The Absorption of the Christ

By Dr. Patricia Sadler Moore

The Absorption of the Christ is an autobiographical sketch of a narcoleptic in search of her true identity via the process of metaphysical and supernatural experiences which she submits to through mind control and the interpretation of her numerous dreams and narcoleptic journeys. These journeys lead to her discovering that the spiritual and the physical are one united process that she labels the seat of God in expression. Utilizing the power of what she believes to be her holy mind, she finds herself adrift and absorbed in the Christ consciousness which is not estranged or separated from God but is God, the Truth of life itself, the Truth of her personal being . This nonfictional account of her life from early childhood to the present also depicts many scenarios in her life which serve as a backdrop for many of her experiences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475947649

Dr. Patricia Sadler Moore

Dr. Patricia Sadler Moore was born and reared in Natchez, Mississippi. She received the Bachelor's, Master's and Doctorate degrees from several universities in northeastern and northern Florida. She also studied French at the University of Strasbourg, France. The majority of her career was spent as a teacher of French and English and as an administrative assistant in Miami-Dade County Public Schools from which she recently retired. She spends her leisure studying the influence of the metaphysical and supernatural on her personal life.

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Copyright © 2012 by Dr. Patricia Sadler Moore.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-4763-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-4764-9 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012916002

iUniverse rev. date: 09/10/2012

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

EPILOGUE

NOTES

POEM

INTRODUCTION

I am! A proud and unchangeable knowingness within me speaks constantly of my reigning greatness. This Truth compels me to believe in unimpeachable, uninhibited Love, a Love free of social and moral constraints, a Love without boundaries or chains. My mind is consumed with a Love so unconditional and consistent that can neither be erased nor effaced by time or space which, in my awareness, is nonexistent. A Love that calls everything perceivable by its own name but has heretofore seemed inconceivable. This Love embraces my longing and yearning for it by melting and meshing so evenly within me that I know nothing other than this Truth everlasting which I am. A Love that weathers the storms of life, simply by making all things like unto itself, emerges as having no opposition since its beginning when all was it. And it has never stepped out of oneness, not even for a second. And because there is no real time, the One stands still and engulfs all in the now moment which neither moves backwards nor forwards and satisfies itself with just being. When filled to overflowing with this Love birthing within my form, my normal awareness is no longer, for I ascend to spiritual heights that have priorly been inaccessible, seemingly beyond my reach yet I know I am in familiar territory that I equate with home.

An amazing white light pervades my innards and emanates from my entire body. And I am the One! All emotions except true Love are shed as the light ripples brilliantly through me and to me. I comprehend fully and with unstaggered certainty that I am all that there is, that there is nothing else greater than the I that I am. Former beliefs are not an issue and do not come into play because they are nothingness. Only oneness is significant at this point and it completely covers me. Conflict within, negativity without and the pangs of life, which once seemed to be, are preempted by absolute peace and tranquillity, a joy impeccable, an all-consuming Love called God whose supremacy is irrefutable. I sense I am alone in the universe and am elated to have it so! I am exempt from the suffering and the misery of the world, for I see beyond the old world into the new world of peace. I am cleansed of the troubles and problems of yesteryears and lifted into perfect harmony and peace of a nature incapable of analysis and definition. I am in a holy place, untrammeled by the ego, untouched by human hands, by human deeds. My mind shifts to pure knowingness and awakens to the evaporation of the smoke screen which has blinded me to true perception, to my Self as wholeness and completeness. And all is good and very good, for I bask in total euphoria and splendor, lacking nothing essential while hearing my own voice exclaim, I am the One, the one presence, the one power, the one reality!

