“Letter to a Prisoner” NEWSLETTER!

Letter To A Prisoner

by Joe Wolfe

SpiritLightOutreach.org

Jeshus

"He will be imprisoned or released according to your decision and so will you."

Letter To A Prisoner is newly created in print to reach the hundreds of prisoners who have asked for and received copies of A Course in Miracles. It will contain letters from Course students/teachers from all over the world who have graciously offered to help with answering ACIM related questions.

It will also provide a format for prisoners who wish to have their own letters published and who feel led to share their progress with studying A Course in Miracles.

It will assist in the delivery of free copies of A Course in Miracles to all prisoners on request, and provide other related printed works as well.

Articles contributed by noted teachers and authors will be included and welcomed to be included. To be a part of delivering the message of Forgiveness to those of our brothers who need it most and whose cries for Love have succeeded to put the Course into hundreds of eager hands, please visit SpiritLightOutreach.org and choose to help any way you can.

Love, Light and the Peace of  God,

Joe Wolfe,  author/transcriber of:

The End of Reincarnation with The Five Signs

& founder of Spirit Light Outreach

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Scribing by Sun~Rose


YOU ARE LOVED AND SAFE

 
Jesus Expanding The Miracle Principles
Given In His Course In Miracles
original edition

as received and transcribed by Sun~Rose*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
[as it appeared in the August 2010 Newsletter]

 

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: The text is taken from the JCIM edition of A Course In Miracles.  The Course is a Miracle in itself, and I have so much appreciation for Helen Schucman’s ability to hear and express His Voice with such supreme beauty.
 
I have not changed the Course text at all, except as it is interspersed with Jesus’ current Guidance on it.
 
The Course text is in bold face and slightly larger font.  The Guidance is in normal type, slightly smaller.
 
In His Guidance here, He has asked Me to capitalize the pronouns You and We as an acknowledgement of the Divinity of All of Us, an acknowledgement of Equality, an expression of His Love and respect for You.   When You see the word ‘You’  capitalized in the Guidance, know that He is not just speaking to You, He is honoring You.  

 ____

(1972 manuscript as given to Hugh Lynn Cayce
by Helen Schucman and William Thetford)

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTION TO MIRACLES
I. Principles of Miracles

[continued]

 

22. Miracles are associated with fear only because of the fallacious belief that darkness can HIDE.

May 26, 2006 

Why would anyone be afraid of a miracle?  And what does that mean, the “belief that darkness can hide”?   Well, if You thought You were an ego – and egos are dissipated by the Light – the very Presence of Love – of God – then the Light would be a frightening thing, promising extinction.

May 28, 2006 

It is well to remember – when contemplating the ego – that it has only one ‘function’ – and that one only serves itself.  The function of the ego is to survive – to keep its self going – not You

In fact, the ego will willingly – and often does kill You off, rather than have You awaken to realize its uselessness.  Be alert to this.  As I said two thousand years ago: “If (You) keep My saying, (You) will never see death.” (John, Gospel of; chapter 8, verse 51.) 

Therefore, the ego loves darkness, the thicker the better – where Light is far away.  This accounts for the popularity – and increase – of depression in the human condition, as more Truth penetrates consciousness.  Depression serves the ego well, and it is only of the ego.  Do you understand that?  There is no Divine basis for depression at all. 

Man believes that what he cannot see does not exist, and his physical eyes cannot see in the dark.Indeed, You do believe that what You are blind to does not exist.  Why is that?  Because You have allowed the ego to be ‘You’ – what You call You.  You have hidden Who You Are out there in the Light – as the Light – while You huddle in the deep cave of ego-dom, blind as a bat because your eyes have become unaccustomed to Light.

This is a very primitive solution, and has led to a denial of the Spiritual eye. *To say that this is a primitive solution is charitable.  It is a very childish, immature way of being, to shut one’s eyes to good, while at the same time complaining about the darkness.  The solution, of course, is to take one’s petty little ego mind off one’s self and to think about how one can extend some needed Love to others. 

The escape from darkness involves two stages:

The recognition that darkness CANNOT hide. This step usually entails fear. 

