, rushing around the little space of my room, not knowing what to do. 

I wanted to come out but they had told me not to come out and I did not.

The nuns proceeded to the choir, ending the Christmas Carol there.

I dressed hurriedly and came out.

Outside my door were packages of presents.

They were presents from the kings, feast of the Kings.

Later, I learned it is the ritual for those at the novitiate.

At the recreation, I shared my spoils with the nuns.

Most of the items were practical, a few were jokes, like dentures made by a sister.

What the young nuns appreciated most were the goodies.

The young nuns soon schooled me on feast days.

Big feast days, we are able to talk during meals.

Not only that, at three in the afternoon, we have tea. 

Some goodies with coffee and milk and we are able to talk also.

There were a few feast days where we have tea at three but could not talk.

As addicted as I was to time spent with the community,

I soon learned which were the feast days where we had tea and were able to talk.

I love feast days. 

Feast days also meant I could join the community recreation immediately,

and did not have to spend the first half of the recreation hour at the novitiate with my Novice Mistress.

We had another ritual during the Christmas season.

We danced before the crib of the Infant Jesus during the recreation and also at three in the afternoon.

I did learn the Spanish jota.

However, it took me a while before I learned to dance the free dance, creating my own.

The celebrations lasted two weeks and then life got back to normal.

Sister Mary John was instrumental in dropping hints 

or giving me info to help me integrate into the life there.

She remained like an angel of help to me to the end.

There were eighteen of us. 

There were the six Spanish nuns who founded the monastery.

Later, six of the nuns from the State of Sabah joined them, five were Eurasians and one Chinese.

The rest of us were from Malaysia. 

Nunstory, Daily routine

Our day starts at five thirty in the morning or four thirty when it is summer in Spain.

That was because the monastery was founded by Carmelite nuns from Madrid, Spain.

And the Spanish nuns followed the routine from their former monastery down to wearing habits of thick wool.

We dress hurriedly, wash our faces with water from the jar.

Then empty our chamber pots at the grassy patio, pulling some grass to wash it, rinsing it with rain water collected in barrels.

Morning prayer or Lauds started at around six in the morning. 

This was followed by Mass, an hour meditation, then more recitation of the Divine Office called Prime.

We had breakfast of bread, or cream crackers with coffee. 

During the fasting season, it was two ounces of bread with coffee but without milk added.

After breakfast, it is the work hours. We spend half an hour working in the garden or go about our respective work in different offices until eleven in the morning when we have another recitation of the Divine Office, Terce.

Fifteen minutes examination of conscience and we walk in a file, reciting a psalm as we make our way to the refectory for lunch.

An hour of recreation follows after lunch. 

After recreation, we retire to our cells for one hour of siesta. 

During the summer season, we made up for lost sleep by sleeping during that hour.

Then it is time for another recitation of the Divine Office called None.

More work at different offices until five thirty when we had more recitation of the Divine Office called Vespers or Evening prayers.

This is followed by another hour of meditation, when we again stream into the refectory for dinner.

Another hour of recreation, and it is time for more recitation of the Divine office called Compline.

After Compline, it is the great silence where we avoid talking completely and when we have to, we use sign language.

After Complines, we are free to read, write or meditate till Matins or Night Prayers at ten. We went to bed at eleven at night. And with that, we end our day.

Spiritual darkness

We are your legion of spiritual helpers.

It is very important to keep your faith,

in the midst of spiritual darkness and trials.

Times of spiritual darkness 

might feel like less when it is more.

What happens during times of spiritual prosperity?

Your spirit falls into indolence and grows fat.

This in turn leads to spiritual lethargy and laziness.

That is when the spirit of spiritual gluttony can set in,

When you fall into states of self complacency.

Stay stagnated or stopped growing.

What happens during periods of darkness?

Your spirit is left hungry and lean.

Not fat or indolent.

You look for your maker.

You sigh for your maker.

You stop taking things for granted.

Self complacency is a state far from you.

During this time of spiritual dryness,

you do not feel fat with prosperity

but experiences a period of spiritual poverty.

This spirit of poverty makes you appreciate everything you have.

You take nothing for granted.

Your soul is alert, your eyes are keen.

You spot the littlest of light.

You are grateful for the smallest gifts or mercies.

Lean and hungry, you run faster and further.

You do not have the weight of indolence slowing you down or pulling you back.

Instead, you sprinted forward.

Your spirit is trusting even in the midst of this darkness.

Your spirit is keen and alert in this state of darkness.

You feel healthier than when you were loaded with spiritual abundance.

And that is how beneficial periods of darkness are.

A Message from Legion of Spirit helpers

 I love it when I feel the presence of my spirit team around me.

It is often a light breeze fanning my left hand.

And when I take time to sense them, I would feel their energies

with the upper reaches of my head, around the third eye chakra.

This is their message for today.

Do not believe for a second because you are not able to see or feel us,

that you are alone.

You are never alone.

All of you, you have your spirit team with you.

They are your spirit guides, angels, archangels, ascended Masters, 

your loved ones who had passed over, your ancestors.

We are all here to help you all.

However, because of free will, we are not able to help unless you call on us.

So call on us.

Do you not pray for help? And help come?

That is because we hear you and are ever ready to come to your assistance.

Why are we with you?

Because we were with you before you re incarnate,

and will stay with you as you live out this existence.

There are various ways of sensing us or hearing us.

