Testimony: 11: Mystic Epiphanies: Powerful Metaphysical & Spiritual Experiences & Their Meaning For Today

By Phillip O'Sullivan

Since Thomas Merton & Simone Weil has there been a modern mystical tradition of note? Phillip O'Sullivan positions himself within this Western Mystical tradition. Is this claim valid? This book explores that possibility.
Osullivan begins with an instruction from someone else.
Steeped in keen readings of Rainer Marie Rilke, St John of the Cross, Huxley's 'The Perennial Philosophy', TaoTe Ching, Buckes 'Cosmic Consciousness', The Dhammapada, William Jame's 'Varieties of Religious Experiences' and Evelyn Underhill's book on 'Mysticism' the author set out determined to explore for himself. This slim volume is that record of his spiritual journey. From New Age to full-on discoveries within the Western Mystical tradition.
Soon it began to settle down to the age-old consideration of the self. The "I" problem. What was going on in the midst of oneself? What was I habitually thinking? Could I control wandering thoughts? What did they mean? And where could such thinking take me? Was this the spirit? Is this the way of entry into spiritual things? These and many other ideas were explored through sheer focus. Gradually a series of ideas formed in his mind a plan of action for the uses of meditation. To settle one's life in contemplation. To empty the mind of all the dross. To count the cost of attitude and habit. To give overall direction to one's life. To submit in trust to a greater power than oneself. Where had I come from? Where was I going? And what exactly is the human being?

This book takes the reader on a journey where one man explores the world of contemplation, meditation, prayer, mantra, affirmation and other such spiritual guidance. These are the things that form our highest life. The author sets forth for himself and for others a plan of progress. This is an exercise by example of how one can spiritually progress. He describes phenomena from beyond the physical realm. After all, he argues we believe that things like joy, love, and peace and hope, and faith in the future, are real things. They are real goals and targets to be aimed for. He says they are as real as tables and chairs though they are nonphysical. We can live without some of these things I can do without an extra table and an extra chair but we can always find a place for more love at the table of our lives.
The author especially explores the world of the Western mystical tradition. Though some notable Zen and Buddhist examples are also given. He believes he experienced the blissed state known as samadhi; yet went on further to explore even greater and mightier phenomena.
Phillip O'Sullivan in his book: TESTIMONY: 11, Mystical Epiphanies shows that a determined man with no particular claim to holiness, can ask for, and receive, all manner of daring things.
O'Sullivan writes of asking the Divine to show himself as did Moses ask.
Surprisingly, he can! And will do also for you. Just prepare to be determined Phillip asks.
O'Sullivan's clearly outlined book examines this possibility.

Recommended for seekers of deeper spiritual experiences everywhere.
Spiritual Conversion & Mystical Testimony.

• Language: English
• Publisher: OtherBridge Press
• Release date: Mar 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9788826067926

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Phillip O'Sullivan

TESTIMONY: 11

Mystic Epiphanies: Powerful Metaphysical & Spiritual Experiences & Their Meaning For Today

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Table of contents

Birth

Mother

DAD

Testimony

Conversion

Advice of Wife

An Empty Vessel

Yearning for God

Devil speaks to me

Three Days & Nights

Lake of Fire

Marist Brothers

Singing

Song in Tongues

A Type of Moses

Sheep Dunk

Spiritual Man

Theology

Interpretation

The GIFTS

Church Services: Meetings

Queen of the South

Myanmar

Honey in the Rock

Revival Beginnings

Birth

...And, dammit! My mother fell over on the straight road outside the house where I always imagined the second great disaster of my life began. When pregnant and her curved waters about to break.

So doomed from the start. Life began.

