Friday, May 11, 2018

Phoenix Rising : Per Spiritum Sanctum Reviviscimus : My University of Chicago years (March 18, 1977 — July 1, 1981)

The University of Chicago shield:

Crescat scientia; vita excolatur
"Let knowledge grow from more to more, and so be human life enriched"

After finishing my schooling, I spent four years as a fledgling phoenix working at the University of Chicago, learning a passel of valuable lessons to take with me through life.

The Altar of Humanity : The Manipura Chakra : The Solar Plexus

Thine Altar
Not my will, but thine, O Lord, be done, by me and through me

In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: [Prelude]

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Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 
         Whom we, that have not seen thy face, 
         By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 
Believing where we cannot prove; 

Thine are these orbs of light and shade; 
         Thou madest Life in man and brute; 
         Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot 
Is on the skull which thou hast made. 

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: 
         Thou madest man, he knows not why, 
         He thinks he was not made to die; 
And thou hast made him: thou art just. 

Thou seemest human and divine, 
         The highest, holiest manhood, thou. 
         Our wills are ours, we know not how, 
Our wills are ours, to make them thine. 

Our little systems have their day; 
         They have their day and cease to be: 
         They are but broken lights of thee, 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they. 

We have but faith: we cannot know; 
         For knowledge is of things we see; 
         And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
A beam in darkness: let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
         But more of reverence in us dwell; 
         That mind and soul, according well, 
May make one music as before, 

But vaster. We are fools and slight; 
         We mock thee when we do not fear: 
         But help thy foolish ones to bear; 
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. 

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me, 
         What seem'd my worth since I began; 
         For merit lives from man to man, 
And not from man, O Lord, to thee. 

Forgive my grief for one removed, 
         Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 
         I trust he lives in thee, and there 
I find him worthier to be loved. 

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 
         Confusions of a wasted youth; 
         Forgive them where they fail in truth, 
And in thy wisdom make me wise.  

In the summer of 1978, when I was 31, I fell asleep after reading this passage from Yogananda's Autobiography of a Yogi:

Shortly after my healing through the potency of the guru’s picture, I had an influential spiritual vision. Sitting on my bed one morning, I fell into a deep reverie.
“What is behind the darkness of closed eyes?” This probing thought came powerfully into my mind. An immense flash of light at once manifested to my inward gaze. Divine shapes of saints, sitting in meditation posture in mountain caves, formed like miniature cinema pictures on the large screen of radiance within my forehead.
“Who are you?” I spoke aloud.
“We are the Himalayan yogis.” The celestial response is difficult to describe; my heart was thrilled.
“Ah, I long to go to the Himalayas and become like you!” The vision vanished, but the silvery beams expanded in ever-widening circles to infinity.
“What is this wondrous glow?”
“I am Ishwara. I am Light.” The voice was as murmuring clouds.
“I want to be one with Thee!”

    Out of the slow dwindling of my divine ecstasy, I salvaged a permanent legacy of inspiration to seek God. “He is eternal, ever-new Joy!” This memory persisted long after the day of rapture.

    I found myself in a space with twelve sages in a circle, all focused on an endless column of living white light that was in the middle of the circle. One of the sages sent a ray of consciousness to me: "What do you want to know?" Immediately I responded: "How can I help?"

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