Until she perfected the art of sensing our energies around us,

this channeler was able to hear us in her mind.

She called it, my mind telling me this, my mind telling me that.

It was her mind, and yet not totally her mind, for we do speak to her mind.

So when you hear your mind telling you things, instructing you on things,

do not assume it comes from your mind, be open to the idea,

you are likely hearing us, your spirit team or your higher self.

As you get keener at it, better at hearing us.

It is akin to operating from different levels.

There is the level of your physical self.

Where you operate from your [physical self alone.

Then there is your soul level,

Where you operate from deep feelings, sensations, feelings of your soul.

Your sense of intuition stems from this.

Then there is the spirit level,

Where you perceive and receive messages, bypassing the physical and soul level.

Where you just know, know without words, as though a certain knowledge is implanted in your soul.

You just know it, know it is there. Know what it is about darkly. And know you are able to unpack it.

We call that download.

The musician, scientists, inventors, when they create and invent.

Do you think they create and invent from a vacuum?

No, these come in through their higher spirit self.

They just know and they unpack it and with that knowledge,

create music or projects.

Nikola Tesla is a good example of that.

He was able to see and perceive intricate projects,

and effortlessly recreate them in your physical world.

He possessed that ability.

So do you all, if you only are aware of it, 

and strive to awaken that side of you,

which lay dormant in most of you,

especially those of you blind to the spirit world,

living only for the material world.

So next time, when you feel a whiff of wind,

when there should not be any wind around you,

stop what you are doing and feel it.

By that means, you are able to train yourself to feel us.

Or when a sentence comes into your mind unbidden.

And you wondered where it comes from.

Take a pen, sit down and write it down.

It could be a message from your higher self or your spirit team.

Or when you hear a piece of music that moves you profoundly.

Empty your mind and feel that music.

Let it open caverns in your soul,

and you find yourself sensing or seeing your loved ones coming in.

Paying you a visit through the astral world.

There are so many layers to this civilization, to this universe.

Awaken to it, oh souls.

Avail yourself of all its richness, depths, value, beauty and immensity.

We are legion, legion of spirit helpers.

NunStory: Being in the world yet not of the world

The main pull toward entering the monastery

was the fact I wanted to be taken out of the world.

To be in the world yet taken out of it.

What drew me also were the silence and solitude. 

It was rather strange for a talkative, lively young teenager.

Yet on looking back, it was not really strange.

There was the incident where I looked out the window,

and saw a little path leading into the jungle.

It stirred feelings of nostalgia in me.

I imagined I took the path and walked into a beautiful grassland,

when in reality, I would be walking into a thick jungle with trees and thick foliage.

Or the time I saw a book cover of a building standing alone, in the wilderness.

There was nothing around it but that building.

Something about the silence and solitary building drew me, stirred hauntings in my soul.

I could never really pinpoint why, this hauntings in my soul.

This longing, yearning for silence, solitude, for something undefined.

Later, I trace it to my mystical sense.

Sensing something without being aware of it, even at that young age.

It was literally the case of being taken out of this world.

The environment at the monastery was such,

I was not able to feel homesick and did not feel homesick.

For months, I was not even able to think of my family.

It was as though I was living in another reality.

A reality with an orange hue color.

Akin to being on another planet.

Night time however was different.

Coming from a large family, I had never slept alone.

It was terrifying having to sleep alone.

Every night, I would sprinkle the Holy Water liberally, 

all over and under the bed, to frighten devils away.

That done, I huddled under a thin sheet, pulled to my eyes,

before doing that, I would expel all air from my lungs.

I have no idea why I did that.

I would sleep, body slightly turned toward the door,

eyes watching the door warily,

Just in case a ghost or devil would enter in.

Forgetting the fact, spirits do not need doors to enter rooms.

And that is me.

A combination of innate wisdom and some foolishness.

At home, it was a different story.

My parents missed me.

My father especially missed me.

I was one of the few children who went out of my way to talk to him.

Most of his older children were too terrified of him to talk to him.

Whenever he came home from work, 

I would make a drink for him from fresh lemons from a tree he planted.

It was polite stilted communication but still, 

some form of communication.

Younger, his temper was so atrocious,

he terrorized his own children.

Trigger his anger and he would go into rage,

terrifying to behold.

My youngest sister cried every day,

during the time I would return from attending mass, 

with sweets for them.

"Why did you let her go to Carmel," the six year old cried.

To offset that, my mother bought a bag of sweets,

every day at that hour, my mother would give some to her.

I was blissfully oblivious of all that.

Totally involved with my new life as the youngest addition to the monastery.

And totally taken with the nuns, my newfound family.

Layout of the Monastery

The monastic building was a square of four wings, with a central patio.

In the middle of the patio was a large wooden crucifix.

One wing had the parlor, office of wardrobe, and choir where we went for prayers.

Opposite this wing were the food pantry, kitchen and refectory.

One each adjacent side were the cells of the nuns.

I love the patio.

It looks so monastic and inspiring.

Our room or cell was very small. 

The width of it was the length of our bed.

The bed was a single bed and very narrow.

There was room only to lay flat on one's side,

with no room to roll around.

We did have a mosquito net to keep out mosquitoes.

This accounted for the fact, decades later,

I am still able to sleep laying flat on my back.

On two corners of the room were shelves to contain our habit.

There was no cupboard, nor were there room for that.

We did not have a table.

