What’s Really Important: Naming the Holy or Experiencing It? March 8, 2013

Andrew Harvey and Matthew Fox

Recently I received an announcement of an upcoming series of seminars featuring Matthew Fox and Andrew Harvey.  Part one is titled, “Cosmic Christ and the New Humanity.” The live event on March 8-10 will be held on the west coast whereas I’m in the east, but people can participate online using live streaming technology.  Having attended events with both of these spirit persons in the last six months, I know this will be a deeply enriching experience so I’ve signed up.

Somehow I missed Fox’s book, The Coming of the Cosmic Christ: The Healing of Mother Earth and the Birth of a Global Renaissance, when it first came out in 1988, so until a few weeks ago I hadn’t realized what a huge debt I and other progressive spiritual thinkers owe to the courageous work of this spiritual pioneer. If you don’t know his story, I encourage you to check it out on Wikipedia.  Ditto Andrew Harvey.

So anyway, the term “Cosmic Christ” was new to me until I met Fox last month. I’m a bit concerned that the word “Christ” might lead people to think this seminar is only for Christians. My passion is to heal divides by raising awareness of our commonalities, so I worry about language, religious or otherwise, that might sound exclusive. This is why I use mostly psychological language in this blog: It carries far less emotional baggage.

Because of my Jungian studies I know what Fox means. The Cosmic Christ is one way of referring to our innate ability to connect with sacred energies in an inner mystical, experiential, and personally meaningful way.  Jung called this psychological reality the Self, or the “religious function.”  This archetype is universal and influences us in ways often associated with deity.

It may be helpful to think of the Self as the image of God that indwells us. Others might equate the Self with the Holy Spirit or the Christ within. Regardless of the language we use, the Self is that inner force that prods and urges and nudges us to become aware of our true natures, heal our wounds, and fulfill our God-given potential as unique spiritual beings. Incarnating the Self via the faculty of perception known as nous, or creative imagination, is how we become consciously connected to our divine Source, whatever that may be.

The word Christ comes from the Greek word Christos, meaning anointed, a translation of the Hebrew word, Messiah. The early Christians attached this word to Jesus because they believed him to be the Messiah, a king/priest who would right the world’s wrongs. Islamic sources don’t give much importance to the concepts of kings and priests. Islam’s important figures are prophets and messengers. These terms point to the primacy of knowledge and revelation as ways of  receiving much-needed messages from Allah—itself a culture-based term, like Yaweh or God—for our spiritual and moral development.

Cosmic Christ. Christ Within. Kingdom Within. Self. Diamond Body. Messiah. Philosopher’s Stone. Buddha Nature. Prophet. Messenger. Holy Spirit. Hierophant. God-Image. Religious Function. Sacred Marriage. All these names are metaphors from various ages and cultures. All refer to the same nameless, fathomless reality: the sacredness within and our yearning to consciously enjoy its presence.

So here’s my question. Does it really matter which term we use? Not to me. And not, I assure you, to Matthew Fox or Andrew Harvey. So if you’re looking to deepen your connection with Whatever You Want to Call Whatever It Is That Connects You with Whatever You Think of as Holy, I think I can safely recommend this seminar. And if you’re interested in these ideas I encourage you to check out their books.

Christ Path Seminar link

Amazon link to Andrew Harvey

Amazon link to Matthew Fox

Healing the Sacred Divide can be found on Amazon or at Larson Publications, Inc.

Dream Symbols of the Beloved: Part II August 31, 2012

My friends, My family is with me in the mountains to celebrate summer’s last hurrah!  Writing two posts a week takes more time than I have right now, so I’m republishing this post from two summers ago. It’s one of my favorites—and one of my readers’ favorites as well.  Enjoy.  I look forward to your comments. Have a happy Labor Day!

I’ve just arrived at my soul’s home in the mountains of North Carolina where I will spend the remainder of the summer. I’ve often wondered why I love this place so dearly, why it makes me feel so loved and connected and alive and grateful for my life. My answer came last night and this morning as I read your comments to my last post (Dream Symbols of the Beloved) and did a bit more research.

I’m at my desk looking out an east-facing window. The morning sun enters my backyard late because it has to rise above the mountain before its rays filter down through a thick tree canopy. Most of what I see is in shade but a patch of sun has highlighted the brilliant silver threads of a spider web between two branches of a buckeye tree. Grandmother Spider is busily checking connections, tightening threads, and hunting for tasty morsels that got trapped during the night.

This morning I opened Aion, Volume 9, ii, of Jung’s Collected Works, to re-read his section on symbols of the Self. In paragraph #356 he writes about animal symbolism. He says, “The commonest of these images in modern dreams are, in my experience, the elephant, horse, bull, bear, white and black birds, fishes, and snakes. Occasionally one comes across tortoises, snails, spiders, and beetles. The principal plant symbols are the flower and the tree. Of all the inorganic products, the commonest are the mountain and lake.” Spiders. Mountains. Trees.

