Space/Brain

 

“Experiments show that the focus of our attention changes reality itself and suggest that we live in an interactive universe.”—Gregg Braden

 

 Have You ever been in a room that was buzzing with conversation--when suddenly all talking stopped?

Gregg Braden tells of such an event that was better than any I have ever experienced. 

As he sat eating dinner in a hotel's large restaurant where there was a buzz of conversation, suddenly, silence.

He looked to the entrance where a group of people had entered. One of the group stood out, for he was dressed all in white and looked rather like Jesus. 

As the group walked past Braden's table, the man in white nodded a greeting, and when Greg looked into his face, he was shocked. 

The man had an open wound that extended across his forehead and down his nose. It was unmistakably in the shape of a cross. Gregg looked at the man's hands wrapped in gauze. Red seeped through. 

 

As the man and his entourage walked past Greg, the group members gave Braden a look that said, "Haven't you seen a man bleed before?"

No, he hadn't; not like that. He whispered a word, "Stigmata."

Braden said he had read about stigmata, but he had never seen it.

The bleeding figure was to be a presenter at the hotel the following day, as was Braden, their reason for being in that hotel. However, later Braden learned that the man had other conditions on his body that identified with the crucified Jesus. 

 

Braden's observation: If we don't believe that our beliefs can affect our bodies—look at this. This individual so identified with the passion of Christ that he would develop conditions similar to the crucified Jesus.

 

I had to buy Greg's book, not when I read about stigmata, for I didn't know that story was in it. I bought it when I read his comment about space. 

 

Scientists now think that space isn't empty. It has something in it.

 

Braden's suggestion is that something is where our beliefs are made manifest.

 

That blew me away. 

 

The book is the spontaneous healing of belief (no caps) by Gregg Braden.

 

In one of my blogs, I mentioned that my purpose was to wonder about things and invite others to wonder. And you know I talk about whatever I am into. I figure it will all sift down to readers as curious as I am about how life works. 

 

Braden suggests that we're bathed in a field of intelligent energy that fills what used to be thought of as empty space. Evidence shows that this field responds to us—it rearranges itself—in the presence of our heart-based feelings and beliefs. And this is the revolution that changes everything. 

 

Now, doesn't that excite you?

 

Yogis have long told us that we are both the vessel and the substance in it, and we didn't know what they were talking about. That we both observe and create, like the tiny quantum particle that changes as we observe it. Look into quantum physics. It is crazier than anything we can make up.

 

We have long thought that our DNA was fixed. True, it defines us, our hair color, and our physical apparatus, but now they find that genes click on and click off, affecting our DNA.

 

Wow. It boggles my mind.

 

On the one hand, we are told we are frail and powerless beings who live in a world where things just happen to us. On the other hand, spiritual traditions tell us there is a force that lives within every one of us that nothing in the world can touch. That gives us the assurance that difficult times are a part of the journey.

 

Is it any wonder we're confused? Is it any wonder that the first Star Wars movie with the introduction of The Force so resonated with people? What appeared to be a simple little Space Sci-Fi flick became an outrageous blockbuster.

 

Now, here's a thought: "If quantum particles are not limited by the "laws" of science—at least as we know it, and we are made of the same particles, then can we do miraculous things as well?"—Braden.

 

In Egypt's Nag Hammadi library (Early Gnostic Christian writings found sealed in a jar by a farmer in 1945), verse 48 says, "If two (thought and emotion) make peace with each other in this one house, they will say to the mountain, 'Move away, and it will move away." 

 

I figure 100 years isn't enough time to figure out the mysterious workings of life, but we can try.

 

The 100- year lifespan that we have come to accept is another thing Braden addressed. Why he wondered, is heart disease the leading cause of death in human beings?

 

The heart is the strongest muscle of our bodies. It begins to beat in an embryo even before the brain has made its entrance. And it doesn't need to replace its cells. It beats continually 100,000 times a day, day in and day out. Should it wear out around the 100-year mark?

 

If we believe some of the age spans recorded in The Bible, supposedly Noah lived over 900 years, and built the arc when he was strong and healthy at age 600, why the long ages then, and not now?

 

Braden proposes that the heart doesn't wear out. It "hurts" out. And it seems that around 100 years is its time limit. 