A piece of wood attached to the window sill served as table.

This could be swung up or let down.

At one corner was a jar of water and a bowl to wash our face in.

Under the bed was a chamber pot.

On the wall was a large wooden crucifix.

We actually had a ground of four acres land.

Walled in by high wall of aluminum sheets.

So high, no one is able to climb inside.

Placed at different places were what we called hermitages.

Small huts nuns retire to for meditation or quiet time.

LifeStory: Entering the Monastery

The big day finally dawned, it felt so long in the coming.

My mother decided the big occasion warranted a flight there.

The bigger town where the monastery was situated.

Until then, I had traveled mostly by cargo ship.

It would be my first and last flight, so my mother thought.

So did I think at the time.

A small group of parishioners were already gathered when I arrived with my sister, Mary.

My second sister, Lily, was there also, together with the tall English priest, Father Harry.

I knew the routine.

I knelt for the blessing of the priest.

He knocked on the big solid wooden door.

The door opened to reveal two rows of nuns, dressed in the dark brown habit,

veils covering their entire faces.

It looked very solemn and felt very solemn.

The priest held a crucifix for me to kiss.

I kissed it then entered inside.

Instantly, the nuns uncovered their faces and started welcoming me into their midst.

Arms wrapped themselves around me, some giving me some solid thumps on my back.

I felt very awkward, grateful for the bag of things my sister Lily gave me.

It provided me with some buffer from those big hugs and embraces.

For we Chinese, do not hug and do not embrace.

Much to my regret, a young nun relieved me of my bag.

My protection against the enthusiastic welcomes.

Then the mother prioress led me to the chapel, to greet Jesus.

A Spanish nun and long legged, she flew down the corridor, leading to the chapel.

I hurried behind her.

Then it was time to slip into my postulant dress and meet those well wishes at the parlor.

My sisters were there. 

Most of the people present were more interested in the nuns.

It is not often they get the opportunity to see them.

Lily reminded me again, "Remember, you have to eat everything given to you."

Next was the refectory.

I was shown to my table.

On it was a spread of food.

A big loaf of bread, a bowl of soup, a big plate of rice, a plate with some fish and vegetables plus a small plate of dessert. 

I looked at the spread and wondered how I was going to eat it all.

But I did as my sister Lily advised.

She would know better.

She had entered the convent of the Franciscan sister and was a novice there.

I ate everything.

The same young nun who took my bag came in,

saw my table cleaned of all food and her eyes widened in surprise.

Later, very discreetly, she told me, the bread was mostly for the Spanish sister.

There was no need to finish that up. 

That was most helpful.

LifeStory: Monastery, a visit.

Of what use is education if I were to become a nun?

I wondered and decided to enter right away.

The Carmelite nuns were all for it.

My mother was open to the idea, but not the school principal.

She was a nun of the Franciscan order and knew it was imperative I finished secondary school.

To blunt the blow of having to wait another year before I could enter,

my mother let me visit the nuns that August holiday.

My eldest sister, Mary, brought me to the monastery.

The monastery was everything I dreamt about.

The moment I saw the building, I fell in love with it.

It was quaint, old, simple and austere.

Built of wood, it was a single floor.

The chapel attached was a very nice concrete building.

I entered the chapel and could hear the nuns reciting the Divine Office.

It sounded like angels singing.

When the singing stopped, my sister and I went as directed to the parlor.

It was small and barren, with two chairs for visitors.

Facing us were thick metal grills, with another layer of wooden round poles inside.

Shuffling of feet and the doors facing us opened.

It was dark inside.

I could make out the faces of the nuns close to the grill.

Behind them, dark shadows started filing in as more nuns entered.

They greeted us, then bombarded me with questions.

How many brothers and sisters do I have?

How tall am I?

The questions came from all corners, making it hard to answer each of them.

What struck me was their joy, the smiles on their faces.

Seated at one corner was a nun who looked like a saint on Holy Pictures.

Later, I learned she was a Eurasian, accounting for her features.

The long thin face and big deep seated eyes.

When she talked, even her voice sounded hallowed, like a saint.

If the nuns sounded like angels before when they sang, 

now they looked like angels.

I stayed glued to the metal grill, trying to see the sisters through the double grill of metal and wood.

All too soon, the hour was over and it was time to leave.

And I was in love.

How is it possible to fall in love with a group of women?

I wondered, so far I had only fallen in love with boys.

Yet I was in love, so very in love.

I told my sister, they are wonderful and I could not wait to enter.

My sister was not impressed, "Just wait till you enter," she told me.

Later, that inordinate love was to be an indirect cause of much suffering when I entered.

My path to God: communists, curfew and mass

It was the early 70's, we were at Mass one Sunday evening,

when the priest announced, "All of you, please go home, a curfew is taking place. "

It was taking place within hours.

We all headed home, worrying about my father who had yet to come home.

Finally, all of us were home and accounted for.

This was during the time of active communist activities.

While it must have been a scary time for the adults.

We did not mind it since it meant we did not have to go to school.

It was however very eerie to be woken up at the early hours of morning by a loudspeaker announcing, extending the time of the curfew.

It was a government vehicle with loudspeaker mounted.

Being a rather large family, existing on my father's salary alone,

it meant we did not have much food on stock.

Mother tried to buy some vegetables from our neighbor,  

her old friend, who had an extensive vegetable garden. 

She did not have any to sell us and gave us a bundle of Chinese Chives instead.