In other words, that You can realize what You are doing – and do differently.  The extreme self-concentrated thinking that You have been engaging can suddenly become repugnant to You.  (Remember, You are the very Presence of Love – of God – despite the game You are playing.  This remembrance would bring with it a longing for Home.)  The response the ego brings up to this memory is usually fear – the fear of God’s ‘retribution’.  This is absolutely nonsensical and only possible because You  have forgotten What the Presence of Love really is.  Nonetheless, to the ego – who loves punishment – the inflicting of it – this fear and concept seem very real and even sensible.  It involves a total amnesia of God, Love. 

Nothing could be farther from the Truth.  And nothing stands in the way of your finding yourself Home but unwillingness.  Now You see why I have asked only for a little willingness. 

The recognition that there is nothing you WANT to hide, even if you COULD.

May 29, 2006 

You see how safe you feel with Me.  Now, multiply My total acceptance of You Infinitely.  With so much Love supporting You, does it still seem a task too hard to Love the ‘unlovable’ (or so they seem)? 

God has not made You so, and thus He has not made them so.  You have just gotten this and the possibility is suddenly viable, isn’t it?  I feel your ‘yes’ with Joy.  What cannot We do together as You offer Me your willingness? 

It is a measure of the Safety that You feel, that willingness is freely given.  Many things in the world still frighten You, and yet the Embrace of God has become your Sanctuary, and this is good. 

This step brings ESCAPE from fear.

May 30, 2006 

Well, of course!  In a benign world – a benign Universe flowing from a benign Good, what is there to fear.  Reality, then, is permanent and Good, while only the split-minded beholder believes s/he can ‘see’ what isn’t.  And why is the world perceived in such a bizarre way, so far from anything that’s Real?

This is an important question because, in the answer, lies the key to your non-existent cell door.

(* The term “Spiritual eye” is later replaced by the Holy Spirit and the physical eye becomes the ego. The emphasis on the two ways of seeing, however, remains throughout.)

Having forgotten that You made a choice to see the world askew, I am now – with Joy – reminding You.

The reason is quite simple.  In the strange delight the dreamers found that with a squint they could see the world anew – came sudden fear at their temerity.  To defy Omnipotence seemed a crime that would be punished by annihilation – a possibility related to Truth only by its impossibility.

Fun was gone and in its silly place appeared survival.  Counting only its own survival worthy, this strange ego thought – becoming more alien by the moment – found its formerly dear brothers and sisters now quite worthy of sacrifice.

This heartlessness was backed up – indeed based on the absolute need to be ‘right’ – a new concept replacing the Goodness of All Be-ing.  Now survival is firmly based on being the ‘rightest’.

Look around your world – look at all relationships.  Even parent-child, the supposed tenderest of all relationship – child and parent are vying for the prize of rightness, the parent only assigning it to child if it is clear the parent made it so.

And so the Love that stands silently where each One is is hidden securely behind these games of hate.  The pain of this is so great that the dreamer – albeit sleeping all the time – soon is tired.  And so ‘death’ was invented and agreed upon, along with its partners ‘sin’ and ‘sickness’ to prepare the hapless one for his or her ‘final reward’.  This exit from the dream comes with a rider: it allows each one to choose again. 

Having become addicted to this compelling behavior demanding rightness – almost like God – the choice is made far too often for the dream once more.

What I have come to tell You for the past 2000 years is that the Choice for God can be made at any time.  The Choice entails no loss of Good at all, but a Gain – right Here and Now – of a Happiness beyond words.  There is no loss of your loved ones – or of You for them.   Instead, You now will begin to really Love again instead of sacrificing them to your insatiable altar of survival.  Your Peace assured, their True well-being becomes your dearest wish.

~*~ 
*Sun~Rose is the scribe of the recently published book,YOU ARE LOVED AND SAFE: Prep Notes for Experiencing God’s Love.”

She is also author of,A Radiant Life: Raw Food and the Presence of Love“.