Without warning or advanced notice, I find myself tumbling, with steady acceleration, into a world of confusion and disorder, the same dimension whence escapism has just been such a luxury. With my head spinning in a spiral motion, I crash, if you will, disconnecting hopelessly and helplessly from the wholeness which has just penetrated every fiber of my being. I endeavor to recapture, to retrieve, to regain that monumental moment of bliss but to no avail. Instead, I slip back into my earthly consciousness of fear and impotency, of self-distrust and self-doubt. This place is also familiar but I do not call it home but an erroneous product of my senses which are now engaged. An onslaught of physical sensations overtakes me as I do battle with thought emissions beyond the norm. Like grains of sand too excessive to count, thoughts, negative and positive, play havoc in my mind. Within what seems like minutes, for time is gradually slipping in from the outskirts, I drift into prayer, beg for forgiveness for my sins and scream for mercy and release from misery. My screams do not exist on the worldly plane but seem to take place somewhere deep within me, so deeply rooted that only I can hear them. Like echoes in a cavern, they belong to me yet they appear to be separated from me. The volume and intensity of my thoughts are maddening and I meet with momentary insanity and face a barrage of images reflecting my childhood to the present period. My entire life flashes before my eyes in vignettes and I can not comprehend the rationale for the flickering projections that are bouncing about in my mind. My eyes dart back and forth, attempting to stabilize, for the sake of clarity, the images before me but are ineffective. I reach a state of pure exhaustion! I travel from one extreme of my mind to the other. At least, that is the way it seems! I am all over the place, completely shattered and scattered about in fragments. And I am afraid to die but even more afraid to live. All I know is that I am.

Negative and positive thoughts seem to vie for prominence within my cluttered mind which seems to be in conflict with itself. My perception, for the most part, is so torn asunder that I can not differentiate between what is negative and positive, for when one takes a stand, the other bows as a show of approval. Insightfully, I detect that I am a mélange of good and evil which tends to separate and integrate when convenient. As I manipulate myself through my clouded experiences or mystical delirium, I ascertain that my fatigue results from doublethinking, from attempting to believe in separation from God and oneness simultaneously, from the overplay within my own psyche. Although that seems to be the case, the process remains persistent and my mind continues to vacillate indecisively from one polarity to the other. When the negatives appear, I am that and when the positives gain momentum, I am that! Who or what am I really? The invisible, holy God who works mind magic, hocus-pocus, to achieve a necessary end, who designs the mind so cleverly and wonderfully that he can accomplish any feat of légerdemain that he undertakes. And not being capable of distinguishing between good and evil, real and unreal and dreaming and waking has enigmatic effects of a nature inexplicable.

And the game goes on! And I am playing it out to the max, to the point of dreaming while awake and being awake while dreaming. How am I to know the difference? Perhaps, there is but one constant state! But which is it? Is this possible? My mind, the seat of my awareness, creates dichotomies, contradictions that defy reason that is itself but a construct of my mind. So what am I saying exactly? That my mind is who I am and I am in charge of all that concerns me? Sometimes, I wonder if I ever sleep or if I am ever awake. When I am supposedly asleep, I hear my voice outside of my body, silently dialoguing with entities unfamiliar to me but with whom I have ties on some level. And we speak of things significant and insignificant of which I may or may not have total recall at one point or another. When I consider myself fully conscious, I manage to function within the realms of what is called normalcy and to carry on with my daily activities according to the dictates of my mind. Others do not seem to notice my instability even when I drift into a space where I am oblivious to the world, where I liken my mind to a tabula rasa, where no thoughts prevail or assail, where I can not sense my body and I am as light as a feather, where I just know that I exist without form, without figure. Whether day or night, I am highly susceptible to these fluctuating and flighty escapades. As it were, it just so happens that I manage to communicate rationally and intelligently when such behavior is deemed fit and proper and staged to accomplish a necessary end. My mind never goes on holiday and never ceases to be the one reality that masquerades as another, that pretends to be what it can never be, two distinct aspects of itself, warring for majestic rule and control. The Truth of the matter resides in the wholeness of the system in operation, for whatever is eternally and indisputably whole can not be broken down into bits and pieces. This stabilized, balanced and unchanging system knows nothing other than itself and that which appears to be adverse to it is nothing other than its immaterial, irrelevant, unsteady sensory perceptions. Perhaps, this is the stuff that dreams are made of! Or, better still, the stuff that fabricates life!