Our next door neighbor, seeing our plight, gave us a tray of eggs.

We survived on that and salted fish.

We happened to have some salted fish at hand.

Steamed, the meat is tender, flaky and very salty.

It was oooh so good, eating it with plain white rice.

We remember it to this day.

However, the same salted fish has never tasted that good.

After a few days, the men had enough, their families needed food.

We learned they were breaking curfew to get some food.

I joined them and cycled to a store with its door slightly open to serve us.

I was the lone young girl amongst grown men, braving the curfew.

It took almost a year for the curfew to be reduced to night time.

In my zeal to succeed one day as a nun, I started cycling to Mass early in the morning.

My father worried about me, a young girl cycling alone in the dark to Church.

A few times, I was unnerved to find, it was still curfew when I cycled out.

Curfew was lifted at six but only in the town area.

I often headed out at five thirty.

It was a bit unnerving cycling out alone in the dark.

But being kind of an extremist, always driving things to the extreme,

I could not stop myself from wanting to leave the house early in the morning.

My problem was more, reciting rosaries at the shrine of the Our Lady.

Dark and alone, every shadow was a threat.

Not of people but of the devil and ghosts.

I prayed in sheer fear of both, watching every shadow that moved.

Yet even that was not able to stop me from leaving that early in the morning.

I had decided to prevail as a nun by all means.

Ma told me, the nuns pray non stop, they even get up at night to pray.

I started doing the same, kneeling up to pray whenever I woke up at night.

It frightened my sister so much, my dark form swaying from drowsiness,

she told my mother who put a stop to it.

I started praying three rosaries a day and never missed it.

One rosary comprises around 66 prayers.

Later, at the monastery, my heart ached, recalling evenings 

when my mother wanted to chat and I was busy reciting the rosary.

God I have always with me, while my days at home were numbered.

And once I leave, I would never be able to go back home again.

Experiencing God in my being

At meditation and often when falling asleep,

I would feel a certain energy at my third eye chakra.

When I experience that, I know I am experiencing the God in me.

I would let go and sink into myself,

letting that feeling carry me in deeper and deeper.

My meditation has become sinking into the inner depths of my being.

There I rest in a sort of deep spiritual sleep.

Yet I am not asleep but very aware.

Very aware I am in this deep depths,

experiencing this energy that draws me in.

Is that how saints sages are able to stay hours lost in this ecstasy of being?

It is just very relaxing, very deep.

I feel as though in that state, Source/God is communing with me.

Beyond the medium of words, spirit to spirit.

That my spirit is able to hear him, hear that language of the soul.

Do mystics like St John of the Cross not talk about,

God luring the soul into the wilderness.

And there, he speaks to the soul.

Oh Lord, my God, how great thou art.

How great Thou art.

Channeling and a message on fears

I never would have thought about channeling.

Had I not made a foray into the world of psychics and mediums.

It was only a matter of time before a collective suggested I channel them.

This led me into channeling.

What is channeling but talking to the other side.

Saints and sages, they talk to the other side.

There is Jesus for Christian saints, Babaji and others for Indian mystics.

I love both.

I grew up with Jesus.

Babaji I came to learn of late.

Recently, I started channeling Source.

That is one experience unparalleled.

Its energy would come in, strong and vibrant.

It would speak to me like one with authority.

Not mincing words, saying things as they are.

What message would come through today?

I am pausing and asking.

Get rid of fears.

Fears are the most debilitating.

It holds you in an iron grip.

It pushed you into a dark pit,

where there is neither light nor hope.

It keeps you fettered.

You feel you are fettered in this dark pit,

unable to feel anything but fear.

How do you climb out of that fear?

Using love and trust.

Love chases out all fears.

Trust cemented rising above fears.

Trust above all in the higher power, the Source.

Is your soul, your life not in the hands of the Source?

The almighty God, your heavenly father?

Do things not flow in a certain pattern according to his designs?

During these dark days, remember the above.

Life, universe flows in a certain pattern.

There are highs and lows.

From the lows, we move into the high.

There is darkness and light.

Darkness might seem more powerful.

But light is invincible.

Its rays sought out everything in darkness.

Nothing is hidden.

Everything revealed in due time.

So take heart, brave souls.

Fight on, with love and light in your heart.

Love and light will ignite your being with courage and strength of fortitude.

Standing firm in your rightness of being, in truth,

you will prevail over all darkness and all forces of darkness and evil.

Monastery, #8 , Some opposition and a decision

It was a few months before I could bring myself to tell my mother.

She was facing the stove cooking when I told her I wanted to become a nun.

She turned to look at me, awe on her face.

She had always wanted one of us to become a nun or priest.

From there on, she was unfailingly supportive.

Even when she was opposed to my entering the Carmelite Monastery.

"Why don't you join the white sisters, " my mother asked me.

The white sisters are so called because of their white habit.

They are mostly active Sisters, engaged in teaching or hospital work.

"The nuns at the convent told your sister life at the monastery is very hard.

They do not eat meat. Meals are very frugal. 

Often, it is porridge served with soy sauce and a few pieces of salted fish.

Not only that, they have to beat themselves till they draw blood."

The latter shocked my family more than anything else.

My siblings felt the same way, making me feel cornered like a rat.

Mother was satisfied she had driven home the message.

But I was not deterred from my goal.

I had my heart set on the Carmelite Monastery.