 
 BOTH now available on amazon.com
 

Gaff ~ Thoughts of a Fisherman

It is My Devotion that Entitles Me to Yours
Thoughts of an Old Fisherman
by
Lorena R. Peter, Ph.D.*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
[as it appeared in the August 2010 Newsletter]

 

            Sam Teabar walked over the dunes from the blue house to sit on Gaff’s cooler. Gaff felt Sam’s unutterable sadness.
            They sat. Sam put his head in his hands and said in a small voice. “You couldn’t help her, you know. I know you tried, but you were just too late.” He shook his head and raised his head to wipe the tears.

            Gaff put a hand on his visitor’s shoulder, but said nothing. Both men looked out at the ocean and watched the gulls and the pelicans diving for food. They listened to the waves crashing on the sand, pushing the sand into the shore and then pulling it out again. This was the way of things, the natural pulse of the planet.

            Gaff nodded in understanding. “Julia said about as much. I guess Harriet didn’t come with you this year.”
 
            Sam shook his head in response. “She’s in a residential clinic for a couple of months. If she doesn’t stay on the wagon when she gets out, I’m filing for divorce. I love her too much to watch her kill herself this way.”
            All Gaff could think to say, “I’m so sorry.”
            Sam picked up a shell and threw it toward the water. The birds dove for it, thinking it might be food. They soon returned to their fishing. “I do love her, you know.”
            “I can see that.”
            “She thinks I want her to quit drinking because I want to hurt her. But I love her too much to watch this form of slow suicide. I stuck around while my first wife died of cancer, but she didn’t do that on purpose. I can’t take more pain like that.”
            “The birds just now… they got confused about what you were throwing. Thought it was food. If you told them it was just a shell, they wouldn’t understand. They had to find out for themselves. Life’s like that sometimes.”
            “I guess you’re right.”
            “Works both ways. You can try to do something nice for someone– something helpful– and they will see it in the light of their own way of seeing the world. That might not be the same as your way, your intention.”
            “That’s why Harriet thinks I’m being mean to her when I tell her to quit drinking?”
            “For some people, everything boils down to a competition for the good things of life. One of those good things is love and its other form-respect.”
            “And good times. You forgot good times. Harriet thinks I’m trying to limit her good times.”
            “She has her own way of seeing things and her definition of ‘good times’ is pretty narrow. For me, good times are the hours I spend with Julia and the grands.”
            Sam nodded, quiet in his sadness. 
            “If Harriet could only see how much you love her, she would see the source of good feelings you’re offering.” 
            “She thinks I want to control her, to make her do what I want.”

            “I read in a book just recently that devotion to a person is best when it’s in response to the devotion they have for you.”

            The tip of the rod began to wiggle its signal-a fish on the hook. Both men moved so Gaff could tend his lines.

            “That does make sense… Is it payment for that devotion?”

            “Not payment, but you love the person who loves you. Harriet just doesn’t see how devoted you’ve been to her all these years.”

            Sam shook his head. “What is this book you’re talking about?”

            “In A Course in Miracles that passage is about the way we honor Jesus, but it also works when you consider relationships with people in our lives.”

            “I’m not following.”

            “The book says that we should honor Jesus and be devoted to Him not because He’s special, but because He is devoted to us.”

            “Still don’t get it. He’s the son of God so He is special. The discussion is moot.”

            Gaff smiled. “We were all created by God, weren’t we?”

            Sam nodded.