So what is this stuff? I call it God! What else can it be? What else is there? Having to be a vigilante of sorts over my thoughts at all times is extensively taxing and weighs heavily upon me but, on the other hand, such watchfulness leads to self-discovery and self-improvement. It opens the opportunity to observe myself closely and to listen more attentively to my thoughts which direct my life hither and thither. By so doing, I discover endless possibilities within me that I must utilize to master my life. The voyeur that I am, who oversees my goings and comings also has the assignment of challenging the same thought process that creates evil in order to create good. And that is no easy task since both forces are constructed from the same stuff and are often cast as indecipherable or inseparable. When evil takes center stage to amuse, confuse and abuse its audience, it is good that crouches behind the curtains and awaits its brief moment of stardom. And like clockwork, the pattern repeats itself with no end in sight except perchance sleep which is nothing other than a part of the same process called by another name. Both darkness and light are masterstrokes of the same hand that designs an illusionary wall that separates into two realities for the purpose of play, of deception. Divide et impera, divide and rule, seems to be the title of the play but who is actually being deceived when the omnipresent God is all that there is? In God’s reality, the curtains never go down; the play is ongoing and apparently has to be performed until the illusion is of no real effect and the mind is satisfied with its theatrics, in sync with its own nature. Seemingly, I am living in a house divided by an imaginary wall of separation and believing that I hold the key to the door of perfect enlightenment which will come about when I wake up. So I continue to wonder, waver and hide in the darkness while knowing that the light is not just hovering over me but covering me within and without, staring me directly in the face, reflecting my own image as that of the One.

With this aforesaid realization in the forefront of my mind, I go along with the flow of what is transpiring within and around me. I am just being obedient to God, to myself, and I do not perceive anything as right or wrong but as an expression of the creativity that I am. My worldly definition of the order or disorder of things is that all is right, even that which I perceive as wrong. Whether I descend into the pits of hell or ascend into the heavenly realms, I am right with God who sets all things in motion and excludes nothing from his coverage. Although I sense that I am gradually being aroused from a deep sleep, I am also aware that I am creating a diversion in which I am attempting to delay complete arousal which is already at hand. What do I do at this point? I follow the script or flip the script in medias res, in the middle of events, to achieve a particular end. No matter the direction that I choose, I am never off the beaten path. I am always adhering to mind stimulants, the impelling thrust and force of embedded thoughts that find their way out of slumber into active performance. Since I have the power to dream up the good as well as the evil, so do I have the privilege of commanding everything in my life to be as I so choose. As a result of inviting my imagination to give substance to my preference, I am securely fixed and unshakeable. I tend to comfort myself by meditating every chance I get on the premise that God is every thought that I have, every move that I make, every sound that I hear, every thing that I perceive, every odor that I smell, every morsel that I taste, every sensation that I feel. He is my mind, body, soul and spirit and the meditative techniques that I employ to close the gaps between the two worlds of my making. Every action that I take and statement that I make are equated with the handiwork of God who is right here, right now yet appearing to be indisposed while indispensable.

And though I believe via close observation of my mind’s input and output and the multitudinous, supernatural experiences through the years, I can become entrapped in the different scenarios that I create, if I am not careful, and find myself floating about between the devil and the deep blue sea, sometimes aware of stability and sometimes not. At times, I do not know which end is up, for in spite of my knowledge of the great unknown, I find myself in dimensions foreign to my understanding. When full awareness reveals itself as I know it, I am presented the opportunity to interpret and analyze my mind’s journey after the fact and to make sense out of nonsense, if there is such a method. Fortunately, I now have the savoir-faire to enter these forbidden, unworldly regions and to exit them, unscathed by the heaviness of the journeys. In fact, I anticipate fearlessly reaching within and finding all things in their proper place, just as they have always been. Whether I go in or out, I am incessantly left with the impression that I am participating in a dream, the product of my own imagination which is always at work. How do I know that this life that I am living is a dream? Because I am the One and the One knows all that there is to know!