I knew only one thing, I had to enter that monastery or I would never feel happy.

That was the conviction that carried me all the way into the monastery.

My parents had already signed the letter of consent.

I mailed it in.

When my mother brought up the matter again.

I told her I have already mailed the letter to the nuns.

With that, she let it go and accepted my decision.

I had made my choice and she would abide by that.

My father did not really want me to become a nun.

But he did not oppose my entering the monastery.

He knew better than to do that.

Years earlier, one of my brothers had wanted to become a priest.

My father opposed it vehemently.

One day, he suffered from a terrible headache.

He believed it was a message from God 

and promised to let my brother enter the seminary.

His headache left him instantly, affirming him in his belief.

This time I stayed with my decision to enter the monastery.

My desire

For some time now, my desire is to reach that level of spirituality.

Where my prayers would be effective.

I looked at Ramana Maharshi.

He sat in silence.

People who went to him, would sit in silence with him,

 and experience healing or receive spiritual graces.

I wanted to have some of that ability.

To attain to that, I have to be further on my spiritual path.

And so I aspired toward that.

At the same time, it was a secret I kept in my soul.

For how do I confess to that?

It is like so much spiritual pride.

Yet over time, I came to divulge it, confess to it and shared it.

As the desire become more earnest.

I realize as our desires are, as our passions are,

so also the same is our goal in life.

I like to believe I have attained to it somewhat.

I have a condition where my throat closes up.

Almost once a year I have to get it stretched.

Recently, it was closing up again.

I prayed and much to my surprise it opens out,

To where I am no longer feeling the constriction.

My Path to God, Childhood. #7, St. Francis of Assisi and a high

We were mostly 14 year olds, in the class of Form Two.

When our principal, Sister Cecily passed down pamphlets of convents.

I want to be a nun because my father is very important and I might get kidnapped.

My classmate, Betty, seated next to me commented.

I heard her yet did not really hear her, something else had exploded in my mind.

I promised God I will become a nun if he helped me pass my primary six examinations.

I passed the examinations but forgot my promise to God.

How could I forget a promise made to God?

I want to become a nun also, I told her, vowing inwardly to become one.

At the school library, I came across a book, Life of St. Francis of Assisi.

I read it and it put me high on air, on fire.

God came alive for me. 

Not only God but nature.

I sang with Saint Francis of Assisi.

I rode on a high.

I felt as holy, pure and sinless as he.

There was a song in my heart, my head and my spirit.

I rode on that high for a few weeks then down I came.

I did not have anyone to tell me, one cannot remain on a spiritual high.

Sooner or later, one has to come down from it.

Not even fourteen years of age, since my birthday fell in December,

I could not understand all that and was very distressed.

I raided the library for more books on saints but alas, that fire was never kindled again.

Not to that extent.

By the end of that year, I grew interested in reading romance books and boys.

And that desire went out the window again till two years later.

My sister Lily announced she wanted to become a nun.

You a nun? It was I who wanted to become a nun in the first place.

My desire was kindled anew.

I wrote to the nuns of the Carmelite Monastery.

The mother prioress replied in no time.

I read her letter, perplexed. I did not tell her I wanted to become a nun there.

I asked her for prayers that I will become a nun.

Shortly after, I read the book, Life of Mother Catherine Thomas.

And that sealed the fate for me.

She was a Carmelite nun.

I decided I wanted to be a Carmelite nun.

Or the black nuns as they are called because of the habit they wore.

Dark brown instead of white.

They were also known to be very strict and austere.

That did not faze me.

Spiritual life

This morning at prayer, it came to me, peace and bliss.

As I savored the feeling of peace and bliss.

I received a message.

There is no need for me to engage in works as a youtuber.

No need for me to engage in active service to others works.

My very life on this spiritual path shed light on everything around me and beyond.

I stayed in meditation, continuing to savor this feeling of peace and bliss.

The God in me

 One day I was sick when I heard a voice asked,

"Do you believe in The God in you?"

I responded on the spot, "I do believe, hundred percent."

I do and I knew my healing rested on that.

True enough, I recovered almost instantly.

I also know what the phrase, The God in me refers to.

It is not just God in me as I used to understand it.

That to find God, we should look inside of us because God is in us.

No, the phrase, The God in me, held a specific message.

It is believing my essence is God, since I come from God.

It is believing the fact God did not create us outside of himself,

the way I was led to believe.

He did not create us like a sculptor, creating it outside of himself.

He created us, the universe and universes in expansion of his being.

His Infinite Being expanded into this entire creation of earth, planets, universe.

We came into being from him.

Hence the words of scripture, "I say, ye are gods."

This knowledge,  I learned from the book, The Law of One.

And Indian mystics drove home further that truth.

To understand how it is, I was shown one imagery, the ocean.

The ocean is God or Source, we are akin to a drop of water in the ocean.

Merged in that ocean, God, what are we but part of God.

Taken from it, what is our essence but that of God.

Coming from a Catholic background,

It is a concept I have great difficulty voicing.

For is it not blasphemy to believe we are gods,

though it is being part of God or fragments of God.

That reality resonates with me. 

I find myself believing in it, and living it.

The God in me.

My Path to God, Childhood. #6, Promise to God of becoming a nun.

One thing I was most grateful for, to have a God we can pray to.

I could not imagine how it is for those 

who do not have a God to pray to.

Primary Six examination was drawing near.

