The  Light  Not  Eclipsed

John Gray   December 27, 1987   Glen Ivy

"We've been sent and we are here."

This Sunday is the last of the mind-made year and the first since the solstice. In the northern hemisphere the period of sunlight each day will grow slightly longer over the coming six months. In the southern hemisphere it is the reverse. The location of the sun in the sky at this time of year here, passes through its lowest point relative to the horizon. In the northern hemisphere the sun appears to traverse the sky in the south, and in the southern hemisphere it appears to traverse the same sky in the north. For any who customarily live in one hemisphere and who visit the other, the location of the sun can be somewhat disorienting; that is, for those to whom it is important to know which way is north. But despite such disorientation as might be the case, life works. Everything’s fine except maybe the personal interpretation. The solar cycles progress perfectly.

A natural phenomenon from our earth-dweller’s perspective is a solar eclipse, which occurs when the moon is positioned between the earth and the sun, blocking from view of part, or perhaps all, of the sun's light temporarily. In ancient times before this enlightened scientific era, such occurrences were viewed fearfully—the appearance being that some dark disk was eating the sun. The metaphor of an eclipse has relevance to us, for Martin personally has been a sun around which our lives have tended to orbit—a point of stability, radiance and life. Whether an eclipse is partial or total depends on where one’s position is on earth.

For us, Martin's illness might be analogous to an eclipse of the sun, being visible only to Emissaries and resonant associates around the world. It isn't geographically confined, as the view of a physical eclipse tends to be. If we share an awareness of the natural order of things and of what is actually transpiring, we won’t react primitively, in fear, to a metaphoric eclipse. There are many suns, countless suns, and each of us is one. Identified with the source of light, an eclipse is not disconcerting.

Insofar as each of us is concerned, is spiritual focus any less present, any less a reality, now than it was two weeks ago? No. Something is different, yes, and perhaps that might raise questions in minds and hearts such as, "Am I adequate to do what I need to do?" But is anyone's task now different from what it was a week or two ago? Is anyone's responsibility different? In fact it isn't, though perhaps in the experience of mind and heart it may seem to be. If so, hallelujah! The fact of personal responsibility, known more theoretically heretofore, is brought right home by current events. But the fact of responsibility is neither less nor more, no different from, what it has always been. The need to fulfil the responsibility is great, yes, but no greater now than it was before Martin’s illness.

During an eclipse the sun is still there and continues to shine. Only the evidence of it is temporarily blocked from view. But again, it is only blocked from view if one is standing where the shadow falls. To someone else, somewhere else in a different position, there is no eclipse. What do we see? A shadow falling on the earth? Or no lessening of the light?

There may well be questionings about personal adequacy, feelings and thoughts of that sort, arising in many. When something so steady and so consistent and so dependable as Martin has been—I suppose one could count on the fingers of one hand how many Sunday services he has missed in thirty-plus years, and most of those were probably due to traveling—when such a steady, reliable presence seems to be eclipsed, it does change the familiar status quo. But, as I say, it does not increase the responsibility that we each already had. There may simply be an internal quickening, an enlivening, a brightening, of a sense of spiritual responsibility, so that the central spirit symbolized by the sun is borne adequately by us as a body. Wonderful!

It’s sometimes casually said that the Lord knows what He is doing. No doubt there is spiritual expediency to this present state of affairs. Seeing that, then there is no judgment that something is occurring which should not be occurring. There is no sense of loss, no sense of something going terribly wrong. Perhaps there is a sense of change, but no less awareness that all is well, all is strong, all is perfect. Perhaps you, as I, have been aware of a very considerable increase of radiance, of spiritual presence, in ourselves and our friends who compose this body. The whole of this body steps forward. There is continuing sharp focus and an increased manifestation of the light present.

One quirk of human nature is the irrational desire to remain childish. One evidence of childishness is the reliance on a parental figure to be a provider. This appears to give one license to be a receiver. Initially, that is normal and necessary, and the provision made specifically by Martin over the years, and Uranda before him, has been magnificent and copious beyond belief. This spiritual body has been abundantly nourished during its infancy and childhood and adolescence. Now there is the necessity to move into radiant adulthood, which involves, of course, the assumption of spiritual responsibility for oneself. That assumption, which is not a mental decision, allows sufficient light in expression, personally speaking, to see things as they are. Consequently the light of another is not required to be shone on our personal affairs, the world of personal responsibility; the light of personal expression is sufficient to see what is there to do. In any moment there is only the next thing that needs to be done. That is all. By saying that, I don't suggest that somehow light in expression through one person is independent and separate from light in expression through another. One of the characteristics of light is that it blends—it is completely compatible with itself, for the source from whence it springs is one.

