Tag: god

Your Christmas Story

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Unity teaches that the Christ is the essence of God individualized in each of us. Yet most of us have accepted ideas of lack, limitation, and separation as the basis of our identity. Over time, these ideas take form—not only in our thinking, but in our bodies, our relationships, and our circumstances. The spiritual journey, then, is not about becoming something new, but about remembering what we already are.

The Christmas story describes this recovery of awareness through symbol and soul-language.

Mary represents spiritual receptivity—the intuitive dimension of consciousness that is open to the movement of Spirit. She is the part of us that knows life is more than survival and circumstance. Mary is the higher Self that listens inwardly and trusts what it hears. Without this receptive awareness, no spiritual birth is possible.

Joseph represents the intellect, but not as ruler. In the awakening soul, the intellect undergoes a quiet conversion. Once dominant, it becomes attentive. Once authoritative, it becomes discerning. Joseph learns to observe rather than control, to protect what is emerging without attempting to define it prematurely. He stands watch over truths that arise not from reasoning, but from the deeper regions of the soul.

The shepherds symbolize our capacity to watch over our thoughts and feelings. As they keep vigil by night, we are invited into conscious awareness—learning to notice what occupies our inner field. In moments of quiet prayer or reflection, we release what is unproductive and refocus our spiritual energy on what nurtures life, wholeness, and peace.

The wise ones from the East represent the soul’s innate wisdom. Just as the oak unfolds from the acorn, so the soul unfolds according to an intelligence greater than fear. When we commit to growth, the wisdom we need is revealed step by step. The gift is not given all at once—but always on time. This is your Christmas story. The Christ is not born once in Bethlehem, but continually within the receptive, attentive, and trusting human heart.

The Mystery of Mary

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Among the many symbols woven through the Gospel narratives, few are as profound—and as misunderstood—as Mary. In the mystical tradition, Mary represents far more than a historical figure. She is the soul itself: receptive, expectant, open to the divine without the intervention of the intellect. Her story is the story of every awakening consciousness.

Joseph, in this symbolism, is the intellect—capable, orderly, and essential in its place, yet ultimately limited in its ability to perceive the movements of Spirit. Mary conceives without Joseph because the deepest spiritual realizations do not arise from analysis or reason. They emerge from silence, from the inner chamber where the soul listens without effort and receives without strain.

This is the mystery of the virgin birth: a consciousness that becomes still enough, uncluttered enough, to let the divine seed take root. It is not about intense study. This birth is the transformation that begins when the mind stops trying to think its way into God and instead becomes receptive to an inner knowing already present.

Every spiritual journey begins with a moment like Mary’s: an inward stirring, an unexpected clarity, a quiet “yes” that arises before we can explain or justify it. The intellect may protest—Joseph “was troubled” for good reason—but the soul knows. It senses the movement of something holy within, something that cannot be managed or controlled.

Mary’s response is the model of all mystics: “Let it be unto me according to thy word.” She does not demand understanding; she offers availability. She becomes the willing vessel in which Spirit can express itself freely.

When we enter silence—true silence—we step into this same receptive posture. Thoughts settle, expectations soften, and something deeper begins to speak. Not in sentences, but in assurance. Not in arguments, but in the sense of something greater at work.

Awareness of the soul, the biblical Christ, is born in us the same way: not by intellectual effort, but by intuitive-readiness. Not by striving, but by surrender. The mystery of Mary is the reminder that the divine does not depend on our reasoning to take form. It depends on our willingness to be still, to open, to receive.

And in that receptive moment, something luminous awakens—quietly, naturally, inevitably—within the depths of the soul.

The Inner Alignment of Power and Intelligence

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Jesus’ teaching on faith that “moves mountains” is not a call to defy nature but an invitation to return to our inner center—the quiet place where divine power becomes strength and divine intelligence becomes light. True strength is not personal will but alignment with the Source from which all possibility arises. This week, the teaching on Power and Intelligence takes us deeper into that alignment, showing how the light of divine guidance directs the very power that sustains us.