Failing it means I would not be able to move on to government or government aided schools.

I would have to go to a private school.

And we all know those schools were not good,

Only those not good at studies go there.

Those days, most children who fail simply leave school.

That for me was a terrible fate, to be uneducated.

"God", I started praying every night, 

"Please help me pass my examination 

and I promise you I will become a nun when I grow up."

I knelt at a table nightly reciting that prayer.

And, so that God would know how urgent my prayer was,

I would show him a face of anguish.

The feat became outdoing the face of the day before. 

Little wonder Ma called me crackpot, and foolish.

I did pass that examination and I did become a nun.

My Path to God, Childhood. #5 Reality hit

My carefree days ended with my first report card.

"She scored thirteen in class", mother remarked, 

"There goes our family reputation of being first in class."

And that was a fact, most of my older siblings were top students.

I felt that burden of letting my family down.

It also earned me the nickname of "crackpot", a favorite term of the nuns.

I certainly earned that nickname, the day I went to view a dead body.

It was that of the grandfather of one of our classmates.

Her parents wanted a boy so much, they dressed her like one.

Her secret was uncovered when a precocious classmate watched at the restroom.

I stood at the entrance of the door.

The room was dark, I saw the form of the man on the bed and froze.

Mother told us, the family of the dead always have a pillow at hand when the dead lay in state.

If a cat chases a rat over the body, the dead person will rise and grab the person nearest to him or her.

And would not let go, their grip so strong, it is almost impossible to free the person.

The family would quickly put the pillow in their arms,

and they would go back to being dead.

I turned and ran back to school.

"When you go home, wash your face," my friend Clare suggested, 

She was the one who got me to view the dead body.

I did as she suggested. 

My older sisters came back from school and asked mother what I was doing.

Mother laughed, "She went to see a dead body. 

Her friend told her if she washed her face, the fear would leave her. 

She has been washing her face since she came back from school."

Washing my face did not work, I was not able to sleep for months.

During school recess, I recited rosaries till I was mumbling the prayers.

When dusk fell, fear and dread would grip my soul.

I suffered so much from it, years later when my grandparents died,

I made sure my younger siblings did not see their dead bodies.

One sister confessed she did look and saw the dead bodies.

It did not affect her the way it affected me.

Years later, I actually appreciated sitting with the actively dying.

And especially those who had just passed over.

There is something special about those moments.

There is no accounting for callings in life, 

that was a calling, being with the actively dying.

My Path to God, Childhood. #5

There is an ambiente which Churches create.

That feeling of awe, sacredness entering a Catholic Church.

genuflecting to the tabernacle, to Jesus in the tabernacle.

The way, the moment we enter, we enter into silence.

No one speaks, everyone kneeling silently in prayer.

I remember one Christmas Eve.

We went to Mass.

At one corner of the Church was the Christmas crib, lit up with lights.

I looked at it, filled with awe.

That feeling of awe looking at my first Christmas crib never left me.

Years later, I could still recapture that scene readily in my mind.

Old souls day, 2nd November was a special day for us.

We did what my mother told us could help send souls burning in purgatory to heaven.

Kneeling, we would recite 6 Our Fathers, 6 Hail Marys, 6 Glory Be.

That done, we would come out of the Church, look up to heaven and envision us sending a soul from purgatory to heaven.

I remember engaging in that when a nun came by. 

She patted me on the head, and told me I am a good girl.

It was Sr. John, a short Mill Hill nun who taught both my mother and us.

Today, every time I enter a Church, I would experience that same feeling of awe.

Legion of beings

You heard us right, we are legions.

We are this array of beings surrounding you, protecting you.

You are beginning to recognize the immensity of your being.

That you are not what you call an ordinary unremarkable being.

That is your physical being on planet earth.

You are this spirit being, from the Universe, from God.

You have lived ions of time before.

You are a highly evolved being.

We have told you that a few times.

You know it, you recognize it in your being.

You are intrigued by it.

You do not question it when you heard yourself mouthing things 

you otherwise would not say or write.

You recognize the words to come from us, or from Source.

And that is the reality of your beings.

You all come from this Oneness.

This immensity of the Oneness.

You are not this finite being you will one day left behind.

You are this spirit being.

You come from the Infinite Creator.

You derive from the Infinite Creator.

You are part and parcel of the Infinite Creator.

My path to God, #4, the village.

At this point, it might be a good idea to draw some pictures of this little jungle village.

It stood where two rivers meet, giving us a vast expanse of water to look at and play in.

Our main means of transportation those days were the slow putt putting motor launches.

They were akin to small floating boat houses, taking hours to reach a destination.

Two rows of shops face each other on the main street and that was our one and only main street.

At the end of the street, situated on a hill was our primary school.

Further in was the priests house, convent,  Church and a clinic run by missionary nuns.

We went everywhere on foot or bicycles.

There was only one motorcycle in the village, it was owned by a reporter.

On the outskirts, living in longhouses were the native Ibans.

They were the original natives of the land.

We, our grandparents, came from China during that period of time

when Chinese flocked to different parts of South East Asia.

The Ibans either use long boats, rowed or powered, to come to the village.

It was not unusual those days to see men dressed in loincloth, 

wearing a parang or sword at their waists.

Little wonder, now and again, we would hear, "headhunters", 

and everyone ran for shelter.

With the men coming out with any weapon they could find to defend the village.

Most of those were false alarms.