            “Then, we’re all sons of God.”
            Sam frowned, “OK? I guess that’s one way of seeing it.”
            “That makes us all brothers of Jesus… and special. The book says that Jesus wasn’t here to teach us how to suffer and die. That wasn’t His purpose. He was here to teach how to love-to love unconditionally. To love in all situations.”
            “That I can follow. It’s not exactly what my minister says, but it does make sense.”
            “He tells us that our devotion to Him isn’t to be based on His specialness, but on the love He has for us and constantly demonstrates to us.”
            “I don’t see how that relates to Harriet’s drinking problem.”
            “She sees your insistence on keeping her from drinking as based on your being her husband. From her point of view, in that special role, you try to control her because you are her husband.”
            “I only want the best for her because I love her.”
            “She has to love herself enough to believe that you can love her that much.” Gaff could see Sam’s sadness.
            “I do love her.”
            “I know you do, but she may not be able to see it. Let’s talk about the early church. People met in homes to discuss what they heard about Jesus. Others joined them because they saw how loving members of the group were. Saw the happiness and decided they wanted some of that.”
            “Not because He was the King of the Jews?”
            “Nope. Because He taught people to be loving and that results in feeling peaceful. And a lot of other people wanted to feel that peace. Those early followers didn’t go out to pull people in through force. The minnows were attracted by the promise of a better life.”
            “OK.”
            “Those people had to believe they deserved the love rather than punishment by an angry God. Only then could they truly join in the meetings to learn the Way of Love.”
            “So Harriet doesn’t believe that I could truly love her enough to want the best for her?”
            “That’s about the way I see it… one part of the picture.”
            “The other part is that she doesn’t love herself enough to believe she deserves good things? Like my love?” He shook his head in confusion.
            Gaff nodded. “Harriet doesn’t understand that she could enjoy more of this world if she was sober or she would stay sober. Sometimes getting drunk is a way of covering over pain and sometimes that pain results from feeling inadequate.”
            “Inadequate and not lovable?”
            Gaff nodded. “After you drink so much, your body chemistry changes so you don’t feel right without the booze.”
            “What you said before sticks in my mind. She needs to love herself enough to be able to accept love from me.”
            “Yep. If she doesn’t love herself and trust that others will love her, then she will grab all the good feelings she can in other ways. She’s falling back into the habits she formed as a young woman, the way she got what she thought was love.”
            “I need to see what kind of counseling they do in that clinic. Maybe I could go for sessions with her.”
            Gaff nodded his appreciation. “I once told a young man that he needed to be the kind of person that’s attractive to the woman of his dreams. He needs to be her Dream. It can’t be a façade or a game. It has to be real because the other person will figure it out, sooner or later. Maybe a lot of divorces result from that kind of play-acting.”
             “Interesting idea.”
             “We’re more successful in getting love if we are loving. The way it was put in that book is ‘It is my devotion that entitles me to yours.'”
            “It’s silly to equate myself with Jesus.”
            “Wasn’t He providing a model for us?”
            Sam stared out toward the horizon, nothing more to say. He was nodding, though.

 ~*~    

 
* Lorena Peter, Ph.D., writes entertaining mysteries, romances and wisdom books. All have strong spiritual underpinnings and paranormal elements. She blends a medical intuition and healing practice (and travel) with her writing. For more information go to www.lorenapeter.com. There you will see photographs of locations discussed in Gaff as well as a chapter for your perusal. You may contact her on Facebook. For her understanding of the Course, she thanks Carmen Cameron and the class in Louisville, KY.

Susan Dugan


THIS is the WORK
 

by Susan Dugan*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
[as it appeared in the August 2010 Newsletter]

 

            The first Lent following my First Communion I got the hare-brained idea of attending 6 a.m. mass every day before school at the Holy Name church about a mile down the road, and somehow talked my brother into joining me for the sake of his rotten soul. I would set my little windup alarm for 5:15, slip into a jumper, pull on my winter coat, and start down the big hill from our house with Michael, doing our best to avoid killing ourselves on the ice. Working a pink plastic rosary inside a white rabbit muff I had gotten for Christmas along with a matching cap.
 
         In my memory it was always sleeting or spitting snow those dark, hollow mornings; trees groaning and rattling in despair. For once we never spoke, as if the sound of our own voices in the stillness might alert lurking predators. Surely God would take note of such sacrifice, I reasoned. Surely such devotion would whittle years off the sentence in purgatory our constant bickering and vying for parental attention had already cost us.
 
         I am thinking about the practice of sacrificing ourselves in a pathetic effort to win back God’s love, the love we think we squandered when the tiny mad idea of individuality dawned in the one Son of God’s mind and we believed it. Thinking about the sin, guilt, and fear at the core of the ego thought system described in A Course in Miracles.  A thought system that drives our behavior in this illusory world and eliminates the possibility of ever experiencing enduring, unconditional love.A thought system engendered by a false belief in differentiated selves unconsciously mired in guilt over the “sin” of separation, terrified of punishment, and literally hell-bent on holding someone else responsible to prove their relative innocence. I am thinking about all this because my parents are visiting from upstate New York and as I dropped them off at the Catholic Church near our house (aptly named Most Precious Blood) several distinct memories from my Catholic youth resurfaced for reconsideration.
 