When Jesus urges us to “believe and not doubt in the heart,” he is describing a shift in focus. The mountain symbolizes the problem that appears immovable. Faith is not pretending the mountain isn’t there; it is remembering that we are not defined by it.

The Genesis writer captured this inner movement with the first creative command: “Let there be light.” This was not physical light but the illumination of divine intelligence—the radiant clarity that brings order to chaos. Power provides the energy, and intelligence gives it direction. Together, they form the spiritual architecture of every breakthrough, every healing, every step toward wholeness.

Like King Jehoshaphat, we all know what it is to feel overwhelmed. His prayer—“We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon Thee”—is the perfect union of these two qualities. He releases reliance on personal strength and opens to the larger field of divine guidance (intelligence). The battle shifts from the outer to the inner field. The moment fear dissolves, clarity arises.

When we affirm “Let there be light,” we are not asking for something new to descend from the heavens; we are awakening what is already present in the soul. Divine intelligence is omnipresent, waiting for recognition. Power is ever-flowing, waiting for direction. When the two meet, mountains move—not by force, but by realization.

In quiet prayer, let your focus return to your center. Breathe in power; breathe out strength. Then affirm the light of intelligence is making your next step clear. This is the mystic’s path: strength without struggle, clarity without strain, and guidance arising from the indwelling Presence that never fails.

Life that Flows, Love that Balances

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Jesus said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Abundance, in the mystical sense, is not measured in years or possessions but in awakened awareness—an inner recognition that the same vitality moving galaxies into being also breathes through us. Life is not something we possess; it is the universal energy expressing itself in every form. Stars, stones, and souls are all waves rising from one eternal ocean.

This field of life never begins and never ends. Forms appear and dissolve, but the underlying current remains untouched. What we call “death” is simply a change in expression, not a loss of life itself. To live abundantly is to recognize that the Eternal is present here and now, breathing through everything that exists.

Yet life alone does not complete the picture. The energy that animates creation also guides it, balancing and renewing all things through the law of divine love. Love is not sentiment or emotion but the active intelligence that draws to us what belongs to our wholeness and dissolves what does not. Jesus named this the greatest commandment—not as a moral burden, but as an invitation to trust the very nature of reality.

To love God is to trust the movement of divine order within our lives. To love our neighbor is to acknowledge this same movement in them. Love is always at work, even when unseen, restoring balance where confusion once held sway. When we stop resisting this flow—through forgiveness, humility, or simple willingness—we discover that love was already healing what we thought we had to fix.

Life gives us existence; love gives that existence meaning. One is the vitality at the heart of creation; the other is the intelligence that shapes it toward harmony. To awaken spiritually is to perceive both at once—to sense the living field beneath all things and to trust the love that continually renews them.

When we recognize that everything is alive and held in love’s eternal balance, we move gently, speak kindly, and live with the quiet confidence that we are part of something endless and whole.

The Accepting Prayer of Thanksgiving

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Last week, we explored the principle of Divine Order—the understanding that spiritual order unfolds naturally when we acknowledge it rather than attempt to force it. This week, we build on that foundation by focusing on a practice that aligns consciousness with that order: the accepting prayer of thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is more than gratitude for what has already manifested. It is a spiritual state of receiving, a recognition that good is already in motion even when our senses have yet to confirm it. When we give thanks before the evidence appears, we shift from a mindset of striving to a mindset of trust. We are not trying to establish divine order—we are remembering that it is already present.

This is why Jesus taught, “Your Father knows what you need before you ask.” Prayer, then, is not information for God; it is preparation of the mind. Thanksgiving raises our expectation, creating a mental and emotional atmosphere in which the good we seek can be recognized and accepted.

Consider a moment in your life where anxiety overshadowed clarity. A request made from fear often assumes lack. A request offered in thankfulness acknowledges abundance. The same prayer can either close the heart or open it, depending on the consciousness in which it is spoken.

