Tapping Into the God Consciousness

This morning, as I lay face up on the table at the acupuncturist's office, I received some powerful images. As is generally the case when I am lying in the dark with needles placed in the apppropriate acupoints, visions passed before my consciousness.

For the most part, these images are of people I have never met, or at least have no memory of ever having met. They are photographically detailed, but more than that, they are animated, as if the people are living and breathing in front of me. I love these beautiful moments when I dip into the river of humanity, the collective consciousness in which tiny snatches of lives lived long ago and/or far away are presented to me. I may see two Middle Eastern men drinking tea in a cafe, or a young Austrian girl with flowers in her hands, or a woman's face streaked with joyful tears, or a man in a shabby suit hopping on a bus.

These images always strike me as intimate, even though there is nothing cloaked or sexual about them. The intimacy is in the fact that I am being allowed to see these precious, seemingly inconsequential moments that compose each of our lives and have been the stuff of human existence for eons and everywhere on the planet. They strike me as incredibly lovely for their very ordinariness.

Sometimes I am given images of objects--say, a book, a shoe, a painting, a view from a window, a dinner plate. Again, I am struck by the intimacy of these encounters. These are the forgotten possessions of people who lived long ago or far away or may be living right now, participating in the vast ocean of humanity.

I once read what I take to be the most wondrous definition of God--that which lovingly remembers our lives in every last detail. Even as I write this, I am moved to tears. To think that we are not forgotten, but that every thought, every smile, every gesture, every tear is lovingly remembered.

It is during times like these in the acupuncturist's office that I feel I am tapping into the God consciousness, moments in which I, too, am lovingly remembering lives that otherwise might have been lost without a trace. What could be more intimate than this.

Today, the images were of a different sort. I saw a white-sheeted hospital bed. I could not see the person on the bed, but I felt deeply connected to whomever it was, as if it were me. All I could see were various apparati on the bed, though they didn't look like IVs or monitors. They were more colorful, more playful than ordinary medical equipment. As I beheld the bed, an intense white light surrounded its mid-section. This light was approximately three feet in diameter at its most intense. No doctors or nurses were in the room. The bed simply glowed with this white light that appeared sentient, alive, full of wisdom and love. The image disappeared, then reappeared as if to reinforce its message: I am protected, I am loved, I am richly deserving of complete and miraculous healing.