I remember one incident where I ran home.

Home was an apartment above a shop and looking out the windows,

saw the men running around, and other windows with heads peeking out.

The village however was magical for a child.

The entire village was my playground.

We roamed from one end of the village to the other.

We swam in the river with little parental guidance or care.

Oneness

Oneness, there is only that oneness, there is no separation.

God, the Infinite Creator, the Supreme Being, the Infinite One is the One.

From this Oneness, we came into being.

This universe, the universes.

The stars, the planets, the beings, extra terrestrial, humankind, animate or inanimate.

We are all of Oneness.

When you arrive at that realization,

then you will have only light and love in your heart towards all.

Why? Because you, we are all one.

As St Paul said, we are all of one body,

If one part is sick, would we cut it off?

We would love it as our own because we are one body.

The saints, mystics, and sages understand this Oneness only too well.

They experienced it, they lived it.

They know from their direct mystical experience that we are all connected.

Interconnected in this vast array of the universe.

Think you, that you are the only self aware being in the Universe.

Think again, you are minuscule in this universe, like a grain of sand on the seashore.

You are a part of this immensity that is the Divine Creator.

You and others are all one in me.

I am the Creator of your being.

If you doubt it, you only have to enter within to experience that truth.

Why do you think, anyone who enters in from willing, wanting it 

or driven to it due to adversities, never fails to find me.

It is because I am in you. 

I am God in you, I am the God in you.

My path to God, #3, sins and devils

At age seven, my world changed. 

On Sundays, much to my regret, 

I could no longer play with the younger children outside,

I had to attend Mass. 

It was in Latin, the priest saying it with his back turned to us.

My mother gave me a booklet explaining the different parts of it.

I knew one part only, the part where the altar boy rang the bells.

First set of bells, Jesus is coming, second set, Jesus is closer, 

At the third set, Jesus is at the altar and we all bent our heads.

One day, curious, I lifted my head to see if I could see Jesus.

I did not see anything but felt my mother's hand pushing my head down.

I learned about sins too.

At seven, we are capable of sinning.

Now if we had died before the age of seven, we would be angels in heaven.

I thought that would be nice but did not want to die.

And, I could no longer use some of the colorful language I learned from my playmates.

"Do you know what 'tulang' means?" my mother asked me.

"Angry," I responded.

"No, it is a bad word," my mother told me, "It is a sin to use that word."

That word referred to some sexual parts. 

Then there is the devil.

My mother told us, angels are on our right hand side, devils on the left.

If we commit sins, it is the devil inciting us to do it.

That if we use the branch of the palm blessed from Palm Sunday and hit it, it will cry out.

I tried it one day.

One hand reached out to steal some coins from my mother,

the other hand held a branch of palm ready to strike at my left hand 

where the devil would be.

I got ready to hit out at the devil but lost my nerve and did not do it. 

I did not want to hear the devil crying out.

That would be too scary.

They looked hideous, writhing distorted figures, burning eternally in hell.

Hell, heaven, purgatory, limbo. Those were all drummed into our young minds.

Years later, reading the documents of Vatican Second, it came to me.

enforcing the principle of actions from the outside 

does not work as effectively as from the inside.

Threatening us with fires of hell or purgatory was never that effective.

More effective would have been teaching us rightness of action 

stemming from the inside.

Inculcating rightness or wrongness of action born from conscience.

My spiritual path #2, God and heaven.

We lived very close to God.

There were thirteen of us, five boys and eight girls.

My mother grew up at a Catholic Orphanage.

The priests and nuns were her family, as a result we were very close to them.

My grandfather died of tuberculosis. my grandmother, poor and unable to bring up the children,

left them at the Catholic Orphanage.

From my mother, we learned at an early age that God is the old man seated on the throne in heaven.

Jesus is his son,  and the Holy Spirit is the white dove.

I often scanned the sky, looking at clouds,

Looking for a shape denoting God the father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.

Beyond the clouds where the sky is so blue, it must be heaven.

And so I love the clouds and skies even to this day.

Mesmerizing it is, to be flying above the clouds in small planes, 

looking out at the floor of clouds, imagining I am in heaven.

My spiritual path. #1 Childhood

 My path began in a little jungle village, surrounded by thick green trees and foliage.

There, in that primitive environment, I grew free and wild like the greens around me.

A spirit which can never be contained, a spirit that always stays free.

Try to contain me and you will find me bursting through.

For I am of God, my spirit free and boundless as God.

Go within

I was told to go within myself to see my truths.

And not to look so much outside of myself to seek them.

At the time, I was seeking high and low for psychic readers,

Who are able to see who is around me.

Such was my desire to know who is around me.

I am able to sense their energies.

I was just not able to see them.

But now I am where I am able to go within myself to see my truths.

I no longer look to anyone outside of myself to do it.

I have my higher self, The God in Me to help me with it.

Silence is God

My soul falls deeper and deeper into silence.

The more I meditate, the more I am drawn inside myself,

into the depths of this silence.

I say the word, silence and I find myself going deep into that silence.

The word silence alone becomes so beautiful.

A connotation of everything I love.

Silence is God.

In the silence of the night, I sense God acutely.

In the depths of my being is silence.

There I am intimately united with God.

I feel God in the silence of my being,

in the depths of my being.

Silence becomes like a song, albeit without words.

It is a resounding sound of Silence.

Within the depths of my soul, 

silence gives birth to awakening.