The accepting prayer of thanksgiving aligns us with spiritual reality:

•Divine order is already in motion

•Good is already unfolding

•We are prepared to receive

In this light, thanksgiving becomes an act of faith—not blind belief, but confident expectancy. We give thanks now because spiritual law is already at work. We give thanks now because good is seeking expression. We give thanks now because our role is not to create divine order but to cooperate with it.

Take a situation in your life that feels unresolved. Instead of pleading for change, affirm quietly:

“Thank you, Father, that divine order is now unfolding here.”

Let the feeling of trust do its quiet work.

Divine Order: Natural Law Unfolding

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To speak of Divine Order is to speak of the intelligence that governs all life. From the orbit of planets to the growth of a seed, there is a quiet precision at work in the universe—an unseen harmony that sustains and directs the whole. This same intelligence is present within us. When Jesus spoke of the Way, he was pointing to this living current of order, what Taoist philosophy calls the Tao—the natural rhythm of the universe moving through every form and circumstance.

We sometimes think of order as something we must impose upon chaos. Yet spiritual order does not begin with control; it begins with recognition. Divine order is not created by our effort but revealed through our awareness. We do not establish it—we acknowledge it.

When our minds are anxious or divided, life appears fragmented. The conditions of our experience resonate with the condition of our consciousness. If we are fearful, we perceive disorder; if we are centered, we perceive the unfolding of divine intelligence. The same universe meets us in both cases, but the state of our inner lens determines what we see.

To live in harmony with divine order is to trust the larger pattern even when appearances suggest confusion. Jesus demonstrated this trust repeatedly. Whether facing hunger, illness, or the turbulence of human emotion, he responded from an inner alignment with the law of Spirit—the natural law of perfect balance and renewal. His life was an example of cooperation with the Way, not resistance to it.

When an area of life feels out of control, we can pause and remember: divine order is not absent; it is waiting to be acknowledged. In prayer, in stillness, in the simple act of breathing deeply, we align ourselves with the steady rhythm of universal intelligence.

Affirm quietly: Divine order is now established here. The natural law of perfect order is now unfolding.

As we rest in that awareness, outer conditions begin to mirror the peace of inner knowing. What once felt chaotic reveals itself as life reorganizing around truth. The Way has never ceased moving; we are simply learning again to walk with it.

An Act of Faith

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The Freeing Truth of Letting Go

There are times when life presses us to release what we’ve been clinging to—plans, relationships, expectations, or even the image we’ve carried of who we are. To the mind, letting go might feel like failure or loss. But to the soul, it is freeing.

Letting go is not doing nothing, and it’s not giving up. It is a quiet acknowledgment that our limited grasp of the situation cannot hold all the factors that belong to Divine order. When Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Not my will, but Thine be done,” he was not surrendering to defeat; he was surrendering to the Infinite Wisdom that sees the bigger picture that may be hidden from us. 

Faith begins where our ability to control ends. The moment we release our tight hold, something larger can move through us. The need to manage outcomes is replaced by a calm expectation that Love, operating through all things, is bringing forth what serves the highest good. Letting go becomes an act of trust in a power and a wisdom greater than our own.

We are not always quick to see or even imagine new possibilities, especially when we’re caught up in appearances. The tree releases its leaves before new buds appear. The same law governs the soul: release precedes renewal. We see this rhythm in operation throughout the natural world. The old is let go and the new takes its place.

To let go is to say yes to life’s deeper current. It is to affirm, even without visible proof, that divine wisdom knows the way when we do not. The act of release opens our mind and heart to unseen possibilities. We keep the door of our faith, our expectation open with the understanding that God’s infinite wisdom is paving the way for something good.

Faith, then, is not an effort to believe harder, but a willingness to loosen our grip—to trust that what falls away was never meant to imprison us. In that newly gained freedom, the soul discovers what it means to rest in God.

Calm Expectation: The Perpetual Prayer

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“According to your faith be it done unto you.” — Matthew 9:29

You have heard me say that faith is more than belief; it is expectation—a calm assurance that the cause we set in motion will bring a corresponding result. When we say, “I have faith in God,” we may unconsciously place the outcome beyond ourselves, waiting for divine involvement. But when we say, “I am working with divine law; therefore I expect results,” we recognize that we are participants in the process of creation.