         “Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault,” I would chant, along with my fellow parishioners, kneeling on worn red velvet-covered kneelers, banging our fists to our chests in our efforts to make the sin of separation from God and the need to atone for it real. I passed out a lot in church back then. Partly from the heat (for mysterious reasons no one removed their coats), partly from low blood sugar (you could not eat before Communion), and partly from extreme anxiety over accidentally nibbling on Jesus.
 
         Sister Scholastica had instructed us before we made our First Communion to make stunt wafers by mashing that squishy white bread everybody ate back then with our palms, cutting it into rounds with a juice glass or cookie cutter, and allowing it to melt on our tongues without touching it with our teeth. This was Christ’s body after all and people who wanted to get into heaven didn’t go around chewing on bodies, especially holy ones. It took practice. Like the real wafer, the stand-in stuck to the roof of your mouth and required robust tongue scraping to remove and eventually swallow. 
 
         I am thinking about the idea of sin, guilt, and fear alive in the Catholic ritual of converting Christ’s body and blood into bread and wine that we might literally partake of his innocence versus the Course’s concept of communion in which we remember our essential innocence by recognizing our mistaken belief that anything outside our mind can jeopardize it. As we turn that error in perception over to Jesus/the Holy Spirit/right mind our dark projections disappear in the light of true awareness that knows we remain healed, whole, and eternally loved.
 
         We do this through forgiveness, the process through which we learn to identify the hidden motive of guilt behind our addictive urge to blame others for our suffering. And to turn our attacking thoughts over to the part of our mind that remembers there is no one to blame because wholeness remains whole. We remain resting in God’s mind as we always have and will, dreaming a silly dream of exile from which we can awaken once we have generalized the lesson of forgiveness to everyone and thing. Remembering we are not broken as we acknowledge you have not broken me.
 
This is the work.
 
         I have been asking lately (OK, begging) for Jesus (that symbol of the awakened mind) to help me remove the blocks I have erected to keep the one and only real love that exists-an all-inclusive love that has nothing to do with this all-exclusive world–away. To help me remove all the chatter I have generated to prevent me from hearing that voice, all the clutter I have projected to obscure that vision. The answer I received?
 
This is the work.
 
         The last few days as I entertained my parents, fought a bad cold and a bad back: I kept hearing that phrase over and over as I caught myself beginning to react, to make something external responsible for my internal state. This is the work of forgiveness. This mother, this father, this daughter, this husband, this body, these friends, this table of 24 in a Chinese restaurant in Boulder that all asked for separate checks. This waiter who forgot our condiments, a napkin, the water, this man on the mall folding himself into a 20 x 20 inch plastic cube for money. The goose feces in the park the dog kept trying to eat, the bald eagle landing on a tree in the middle of a frozen lake that took our breath away, these keys locked in a running car by an ego mind driven to distraction. This runny nose and sore throat; these children growing up and away.
 
         As I sat listening to one of my husband’s stories at another restaurant that failed to live up to its reputation a wave of appreciation shuddered through me. I lost track of myself and experienced a sense of oneness with everyone at the table, in the restaurant, and passing by the glass outside. I had experienced something similar a couple weeks earlier at our neighborhood Starbuck’s as I passed a homeless man warming his hands around a paper cup of free coffee and leaning his elbows on a table. I could feel his exhaustion and recognized it as my own. That recognition somehow spawned a sense of utter completeness and comfort.
 
         A few days later while pulling out of a parking lot a woman walked in front of my car diagonally without looking. Just a few years ago I would have rushed to judge such behavior but this time I didn’t react.  I could only see her from behind, her back bent under the weight of satchels on both shoulders, nearly buckled by the weight of this existence. As I stepped on the brakes I lost track of which one of us I was. Her burden (symbolic of the guilt we all carry over the bogus “crime” of separation) became my own for an instant before vanishing in the incredible lightness of our right mind as the car ground to a halt and I caught my breath at the wonder of it. 
 