When I entered the gravel road last night my arrival was heralded by a cawing black crow who flapped off toward the house. The first thing I did was feed the rainbow trout in our pond. Black birds. Fish. Lake. (Do you think a pond counts?) Then I walked around the garden to check out the flowers. My treasured peonies are already spent, but the pink New Dawn roses and purple clematis are a-riot on the trellis, the hydrangeas look like giant blue and white powder puffs, the hostas are sending up tall bud-laden spikes, the astilbe have myriad pointed white cotton candy tufts, the golden daylilies are in full bloom, and there’s a huge mound of pink petunias by the kitchen door. I don’t garden in Florida. It’s just too hot. But here I can have my flowers. Flowers.

Below Bear Pond and Shadow Brook there’s a small pasture and stable where my horse, Shadow, used to spend his summers. I’ve always had a thing for horses. And Shadow, well, he’s a subject for another post. Horses. By the way, bears are the theme of this mountain home.  They’re all over the house.  But that’s another story too. Bears.

Speaking of bears, every summer for ten years I’ve come here with my sweet friend, a handsome golden retriever whose name was Bear. He passed on last August, but his ashes are in a white box with a label that says “Bear Raffa:  Forever Faithful” in the cabinet four feet to the right of where I sit. I cried when I entered the house without him last night. But this morning when I was still in that borderland between sleeping and waking, I heard his joyous bark. Twice. He’s glad I’m back. I’m glad I’m back.

Do I need any further reminders from the Beloved of how loved I am and why I love this place so? Not really, but such is the nature of the Self that I’ll probably continue to get them every day anyway. And night, too. Sweet dreams of the Beloved, my friends.

You can order my new book, Healing the Sacred Divide, from www.Amazon.com or www.LarsonPublications.com

Dream Symbols of the Beloved: Part II June 15, 2010

Your response to my last post was so overwhelming that I’m going to save the one about how to work with your dreams for next time and continue with the current theme. I’ve just arrived at my soul’s home in the mountains of North Carolina where I will spend the remainder of the summer. I’ve often wondered why I love this place so dearly, why it makes me feel so loved and connected and alive and grateful for my life. My answer came last night and this morning as I read your comments and did a bit more research.

I’m at my desk looking out an east-facing window. The morning sun enters my backyard late because it has to rise above the mountain before its rays filter down through a thick tree canopy. Most of what I see is in shade but a patch of sun has highlighted the brilliant silver threads of a spider web between two branches of a buckeye tree. Grandmother Spider is busily checking connections, tightening threads, and hunting for tasty morsels that got trapped during the night.

This morning I opened Aion, Volume 9, ii, of Jung’s Collected Works, to re-read his section on symbols of the Self. In paragraph #356 he writes about animal symbolism. He says, “The commonest of these images in modern dreams are, in my experience, the elephant, horse, bull, bear, white and black birds, fishes, and snakes. Occasionally one comes across tortoises, snails, spiders, and beetles. The principal plant symbols are the flower and the tree. Of all the inorganic products, the commonest are the mountain and lake.” Spiders. Mountains. Trees.

When I entered the gravel road last night my arrival was heralded by a cawing black crow who flapped off toward the house. The first thing I did was feed the rainbow trout in our pond. Black birds. Fish. Lake. (Do you think a pond counts?) Then I walked around the garden to check out the flowers. My treasured peonies are already spent, but the pink New Dawn roses and purple clematis are a-riot on the trellis, the hydrangeas look like giant blue and white powder puffs, the hostas are sending up tall bud-laden spikes, the astilbe have myriad pointed white cotton candy tufts, the golden daylilies are in full bloom, and there’s a huge mound of pink petunias by the kitchen door. I don’t garden in Florida. It’s just too hot. But here I can have my flowers. Flowers.

Below Bear Pond and Shadow Brook there’s a small pasture and stable where my horse, Shadow, used to spend his summers. I’ve always had a thing for horses. And Shadow, well, he’s a subject for another post. Horses. By the way, bears are the theme of this mountain home.  They’re all over the house.  But that’s another story too. Bears.

Speaking of bears, every summer for ten years I’ve come here with my sweet friend, a handsome golden retriever whose name was Bear. He passed on last August, but his ashes are in a white box with a label that says “Bear Raffa:  Forever Faithful” in the cabinet four feet to the right of where I sit. I cried when I entered the house without him last night. But this morning when I was still in that borderland between sleeping and waking, I heard his joyous bark. Twice. He’s glad I’m back. I’m glad I’m back.

Do I need any further reminders from the Beloved of how loved I am and why I love this place so? Not really, but such is the nature of the Self that I’ll probably continue to get them every day anyway. And night, too. Sweet dreams of the Beloved, my friends.