We live in a universe of law. Every desire becomes a cause that must produce an effect. The clearer our cause, the clearer the result. If our desire is vague, our outcome will be blurred. Write your desire plainly. See it, feel it, give it form in thought. Then release it with calm expectation.

Know that you are working with law. With calm expectation of a corresponding result, you know that all necessary conditions will come about in proper order.

True faith does not strain. It does not plead or push. Like a seed planted in fertile soil, calm expectation knows that growth is already taking place. We do not dig up the seed each morning to check on its progress; we tend the soil and trust the process.

It is helpful to remember the phrase, “this or something better.” We often think we know exactly what form our good should take, but divine intelligence sees farther than we can. Many times, the “better” is not what we envisioned, yet it meets our deeper need.

Each morning, picture your desire fulfilled and give thanks that it is unfolding now. Each evening, rest in quiet gratitude that the same law continues its work through the night. Calm expectation is not idle waiting; it is faith at rest—an inward knowing that order is establishing itself.

Affirm often:

God, the living law within me, is now guiding me in all ways. Every step I take is the right step. I move through my life in confidence and peace.

This attitude keeps the heart open and joyful. In calm expectation, we cease striving and begin cooperating with the creative process of life itself.

Thank you, God, that this is so.

The Power of Silence

The Paradox of Power in Silence

It seems counterintuitive to associate power with silence. The squeaking wheel, after all, is the one that gets the grease. In the world of circumstance, there are moments when squeaking is necessary—when we must speak up, advocate, or act decisively. Yet the development of our spiritual awareness unfolds in an entirely different arena. Its work is done in stillness.

This “stillness” is not mere quiet. It is a shift of awareness—a turning from the restless surface of the mind toward the deeper current of life itself. The Psalmist’s invitation, “Be still, and know that I am God,” is not a command but an opening. It reminds us that knowing the Divine is not an act of intellect but of intuition. The Creative Life Force that sustains our being is ever present, but it works in silence, as a hidden, living fountain of energy.

The Restless Mind

Anyone who has ever tried to meditate knows how easily the mind resists stillness. We close our eyes intending to move into silence and find ourselves chasing thoughts, replaying conversations, or solving problems that do not need solving. Many of us have spent twenty minutes “worried with our eyes closed.”

This is the central challenge of entering the silence: learning to let go of thought patterns that have no real value. We are conditioned to stay on the mental treadmill, running hard but getting off exactly where we got on. What Jesus called “going into your inner room and shutting the door” is the act of stepping off that wheel—of releasing the outer noise to rediscover the quiet center that is always waiting.

When we touch that inner place, we emerge changed. We move into life with fresh enthusiasm and clearer vision. The external world has not altered, yet our relationship to it has. We respond from strength rather than react from fear.

Coming Home to the Center of Power

Silence is not escape from life; it is the re-entry point into our true home. In stillness we return to the center of our being, where all that is real abides. The “Father who sees in secret,” as Jesus said, rewards us openly—not with material prizes, but with the subtle grace of a life that begins to work.

Paradoxically, the time to be still often arrives when stillness seems impossible. We want to “do” something, to solve the upset that has thrown us off balance. Yet sitting quietly, releasing the urge to fix, is often the very thing that restores order. The silence re-centers us in the awareness that we are expressions of the Infinite—not isolated minds scrambling for control, but emanations of the same creative power that holds the stars in place.

The Modern Maze of Distraction

Technology has multiplied our distractions. We carry devices that promise connection but too often deepen our fragmentation. In earlier times, when the phone stayed in one place, we didn’t wonder where it was; now we feel uneasy if it’s not in reach. The more connected we become externally, the more disconnected we risk becoming internally.

This makes the commitment to silence more vital than ever. The silence is not opposed to life in the world; it is the grounding that makes life in the world manageable. It is where the noise of outer activity meets the still rhythm of the soul.

