Life Matters by E.C.Nemeth (read aloud TXT) 📕

of true importance in my ordinary, everyday reality.
I share these things not as perversion or egoism but as the celebration of life, of what's important. Also, there is a very real spontaneity to life that is not much heralded by the information networks of today’s world. There is an intelligence at work behind the scenes, orchestrating all the ordinary everyday connections as well as those synchronistic events that are so far beyond coincidence.
There are entities constantly ministering to our higher minds and ensuring the will of God is manifest upon the earth. I can almost see them; I most certainly sense their presence. They are all about us.
I love it when I am swept up in the rapturous feeling of a sudden intense personal connection to The Source. It’s then that I see the world correctly, if only for a moment. For an instant I am transported out of my little cocoon of a life and from a much vaster perspective I can see my connection to all things as well as know the Truth about myself. I see the beauty in the world, the great love of the Creator for all of creation. And I realize my grandeur. That is the one that always takes my breath away. My true magnificence is simply overwhelming. Words cannot really capture the essence of that experience and so I offer it only as a rather poor description of my spiritual truth.
For now, this book, this work, is my manual to transformation, nothing more. I have more I need to unlearn - and much more to remember.
It seems like only yesterday, but it has been almost ten years now - more like twelve (today being 2005) if you consider the creation of the Chart as the beginning of this journey. The Chart came about as a demonstration of changing allegiance. Until then empirical science was my authority, it told me what to think. And think I did, but the logic of science continually missed the point and left wide regions of experience not included, as if they didn’t exist. I decided the scientific approach would never answer the really big questions. So with the creation of the Chart I parted ways with science. Ten years ago I started writing the first book All Just Is. Nine years ago I was given the book, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success, by Deepak Chopra. It made a very big impression on me, soon I had read all of his books and many more by others recommended by Chopra. Eight years ago I began yoga and meditation. Six years ago I found The Course In Miracles, an amazing experiential philosophy that resonates deeply with me. Four years ago my life was turned upside down by my own hand. Three years ago I quit working for others and started my own business. I also finished All Just Is. Two years ago, still in considerable turmoil, I began going to Course Workshops. I met many like-minded individuals. A year ago I began writing this sequel, Life Matters. I might still call it, The Two Sides of All, I’m not sure yet. Six months ago I left the group with not much of an explanation. A few months ago I finished the course, with not as much diligence as I should have applied to it.
A few days ago was my 49th birthday. Seven sevens is significant to me. It speaks to me of such things as transition, changing polarities, upswing, good luck, inspiration, illumination - truth.

A prayer
I wish you to join me in this prayer.
God, hear the voice of your creation.
Here I am, Lord, in contriteness, not awaiting punishment or retribution but only to remember my true being is in you. I have failed my higher mind yet again. I forgot who I was. I gave in to fear, to doubt and to guilt.
But I know I have not sinned. I know you love me. I know I will learn to make peace with my ego and see only what is real once again.
I pray, dear Lord, continue to bless me with the opportunity to remember what I have forgotten and to receive the wisdom of my higher mind.
By your will and mine, I will succeed. I desire it above all else.
Give me your blessing as I turn my mind back to the world of my fellow beings. Let me not linger there too long, nor forget my true mission, which is to find my way back home to You.
For there is nowhere else and nothing else is real.
Thank you God.
A symphony to grandeur
It is imperative right now to leave analytic thinking in our back pockets or our purses, so to speak, ready if we feel threatened and need a fall back position that is defensible by our so-called logic, and remain receptive to experience truth. For the moment, let us indulge an openness in our minds, a compartment completely devoid of laws and rules and boundaries and judgments or limitations of any kind. This piece of mind is not a place or a space but the Eternal Attitude of Peace of Mind. Do not judge this, let it happen.
Consider it to be the opening bars of a symphony. Holding the openness is a single Cello playing a lornful note. The French Horns of a familiar yet far-away and misplaced feeling enter this openness and fill it with a yearning. Upon its coattails rides the Flute of reason, flittering this way and that, unsure of which direction to take. Yet the Horns beckon. Now the Trumpets blast out the rallying call to action and the Flute responds in a twittering dissonance, unsure how to respond. The Snares roll, the Drums thunder and the Cymbals crash, punctuating the travails and drama incurred by this uncertainty. Eventually, the familiar Snare roll of death leads to a lull.
The Cello, it is suddenly noticed, has been and still is holding the same note throughout. And Lo! A Violin has held it too, riding the harmonics to higher meaning!
The soft tones soothe for a while.