         This is the gift the work of forgiveness brings. Recognizing how much I want to project the guilt I’m seldom even aware I’m carrying over having pushed God’s love away onto someone else and choosing again for a better way I become more and more right-minded. More and more willing to see only common interests. More and more aware that I lose nothing by giving up what hurts me. Until sometimes, forgiveness just seems to spontaneously happen. I recognize my right-mindedness as I reach for the muscle of judgment I have spent most of my life building only to find it happily disabled. 
 
         By practicing forgiveness every time I catch myself holding someone or thing external responsible for my internal state the judgment muscle weakens, the forgiveness muscle strengthens, and I experience moments where I am truly watching with Jesus above the battleground. Having lost track of this false self and its special agendas. This is the true communion I am more and more ready to swallow, the healing of our seemingly split mind the work of forgiveness brings.  

  ~*~
 
*Susan Dugan is a student and teacher of A Course in Miracles living in Denver, Colorado. She shares her journey practicing the Course’s extraordinary forgiveness in an ordinary life on her blog: http://www.foraysinforgiveness.com. A collection of her forgiveness essays has been accepted for publication by O Books. 

Poems by J.Michaels

Penguard the Crusher
By J. Michaels*
~*~*~*~*~*~
[as it appeared in the August 2010 Newsletter]
 
 
 
 

Penguard the Crusher
A man of meager means
A hollowed out stump was his throne
He longed to be king of the Norsemen
But alas, he lived all alone.

Penguard the Crusher was a very large man
He stood well nigh to thirty hands
Inside he bore yet a larger heart
But life had deemed to tear it apart
 
His life had been filled with violence
He had savaged a man or two
His soul was chipped away with each
Yet he knew not what else to do
 
One day upon the path to nowhere
He encountered a tiny girl
She was lost and beaten and battered
She knew not which way to turn
 
In his heart, he cried for the little one
It ached as he saw her pain
She reminded him of the life he lived
Had he lived it but in vain
 
Pen’s kingly dreams would have to wait
He had someone now to protect
This lost, lonely waif before him
The last thing he thought to expect
 
For much time, the waif would not speak
Her voice had lost its tone
Then one simple act of kindness
Would remind the child of home
 
Old Pen held out his battle-worn hand
To offer the child some bread
She had eaten not for many a day
Starvation, her impending dread
 
The child had been left homeless
From the battles that men do wage
She had lost both father and mother
At such a tender age
 
Old Pen now saw those wars he’d waged
Written upon her face
Far too much for a child to know
At such a tender age
 
The old Norseman’s heart was broken
As he looked upon the child
Knowing the life he lived
May have cast her to the wild
 
He had fought and pillaged for many a year
For this was all he knew
Never a boy to be remembered
Hardness and cruelty was all his due
 
Penguard took mercy now on this child
He would raise her as his own
He would cease the lonely warrior’s life
And make them both a home
 
He thought what needs the child might have
He knew so little of such
He had no gold or silver
His trove was not so much
 
Yet he would find a way to warm her
To ease her pain somehow
He would be the lost father to her
They would be a family now
 
So Pen welcomed her to his home at last
It was little for the eye to see
Yet the child smiled as she entered
She had a place to be!
 
The years wore on
The girl grew strong
From the love and guiding hand
Of the old and worn out Norseman
Who had long ago left his band
To raise a child abandoned
A waif who had lost her home
He now atoned for his fruitless life
He had taken this child as his own
 
All those years did soften Pen’s heart
The girl, he truly did love
God had granted his dream somehow
A gift from Heaven above
 
She attended him now as he lay in bed
Life seeping from his aged frame
She had long since forgiven
The man she had never blamed
 
For he had given her life
And the love of a guiltless man
She now caressed his glowing face
And she let him understand
That all he had done and committed
Was washed away by love
She then gently released him
To join his Father above

from

Leave the Bones copyright 2010 J. Michaels

 J. Michaels
Writer, Storyteller & Poet
Website: www.jmichaelsbooks.biz
Blog: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/theovernightpoet/

 

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