Experiencing, Not Thinking

The silence cannot be understood intellectually. It must be experienced. Reading inspirational books can be helpful, but reading about stillness is not the same as entering it. We may become addicted to uplifting words, returning to them like a pleasant habit, yet never touching the experience itself. The true invitation of “Be still and know” is to be still and know—to feel the reality of God, not merely to think about it.

This is not about solving problems. It is about solving the problem of the busy mind. When we drop beneath the whirl of thought, we encounter a different order of knowing—direct, wordless, whole.

Finding the Doorway of Receptivity

Emilie Cady likened the receptive attitude to a bird bathing in the sun. There is no effort, only openness. We do not make the light shine; we simply stop blocking it. Sitting quietly, we relax the body and center the mind. If thoughts drift, a simple affirmation such as “I am” can help restore focus.

Do not force anything. If the mind refuses to settle, get up and return later. The silence is never achieved through strain; it opens through willingness. The fruit of practice often comes in unexpected moments—a sudden wave of compassion, a surge of peace, a quiet joy that needs no reason. These are signs that the intuitive door is opening and the light of God is beginning to shine through.

The Inner Healing Flow

Myrtle Fillmore’s healing story beautifully illustrates the power of this inner awareness. When she heard the words, “You are a child of God; therefore, you cannot inherit sickness,” something awakened. She began to enter the silence daily, speaking gently to each part of her body, affirming that the life of God was active there. She wasn’t commanding healing—she was acknowledging a truth already in operation.

In the same way, when we quiet the mind and release stress, we cease interfering with the natural intelligence that sustains us. The body follows the mind’s lead: as thought becomes calm, the physical system relaxes, renews, and restores itself.

The Treasure Hidden in the Field

Jesus compared the kingdom of God to a treasure hidden in a field. The silence is that field. In discovering it, we “sell” everything we own—our stress-producing thoughts, our need to control, our limiting ideas—and trade them for the simple awareness of Presence. The intellect can grasp the logic of this; intuition alone can make it real.

This path does require discipline and commitment, not as burden but as devotion. We commit because we recognize the truth of what calls to us. If God is truly within, then the question becomes: How will I experience that?

The Direct Experience

Direct experience of the Divine is not reserved for saints or mystics. It is the birthright of every soul. Yet few seek it because they imagine it difficult or remote. In truth, it is closer than breath. We overlook it precisely because it is so near.

The spiritual life is not about becoming something we are not. It is about awakening to what we already are. As you sit in stillness, you may discover that the freedom you’ve been seeking was never absent—it was only veiled by thought.

To be still is to know. To know is to remember that the treasure you seek has always been within.

Perfection: The Target No One Will Hit

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Many of us were taught to see Jesus as “the perfect man demonstrated,” the flawless figure against whom our own lives are inevitably measured. While this image may inspire, it can also create a burden. Perfection becomes the target no one will ever hit, leaving us discouraged when we discover our flaws and limitations.

Paul’s own description of the resurrection offers a different perspective. He wrote, “It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.” His words point away from physical immortality and toward transformation of consciousness. His encounter with the risen Christ was not about seeing a body restored but about awakening to a reality so profound it altered the course of his life.

Modern near-death experiencers testify to something similar. Their reports rarely focus on physical details. Instead, they describe a profound peace, an overwhelming sense of love, and encounters with familiar and unfamiliar figures who radiate welcome. They return to this life deeply changed, often free from the fear of death. The miracle is not that they avoided dying but that their perspective shifted.

When Jesus is seen as mystic rather than unreachable icon, we are released from the crushing demand to be flawless. Our aging bodies, our frailties, our scars do not disqualify us from discipleship; they remind us that what is most real is not the body at all, but the enduring self beneath it. The mystic teaches that we are more than flesh. We are Spirit expressing through flesh.

If perfection is the measure, we will always miss the mark. But the mystic invites us to another way—not to hit the target, but to awaken to the presence of God within. In this awakening, the search for perfection gives way to peace.