How can I be so self-aggrandizing, so self-centered, so selfish? Is not the game all about the Self, about me? About oneness with the whole universe? About God as man, instilled with Truth, creating from a sovereign perspective and performing various and innumerable roles with the abstracted characteristics of a daydreamer? About the divinity in man, supplying all of his needs according to his riches in glory?

Caveat lector! Reader, beware that you are not exempt from the law that governs me and are privy to the same supernatural experiences enumerated in this text which I ascribe to the One. So let us take a giant step and see ourselves as awesomely and wonderfully made, as great artistic, physical and intelligent designs of a spiritual nature:

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable; in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god… ¹

To see ourselves as men and not as God is just a divine ruse at play within, created by the infinite mind yet inseparable from it. In other words, the mind that creates all things out of itself also creates that which seems to defy conventional understanding. Which is easier to believe? That our sins are forgiven us or that we are God in expression? That we have committed no wrong or that we can take up our beds and walk? That we have no need to search for God or that we never lose touch with Truth? No matter the choice, God’s righteousness is always in the operative mode, for there is none else. God is the answer to any questions that may arise in the mind of God.

Perhaps, a brief sketch of my history from childhood to the present will assist in disclosing the whys and wherefores of my belief system to which I fully surrender. I have always felt that I was teetering and tottering between two worlds, moving unsteadily in and out of my mind but had no words to explain the process. I have always felt peculiar and, half of the time, lost, unaware of where I was or how I got there in the first place. What I now call metaphysical journeys or mind treks have always been upon me. I know no time when they were not. I have been living in this space all of my life, ripening and maturing with age and time but expecting to get a total wake-up call of sorts at any minute. Although I have wrestled with the darkness and scrambled about in the light, I find myself vacillating between the two as if they were identical. I can admit that these vacillating-vibrating experiences have resulted in my loving myself so much that I want to know myself even more. At first, I believed that I was acquiring wisdom or knowledge about myself for some good purpose only to discover much later that these skills were inherently mine and that I was simply expressing my creative potential and dialoguing with my doppelgängers, various portraits of myself that emanated from my mind. I realized very early as a child that I was literally skating on thin ice, that I was spinning around aimlessly between the physical and the spiritual, somehow groping to pull them apart or piece them together in some way. And that feat was an impossibility in that they both make for one reality. Need I go on? No, that is not necessary, for I will only repeat my convictions or completely drift or dream while attempting to write this narrative. I do not discount the latter since my imagination is on duty all of the time and dictates whether I am asleep or awake. Please believe that my intentions are not to convince you of my Truth, for I understand that your Truth or wherever you stand as far as beliefs go is just as plausible as what I deem to be Truth. However, I would like for you to be wary of the presence around you and within you as you read the following excerpts from my life that embody my spiritual adventures. And who knows? Perhaps, you will recognize yourself in me or in some of the stories that I recount. Or even in some of the messages I deliver. Just remember that only one mind operates this system in which we live, in which we are bound by the law of Truth incontestable. If, at any time, you feel overwhelmed by the information that you are receiving or feel that you are not exactly getting the point, read the poem at the close of the manuscript to regain your footing. In addition, when you have completely read the entire text, please reread the introduction and note that your perception of yourself has undergone a major overhaul, that your hour has come. For fear that I may continue to ramble about my convictions, I will commence to tell my story.

CHAPTER I

I was born in Natchez, Mississippi, a city in southwest Mississippi on the Mississippi River. According to current statistics, this quaint, little town has a population of close to or just at twenty thousand, give or take a few. When I left Natchez at the early age of seventeen, I could have cared less about the number of people inhabiting this space. I just wanted out! I did not want to get caught up in becoming the victim of overt racism and infectious hatred and fear. I was naïve enough to believe that this plague was solely confined to Natchez and was nonexistent in the world proper. I wanted more out of life than this one-horse town was willing to provide. And I refused to hang around and just assume a subordinate role of servile duties and responsibilities. I knew what it meant to be a chambermaid, to bus tables in some rinky-dink restaurant and to sweat and toil over a hot stove in someone else’s kitchen. My only out was to pursue an education at some black college a long way from home and I took it without question, without hesitation.