The state of oneness is factually putting in an appearance through many individuals who compose a collective body which reveals the one source. This is what is occurring in our own personal experience. We see things in the light of our own expression. If the light is shining, vision is adequate, understanding is adequate. Mental understanding isn't all-encompassing, universal in scope. Thankfully it doesn't need to be; that isn't the design of the mental apparatus. The mind's function is to accommodate the light, to be Lucifer, the bearer of the light. As the current of light moves, the mind is moved, and vision is suitable and adequate to the present need. We trust the creative process working through our own consciousness.

I think sometimes when the creative process is mentioned it is seen as being separate from oneself in some way—"Yes, the great creative process is working out everywhere, and I am somewhere in the everywhere so it must be working out in me too." This is the theory, whereas the fact of the matter may be that mind and heart have a sense of somehow being left out, of being not quite sure, hanging back in the shadows. To step forward in the assumption of responsibility is not to be brash, pumping oneself up egotistically—"I am able. Oh yes, here I am, Lord. Send me!" We've been sent and we are here. The assumption of responsibility comes as gently as the shining of the light, no imposition, but with it come strength and power, the power to transform first the mechanism which accommodates it—our own capacity of consciousness—and consequently what that consciousness creates, that which seems to be beyond ourselves. The creative process in personal experience moves from nowhere out through our personal equipment for its manifestation, into the world. This is how we know it ourselves and how we are acquainted with its working in one another.  We see what's what and thus respect what is occurring in ourselves and in our friends. Let’s be assured. Here is something absolute, steady and stable and trustworthy. And it isn't external to us; it isn't a light from somewhere else. It is oneself.

Someone who is considered a leader, in the usual sense of that word, is seen as a person of vision, a person of character, perhaps with something charismatic and inspirational about him or her. Great leaders are often portrayed in history books as larger than life, people of great stature. I remember as a child being surprised when I found out how short Napoleon was, because I had had an enlarged image of a great general—the conqueror of a big portion of the then-known world. Characteristics such as vision and largeness are acknowledged in people who are leaders of men in the ordinary sense—of course such are usually acknowledged a generation or two or three later, after their flaws have receded from memory. In the United States there are few, if any, clean national heroes in the last century—you have to go back as far as Abraham Lincoln to find someone who became impeccable, right? There is obviously a lot of imagination involved here!

Vision and largeness of stature describe true leadership, spiritual leadership. There is vision because the light is shining—we can see. There is largeness because one knows and understands and intelligently cooperates with life's creative process. Insofar as my own sphere of responsibility is concerned, I feel immense and my sphere is very manageable. This is the view from heaven. This is the view in the light. This is our view as emissaries of divine light: "The world of my responsibility is very manageable; it isn't overwhelming. There is nothing fearful in me about it. I am well able to possess the land in the name of the King.”

Obviously if we can't get out into expression through our own minds and hearts we are not going to have that kind of view of our creative fields beyond. Hence there is the first necessity for mind and heart to come to rest, to be still. In stillness is the face of the deep, a setting where the light may manifest. Knowing something about the creative process, we are aware that that relates to the first creative day. The earth is without form, and void, and darkness is upon the face of the deep. It’s a womb-time. The spirit of God moves upon the face of the waters, on the available substance of consciousness, and there is light. Light is born into the dimensional universe in personal experience in this way.

I am the light of the world. I am—and here I am emerging: the light, born in consciousness, of the world which I create around me. Nothing can eclipse that. Nothing can stop the creative process from working. Nothing can impede the shining of the light. It can be blocked from view, but it can't be stopped. Life itself is unstoppable, and it is the nature and character of our King. As we personally, individually, accept that identity with increasing lightness ourselves, then we walk with assurance and exhibit the same spirit and character that we so love and admire in Martin, and in others. It is the character of the King, accepted and expressed.

This is our responsibility, is it not?—no more and no less than it was a week or two ago; just as easily accepted as ever, just as joyfully known. Let there be light. Let the light shine. Let there be no preoccupation with apparent eclipse, but let us remain identified in what is represented by the sun. Thus we know that all is well, all is strong, all is perfect.

It is great to participate together in an hour like this, to focus more sharply in consciousness—and I’m speaking of and to my own—these things which we know. Let us be in accord in a current of assurance and reliability, no less available in this world, and presumably moreso than it was. So we play our parts, and joy fills us.

© emissaries of divine light