Tag: heaven

Mental is Physical

Yesterday I restrained my ankle walking through Philly’s Chinatown in search of meat on a stick. Over a month ago, I went over it, falling in a shallow hole in the meadow across from our home. I thought it was healed and haven’t gone to PT as I should. That re-injury yesterday was the reminder from my 25 year old self that I still haven’t fully addressed her wound. And so today up before the dawn, I pray. I have been experiencing obsessive thoughts and that is my pointer. Who is doing all this thinking? and what needs processing. I know how to build the door to heaven. I’ve built thousands of them.

I call it breaking through the firmament. It’s a veil between upper and lower realities. the lower densities contain shame, memory, pain, trauma, grief, fear and so much more. The upper chakras hold the lightness of being and if we yoke ourselves to God’s ways we will find healing. God is merciful and so I am merciful. God is filled with creative solutions and so my soul finds them as well. We have never been separate and I bring this to her– the missing me. She was lost in a sea of worry and anger. Rage really. She wrote a bunch of fuck you letters this morning as part of her process. To all the wedding guests, the bridal party, family. No one recognized her disguise as one placed on her by God– no , she was ignored. Her pain, the abuse, all of it. Ignored. Maybe that is the way of the world after all. Maybe that is the path of liberation. Not human compassion but human ignorance that dives us into the arms of the Divine. Our heavenly Papa. Where our true power lies.

So if that ‘s you today. Know I understand. It’s a very painful journey of transfiguring the creature. Pope John Paul wrote in “Light of the East’ that the transfiguration of the creature would inaugurate in the coming of the kingdom of God. And so here we are doing the inaugurating. Some days that’s a party and a feast and some days it’s crying into our coffee mug and writing fuck you letters.

But it’s not like before.

No, it’s nothing like that. Those years of having to pretend and act nice and be a pretty bride on the outside while the inside rots….

Kamikaze Kyle (an excerpt from my new book Kamikaze Yogi)

KAMIKAZE KYLE

“Death and life are permeable states because

the ‘Risen Christ’ represents to us everyone who has ever died.”

I Cor 15 (version unknown)

Life is a mystery. Death, also.

Of one thing I am certain, Heaven would never be selfish and keep our loved ones locked away from us. Jesus’ Paschal mystery (the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ—the work that God the Father sent His Son to accomplish on earth) is about much more than the miracle of a physical body resuscitated beyond the grave. For every human, there is a path of ‘dying to the Self’. In Christian theology it is called kenosis (a Greek word meaning the act of emptying), and relates to our fears, and to the identification with a limited, disconnected ego. The word kenosis is used in Philippians 2:7, and says that Jesus made himself nothing. The verse translates to becoming entirely receptive to God’s divine will. 

I imagine, on resurrection day, Jesus burst through each realm—from earth to hell, to heaven, and back to earth—to reveal to us what is possible.

My husband, Bob, and I have a GodSon, Kyle. Kyle passed in March 2019 after a courageous seven-year battle with a brain tumor.

Kyle, like all of us, is a child of God. God’s son. In those final months as he endured suffering, those two words, usually with different meanings, began to merge, becoming one and the same in my breaking heart: Godson and God’s son became GodSon. 

When his body died, we experienced deep grief. In a time when we needed support from others, it seemed difficult for others to understand the effect of Kyle’s passing on us—we were close. This was not the passing of an extended friend. There was a stinging pain to this; even our church family didn’t seem to comprehend the relationship. It was painstaking to repeatedly explain that our grief was intense and prolonged because of this special assignment—that we needed prayers and care too. Over time, I have been able to show our community what it means to Bob and me to have a spiritual son. Once we see ourselves being God’s child, we extend this to others much more readily. 

Kyle loved to express himself with tattoos and, about a month before he left his body, I was visiting and he wanted to tell me about his next tattoo (his tenth, I believe.) On that visit, Kyle found it difficult to speak and became increasingly frustrated. Mark, Kyle’s dad, told Kyle not to worry, and he pulled out his phone and brought up a picture of a skull with goggles and a helmet. It was a morbid image. For a moment, I was lost for words. Then I noticed the skull had a yellow scarf and so I said how much I loved the sunny color he’d chosen. But in my head, I was thinking: Kyle, WTF?

The next day, as I prayed for him, it hit me. That was no ordinary skull, that was a kamikaze pilot. I googled the image. Sure enough, plain as day, there he was. I’d missed it because I had been taken aback with the death imagery. I texted him excitedly: Kyle, you couldn’t have known this, but that is the name of my book. You are getting a kamikaze pilot tattoo. 

(Note: even before I knew what this book was about, God had given me the unique name for it.) 

Kyle couldn’t use his hands that well, he was limited to texting with emojis. He shot back a thumbs up. I typed back: We have such a special connection, you and I… I later wished I’d added: a soul connection…

And then he sent me a red heart. 

Moments ago, I stopped typing this draft and went to my phone with the thought that the old text thread would be there so I could quote verbatim. But I found an empty thread. I burst into tears. Gone. Whyyyy? I wailed.

The day after the red heart text, I prayed for Kyle, again, and texted him: Buddy, you know you are not this body with an expiration date, a brain riddled with tumors. You are not a mouth that can’t form words or hands that can no longer type. You are a soul filled with love, a Spirit which soars with God throughout eternity. I know he sent me lots of red hearts that day. My heart burst; we understood one another at a level beyond language. 

Kyle’s soul knew he’d put on his goggles and helmet to protect him as he traveled through the realms. No need to make that stop in hell since Jesus took care of that for all of us. Kyle was fiercely declaring: death has no hold on me. Death is not the end. What appears dead is only dormant. 

Search for love beyond your fear and your limited mind. Enter your heart to discover a realm of heaven. Go searching, come looking, like Mary Magdalene did at Jesus’s tomb. Look for evidence of Heaven in your life. Discover Him in your inner world. 

Wherever there is beauty, there am I. Laughter, that’s me. The break of dawn, me. A peaceful time chilling with friends, I’m right here. Tears? I am with you in your pain.

Know that this is Him, this is you, and this Him is in you. 

These hearts of ours, these walkie talkie hearts that work as spiritual receptors, can receive the love of heaven and get you to feel it, all from the realm that Kyle now occupies. Heaven is within us. Heaven is now. It’s a newly opened space from where grief dug its grave in us. 

We may have had a fixed idea about our physical reality. We may be stuck in our Western brain. But we can change. We can and must lift ourselves out of our despair and continue our searching in the East. 

Bob and I do it for Kyle. Who are you doing it for? Who will you do it for?

Out in nature, we’ll find our nervous systems regulating, and we’ll relax and get present. We’ll invite the Spirit in and tell Her to have Her way with us. Enchant me! We consent to your action. We want to know about God’s son. We shout into the void of the night sky: “What have you done with him?” 

This speaks to Christianity rooted in wisdom and mystery, recognizing us as incomplete until love opens the door to connection to the Holy Spirit. Our Eastern practices bridge the way to what was always intended but somehow derailed. I recall many occasions where the Spirit required obedience; the ‘go’ to receive or serve in ways that I didn’t often understand at the time. We follow the One who makes us “go”. He is the Life.