It was not that Natchez was a horrible, despicable place, for it had a beauty all of its own, in its own right. It was just not for me. I had dug deeply within its guts and unearthed very evil presences that lurked in the background and wore false faces in the foreground. From behind the scenes in Colored Town, I had glimpsed the Ku Klux Klan burning wooden crosses on the black schoolyard, witnessed black folk stuttering and shuttering in the presence of their white bosses, heard rumors of whites terrorizing black communities and shooting or killing blacks for the sport of it and observed from up close white boys throwing bottles and tire irons in the midst of black youngsters. When I was in the fourth grade, I attended the all-white Christmas parade for the first time and, to my surprise, a huge, red-faced boy from one of the marching bands stepped out of line and spat directly in my face. He kept right on marching and never missed a beat. When I was in the ninth grade, I baby-sat for a young, white couple who referred to me as nigger but entrusted to me the care of their three children. When the white insurance agent, who came to our house for years to collect payment, grabbed my breasts, I was seventeen and ready to get out of Dodge. The stories that I could tell if time permitted! What about black bodies floating in the muddy Mississippi River, black girls being raped and killed and buried in the woods, black men being imprisoned for crimes they did not commit and black people passing for white in order to escape the frenzy of the times?

Let me interrupt just for a second to say that blacks were not exempt from criminal and immoral behavior, for we also robbed, stole and killed and did some of the same stuff that white people did. My point is that blacks were oftentimes falsely accused and there was nothing that we could do about it. Please excuse me, for I know that all stories have two sides but this version just happens to be my own. Must I reiterate that this entire manuscript is of a personalized nature? Anyway, that was the way of the day until the world began to open its eyes to man’s injustices towards his brother, to racism as a gnawing cancer in the land of the free and the home of the brave. And what about me? This game was all about me. I was long gone when the civil rights leaders amassed in Natchez and exposed it to world scrutiny and media surveillance. What sensationalism!

When I visit or even think of my hometown today, I am swamped with mostly bad memories of bygone days. And I am especially haunted by the impact that racism had on my childhood, for it just about erased the stages of innocence and naïveté that a child is due. It cut down to a bare minimum my freedom to laugh, to roam about, to trust, to play on the bluff or in the bayou or to walk peacefully down the street. I tiptoed through my childhood, so to speak, almost inattentive to the numerous ante-bellum mansions and plantations, antique shoppes, civil war relics and other historic memorabilia that were within plain sight. I was unmindful of the colorful history of the Natchez Indians and the European settlers who paved the way for the foundation of the city. After travelling back and forth over the years, I have come to reacquaint myself with my childhood roots and find that within me, much has really changed and without, the manifestations of the past seem to be frozen in time. The buildings of olden days continue to govern the downtown area while vague modernization languishes in the background. Tree-lined streets mark the entry to the city which seems to await rejuvenation so that it may live again in the days of yore when the South thrived on its customs and traditions. More than a sufficient number of churches give the impression that the residents are conspicuously religious or devoted to a spiritual creed of some kind. Newly constructed hotels, homes and centers are but mere specks amidst the antiquated and obsolete structures that hang on for dear life. The tire plant and paper mill which I remember so vividly to be the source of employment for many shut down years back for reasons that are beyond me. The strong, foul stench from the mill that hovered over the entire city on a daily basis during my time hovers no longer and no longer do the residents have to gasp for air. The high school that I attended slowly succumbed to asbestos as did Natchez Junior College which is now in a state of disrepair and decay. No matter how much I endeavor to renew my vision from long ago, I still see the town cleaving to the era when its ways and practices were deemed sufficiently proper and rigorously correct, when division between the races was the order of the day. I still perceive a town in suspended animation that moves forward but goes nowhere,