 

Since our subconscious mind records everything that happens to us during our lifetime, every frustration, injury, insult, the heart takes a beating. And you know how it is with human beings, the negative stuff sticks. (What? The ancients didn't have insults and injuries?)

 

However, if Braden is correct, we're really lovers at heart.

 

It's isn't time that stops the heart--- It's the hurts.

 

That is the reason for us to clean up our act.

 

"How?" you might ask.

 

Well, how should I know? 

 

Let's look into it.

 

Jan's Story

 On the way to publish Tuesday's blog,"What Do You Think? I was warned that some domains were coming due, so I began clearing out some old blogs.  I came upon this post. If you've read it before, please forgive me. It was posted on May 2 2013. Jan was my sister. I guess I'll publish "What Do You Think?" next week. Stay tuned.

She was crying when I first saw her. She was three years old. I was twenty.

 

It was evening. I rushed in the door, fresh from work, anxious to see my new sister, and was met by a sobbing little girl. Here she was fresh off the plane from Korea and had ridden with my parents from the airport in Portland to our little town of The Dalles, Oregon. She was thrust into a new family, into new surroundings, panicked to see a dog, and our little Jan was so tiny we didn't know if she could stand. She kept repeating a Korean word we didn't know that sounded like "Ummaya," which we think meant "Grandma."

 

Mother was making all efforts to comfort her, and knowing she was tired from her long trip and in need of rest, Mom filled the kitchen sink with water and bubbles and set little Jan in it. Jan reached out in joy and curiosity to the bubbles, and a smile broke out over her face that brightened the room like a crack in the cosmos.

 

Jan was our girl from then on.

 

That night Mom took her into her bed and cuddled her until morning. After that, mom became Jan's haven, a place where she felt safe and adored. Jan was a joy to the family, and she and I became fast friends. She would crawl into bed with me in the mornings, wet my bed, and greet me with incredible affection. I loved her, and I loved showing her off. She liked pretty clothes, and I would dress her and brush her beautiful long dark hair and take her into town with me.

 

When I was at work, Mom said she would wander around the house asking, "Where's Jo?"

 

Regretfully I waited out the day assisting dental procedures instead of meeting the plane from Korea and experiencing the joy of watching babies being placed into eager parents' hands. Mom said when a parent connected with their child, it was cosmic. Mom took Jan into her arms that day, and that was it; they were connected. Jan was a sister to two brothers and a sister who came later and to me. Mom got the family she longed for, and Jan got the mother she needed and with whom she wants to be buried.

 

Jan died last Thursday, April 24, 2013.

 

Two months ago, Jan exclaimed about her newborn grandson, "I didn't know I could love that child so much. I love being a grandma."

 

She had undergone her first round of chemo and felt good, hopeful, and filled with dreams. "I want to get a little house I can play with," she bubbled, "and entertain, and I am getting my music back. Maybe I will perform. I used to do that, and people in town still remember my piano music."

 

Jan had married and had a beautiful daughter, divorced, and raised her child as a single parent. She was highly efficient; even as a teenager, she could clean up a kitchen before the guests had finished burping. She gave up her music in response to the father, who kept volunteering her for events without asking. And she wanted her expression back, her skill, her ability to make music. She wanted her power, to dream again, to laugh that infectious laugh again.

 

I miss her terribly.

 

In my mind's eye, I asked Mom why this happened. Why did Jan die so young? I saw the image of Mom taking frail Jan into her ample loving arms and cuddling her as she did that first day.

 

For years after Mom's death, Mom's grave had no gravestone. One year we kids went together and bought one. Jan and I had never visited it together. So, on a cold December day, I drove from Eugene, Oregon, to The Dalles, Oregon, to visit the gravestone I had never seen. I had brought flowers, and as it had begun to snow, Jan grabbed a broom as we exited her back door. Carrying flowers and a broom, we walked through the cemetery under a gray sky where snowflakes drifted onto our heads and collected tiny crystal pinwheels on our coats. We placed the flowers beside the gravestone and gently swept aside the filmy white so we could read the words written on her tombstone.

 

As we stood there talking to Mom, saying what a wonderful mother she was and how lucky we were to have had her, the gray clouds parted in a tremendous arc, revealing the clear sky above. The snow stopped. We stared above in disbelief. "I feel joy," said Jan. "So do I," I said. Then as abruptly as they had parted, the clouds closed, and it began to snow again.