miracles

A Course in Miracles

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A couple of months ago I joined an online study group that meets weekly to read and discuss the Course in Miracles.  First published in 1976, the book’s content originated with two professors of medical psychology, Helen Schucman and William Thetford, at Columbia University.  I have the third edition which includes the preface, text, workbook for students, manual for teachers, clarification of terms, and supplements.

To explain how the book came to be, it’s best to cite Schucman’s own words from the preface:

Three startling months preceded the actual writing, during which time Bill (Thetford) suggested that I write down the highly symbolic dreams and descriptions of the strange images that were coming to me.  Although I had grown more accustomed to the unexpected by that time, I was still very surprised when I wrote, “This is a course in miracles.”  That was my introduction to the Voice.  It made no sound, but seemed to be giving me a kind of rapid, inner dictation which I took down in a shorthand notebook.  The writing was never automatic.  It could be interrupted at any time and later picked up again.  It made me very uncomfortable, but it never seriously occurred to me to stop.  It seemed to be a special assignment I had somehow, somewhere agreed to complete.…The whole process took about seven years. (p. vii-viii)

The material in the Course in Miracles is dense and profound.  I must reread sentences multiple times, and even then, the connections and meanings may elude me.  It has felt like a return to my college philosophy class, but much more demanding of focus. 

That we are spiritual beings having a physical experience in a world that is only an illusion is a premise hard for me to maintain in daily life.  Most of the other members of the study group are more experienced students of the Course. 

Some passages are so glorious that I return to them again and again:

Lesson 278

2. Father, I ask for nothing but the truth.  I have had many foolish thoughts about myself and my creation, and have brought a dream of fear into my mind.  Today, I would not dream.  I choose the way to You instead of madness and instead of fear.  For truth is safe, and only love is sure.

Lesson 291

2. This day my mind is quiet, to receive the Thoughts You offer me.  And I accept what comes from You, instead of from myself.  I do not know the way to You.  But You are wholly certain.  Father, guide Your Son along the quiet path that leads to You.  Let my forgiveness be complete, and let the memory of You return to me.

To hear Marianne Williamson explaining aspects of the Course in Miracles, go to this link:

A Woman Fell in Love

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Photo by Thgusstavo Santana on Pexels.com

(Inspired by “Love” by Lydia Davis)

            A woman fell in love with a man who had been dead a number of years.  Several hundred years, in fact.  She saw his face through the glass.  Even though his nose and cheekbones protruded like the features of an Egyptian mummy, even though he was shorter than she—his head having been replaced after he was killed and then canonized–, even though the clothes he wore were frayed and impossibly outdated. Despite all that, she fell in love with his beatific expression.

            She came to the church every day of her husband’s conference.  While he sat with other business people in the leather and smoke of the room at the hotel, she sat with her love.  She sat as close as she could, in the first pew, unless there was a mass.  She sat and told her rosary through her fingers and gazed at his sweet face.

            His glass case was edged in gold.  He wore a gold miter on his head.  Even his fingers were encased in little gold caps.  She stared at his face so long, with such yearning, that he seemed to breathe.  She saw his eyelids ripple as if he were dreaming and would wake up at any moment.  When he did awaken, she was sure he would be smiling, smiling at her, of course.  And he would push open the lid, gather up his robes, and step out onto the stone floor.

            He would hold out his hand to her, a hand miraculously restored to firm, warm flesh (minus the gold finger caps) and he would say her name, “Kathleen,” and then…

            This was where it ended.  Then what?  He was a saint, a performer of miracles, a martyr, and she was the plump wife of the owner of a chain of dollar stores.

            Could she throw herself at his booted feet?  Could she plead, “Take me with you, wherever you go?  Please, please, just let me be with you!”

            One day when the church was empty of people, she knelt at the side of his glass case.  She leaned her head against the cool glass, clutching her rosary of onyx beads in her hand.

            That is where the priest found her.  Her husband accompanied the body back to Atlanta.  Several weeks passed before the priest noticed that there was a rosary of onyx beads wrapped around the saint’s wrist.

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