But the Horns beckon again from far away and the yearning returns. The Flute begins its hectic wandering, never in tune, never sure. And the trumpets only rouse the flute to ever more disharmony. The Drums and Cymbals highlight the tribulations of the lonely Flute until the sound of death rolls out from the Snare once again.
The Cello is still there, holding the openness and the violin has delved into its content.
And as the French Horns let out their baleful muted yearning the Strings begin a study based on the Cello’s foundation. The Violins lead the way, following both the harmonics and the spontaneity of the Cello and the Flute. And when the Drums boom and the Cymbals crash, the Strings remind them all of their common connection, their united goal. And as the Snare begins the death march the Strings squeak and squawk in furious staccato beats that drive the Snare to roll out the unmistakable sound of: The Spectacle About To Happen.
The Strings loose their way while the Snare rolls on in mounting anticipation. And the French Horns, that a moment ago were sounding rather optimistic under the inspired guidance of the strings, wail out their miserable, unnamed yearning. The Flute, which hasn’t been heard of for a bit, begins searching aimlessly about the scales again. The Trumpets scream in alarm. The Drums hesitate and miss the count while the Cymbals clash on the offbeat. The chaos mounts to a height not yet encountered while the Snare continues to stir the cacophony to ever more random autonomy, as if awaiting a signal to unify or burst.
Even the Cello considers faltering, then increases its volume - but to no avail.
The crescendo keeps building to ever loftier, more dangerous, more significant heights.
Now it is a test of faith. The crescendo cannot build forever. Who will show the way? Where is there to go?
Still more bars later, with no leader coming forth to guide them on, the Snare fades off and the let down soon silences them all. Except the Cello. The openness is still intact, it is still free.
Where is the violin with its play on the context? It is noticeably absent. And what is this gentle tinkling in its stead? It is noticeably novel. Such a sound! Like splashing freshness upon the mind. The convoluted melody cascades across awareness like melted drops of ecstasy collecting into a cozy little river of love. It is not so much heard as separate notes but as a thrumming, an oscillation about a single point. The Harp! Gentle and soothing, convincing and certain. There are no deceptions in this melody, nor does it try to fit in with any other rhythm than its own.
The Cello picks up the gist of the novelty and incorporates it into its previous efforts. For a moment the openness threatens to dissolve but then stabilizes. The French Horns sing of romping through the countryside, the hinterland of the mind, and the Trumpets announce the arrival of royalty.
The Flute whistles a happy little catchy ditty.
The Drum and the Snare and the Cymbals carry the beat.
The violin leads an expedition into Joy.
And the Strings display their moving, heart-stirring approval.
The rapport brought on by the sudden harmony transports the symphony across a threshold from which it will never return the same again. And as the symphony orbits about the melody lead by the Flute the powerhouse of the orchestra makes a dramatic entrance.
All are silenced but the Cello. Then as the newcomer takes up the responsibility of openness even the Cello halts its duties.
The Grand Piano sums up the entire work in a moving rendition of all that has so far transpired. The masterful improvisation rings out in verses of recounting while the chorus continually returns to the present happy ditty of the Flute.
With history fully retold, and from the present, the symphony can now turn to the future.
The Drum and Snare and Cymbals gather the momentum.
The French Horns and The Trumpets exalt the transition.
The Flute harbors no guilt and happily frolics in harmony about the melody.
The Cello resumes its solemn responsibility of openness.
The violin heads off on a wonderfully magnificent muse that tugs at the heartstrings.
The Grand Piano takes them all on a tour of the impossible using elements from the theme in new and inspired ways and each is given a turn to create the impossible from within it.
And as the symphony rounds toward the grand finale and builds towards the climax, the essence of their work will now be revealed.
Full of power and cognizant of their infinite potential but understanding the beauty in simplicity, the orchestra selects a mighty segment to stand for their truth.
It is the ditty of the Happy Flute!
With tremendous verve and exhilarating exuberance the orchestra takes up the ditty, making of it a grand statement of arriving. How skillfully they play off each others’ distinctiveness, adding to the over-all sense of unity! The final crescendo is monumentous to the literal point of being life-changing.
Slowly the beautiful melody subsides.
And when the final Cymbal crashes and the Cello confidently winds down its duties, knowing the openness can never again close, the Harp gives one last needless reminder of heaven. And even that last reminder is nothing more than the final echo of the Flute’s happy little ditty.
The silence immediately after seems to somehow accentuate the magnitude of the preceding event.
And the curtain closes on a rapt audience. All know there will be no encore. For how can such a performance be out-done? What could follow it? Anything more would