Awakening the Divine in me.

Awakening The God in me.

Little wonder Ramana Maharshi said, silence is the best teacher.

He stayed in silence, speaking little.

His silence speaks more than words of the greatest masters, teachers in life.

He dwells in silence.

He lives in silence.

Silence is his companion and his home.

He makes his home with silence.

He seldom leaves it, foraying out only when he really needs to.

And then he would voice only the necessary.

He realizes everything in silence, his life, his life with God.

His endless ceaseless communion with God.

When he has that silence, what else does he need?

Everything is contained in that silence.

For Silence is the Universe, Silence is God.

Silence is this immensity that contains all.

Silence is God.

The white planet of light

One morning, months ago, I was at meditation at 4 am.

when I felt myself being transported to a very nice place.

It was all light, a planet of white light.

My spirit team told me that every morning at 4 am, 

I am able to readily access this white planet of light.

And when I am in it, my prayers for healing are especially efficacious."

I didn't really believe it, I put it to my mind creating those words.

However, I thought, why don't I try it?

I tried it and as they said, I found myself able to access it.

How do I know I am accessing it?

I would feel myself entering into a trance state.

And then I am in this space of nothingness.

Where there is nothing, nothing but the Something that holds me captive.

Where increasingly I cease to be and in this space, 

Only this consciousness remains.

That is how I know.

I set my alarm clock at 4 am and daily I willed myself to enter that zone.

And daily I am able to enter that zone.

The God in me

I prayed to the Infinite God for protection, 

Asking him to cloak me with his light of protection.

Praying as I would, to an outer source, a source outside of me,

the way I am wont to, whenever I pray to God.

And a voice told me, "You have God within, ask The God in You."

It dawned on me, I do have The God in Me.

I can bring it about by myself, asking The God in Me.

This truth, this reality becomes a bit unnerving.

I do want a God to pray to.

Praying to The God in Me, would it negate this God I pray to?

It brings me full circle again.

Oneness of God.

God in everything around me, outside of me.

God in me.

It is all one, that Oneness.

So I will pray to The God in Me.

The God in Me, I begin, and experience the power of it.

The God in me, I called, and can feel the affirmation,

my insides giving me affirmation of The God in Me.

The God in Me, I intone.

And feel the power of it.

The God in me, I pray as I envision his white light,

going through me, bathing every cell of my body,

giving it healing and light.

Boldness of Spirit

The spirit of God is bold, that I am learning.

Look at the disciples of Jesus after the Holy Spirit came upon them.

They opened the doors and went out preaching boldly, fearlessly,

whilst before they hid and cowered in fear.

Do we achieve with spirit of temerity, timidity?

No, but with boldness of the spirit from God, deriving from the Holy Spirit.

May the Holy Spirit ever imbue us with that grace and power to succeed, and excel.

May it fill us with that creative joy which is always growing and vibrating.

For that is the nature of spirit, never still, always growing and vibrating.

The Real Eternal Self

Source, God, how truly remarkable we are.

If we want to know who we really are, human beings on planet earth.

We only have to look at saints and sages.

They have reached the pinnacle of achievement on the spirit plane.

They have attained to that level where they are spirit more than human beings.

They are the ones in tune, in touch with their spirit nature.

As a result, they are able to see and abide in the real eternal truth of who they are.

Who they really are and who we really are.

We are not this physical being.

We are not this body.

We are not this mind.

We are this spirit, that inhabits this body,

Without this spirit, the body would be like a garment,

of no life and soul.

Perceiving this reality, they share it with us.

Why live so immersed with matters of the body, they ask.

When you are here today and tomorrow you might be gone.

How do we attain this real self?

How to clear the dross of our physical self which clouds over this reality?

By removing what prevents us from seeing and realizing our real self.

Which is why it is termed, attaining to self-realization, 

the day we perceive our real self, the eternal self as I. As the I am.

Saints and sages, they attained to it through silence, solitude, withdrawal from the world of senses.

Through meditation, through silencing of the noise of the world and voices of the head,

their real selves come through. 

I attain it through decades of meditation, culminating with the practice of self inquiry of Ramana Maharshi.

Who am I? Who are we?

I am a very ordinary, unremarkable person.

It is my destiny that I come from humble beginnings with little formal education.

This shows out all the more my true nature, the pureness of my being.

For I am of the Almighty, the Almighty God, the Almighty being.

Hence look not at my physical being but look at my spirit being.

My spirit being, with all its splendor and light.

Splendor and light which if you are able to behold it.

Would leave you speechless and in awe.

For I am of God, of Source.

I possess thereby his awesomeness, his splendor, his magnificence.

And that is what we all are.

We are gods by participation.

We share his splendor, his magnificence, his awesomeness.

That is what and who we are.

Look to his spirit, look to your spirit, live by him, live by your spirit.

Source, I am you and you are me.

 "Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion" - Rumi

I am you and you are me.

I rest in the bosom of your being.

I am closer to you than you know.

I am closer to you than even you are to yourself.

For I am all knowing.

I know you through and through.

Knowing you, I love you.

What does that tell you about my love for you?

It is fathomless. It is limitless.

Feel it, sense it, smell it, know it,

till you feel one with me.

When you are one with me,

then all things I do, you are able to do.

That is when you become this powerful invincible being.

Strong in your power, secure in the knowledge you all All,

for you come from me and I am in you.

I am you and you are me.