She had met my father coming in from the garden. At a house on the outskirts of London during the war. It was the last year of the war. V1's and V2's from Penemunde spiced the action with nitroglicerene from the space age sky. And she always maintained that he never saw any war violence. Yet she herself told a story about how they were snogging on the couch – her words – when a bomb fell. It was a blast wave. Where the bomb landed was a street away. Yet the blast wave rose up and came back like a curling heavy dough-nut and hit houses even as far away as a whole block. It was this shock wave that hit their front windows. Shattering all the glass. Which completely shredded the blackout curtain into thousands of little strips. These curtain strips fled around the room sequined with deadly thin glass shards. Immediately she jumped on him to protect him. She did this instinctively because she lived in a houses of women growing up. Her Mother and ailing sister alone together. A man of ones own an inestimable goal. Grandfather was absent with the British Army of India. With no men in the house men were the more precious to Mum. Her sister had a chronic illness which meant that she would die young. Women were a constant, men a treasure. Her mother took in laundry as a 'breeze washer'. Her often absent father a parade ground Sergeant Major. Becoming more absent to them after capture at Dunkirk. He was to retire as regimental Sergeant Major at Sandhurst. Granddad was long absent. First independantly in India. Returning only for the British Expeditionary Force in France during the long 'phony war'; then encirclement and the brave rearguard defence against overwhelming German success.

The male presence to Grandmother and to Jenny Hope Woodley of greater value. Now she too by 1945 had her own man. A prize of gold. Mum loved many men. Highly prizing her three sons. While retaining an extra special female bond with our sister Catherine.

Mother

My mother doted on her uncles and on all her male relatives. The world of men growing up such a mystery to her. Hence her flying officer Maurice Joseph O'Sullivan Flight Lieutenant was an absolute treasure. Dad was a sensitive man and very good with figures so he was the navigator in a bomber crew. She says in her story he was shaking like a leaf. See she said she says this is what you do to the Germans.Acknowledging, in her narrative, the fact that he did fly over Germany, on dangerous missions. On these missions 20 combined were a tour. This exactly matched the life expectancy of the crews. So they were being replaced and refreshed with new aircrew. This was nerve racking for the men. For they felt their flights each time over Germany could be their last one. It was like they with the dice upon the table and depending on which way events fell they would live or die. The men smoked the free cigarettes placed in every pack. So you could say that the war indeed did kill my father. But not before we were born. For he died of lung cancer from the cigarettes. He first devoured in the war. My mother, Jenny Austin Woodley, was born in a little village called Wye. This is near Canterbury in England. They lived in Kent. Canterbury was the summer court of the English kings and queens. And Kent was close to the continent. Very close. So the English in the air there was very clear. A very English English. Almost posh. Well enunciated. And very like the Kings or Queen's English. Because of these influences. So we grew up speaking almost BBC English with a set of working class words back in New Zealand. Mum and Dad married in England. Under a cloud threatened courtship involving many dangerous late night rendezvous under the Admiralty Arches in London. Courtesy of Hitler.

DAD

As he was in the air force dad flew home to New Zealand. My mother arrived by sea landing in Auckland. The ship was full of similar war brides. One female bride had given birth to a baby, on-board the vessel and nappies were dropped to the ship for her off the coast out from Panama. Mother traveled down by train from Auckland to Taumarunui. Where she was to live in the mill town called Mananui on the other side of the river. She was more than appalled at the conditions on the farm especially after the relative high sophistications of Great Britain.

The bridge over the river for many years was one of those one-way wooden trestle bridges. With the well used silver railway lines running down the middle. There was a passing bay on both sides for cars somewhere near the centre. So that when a train came along the cars had to duck in there pretty quickly, because the train would not stop for them. Traveling over this bridge in our little car down from Hamilton. In later years to visit our Kiwi grandma and grandpa. Always caused a shiver of fear as we crossed over it. At the same time, we wouldn't have had it any other way – and it was sad to see it go. As an operating railway bridge roadway, many years later.

Kathryn was Born in Taumaranui. I was born in Palmerston North two years later. We lived at 26 Rangiora Avenue. This location is very important it was here I believe I encountered a series of events that was to