Heavenletters

Bernie is right, there is something about many of these last paragraphs. Reading a Heavenletter, I still sometimes catch myself feeling, "Oh, dear God, You don't seem to know too much about the horrors of a soccer championship and many other things, Yours is a bird's-eye view." But then along comes that last paragraph and mentions, almost in passing, empty space that does not exist. Huh? That's when I get very attentive because I know God is going to shock me out of the false security of some thinking routine. And He does. How does silence come in here and what on earth is this hall of silence I'm supposed to be dwelling in? And as for the rest, well, this must be the most fantastic and powerful thing I ever heard You say, dear God: You are hearing noise made only by rubbing sticks on a washboard. Rub-a-dub-dub.

Strange how things that don't look very intelligible can get under your skin. I finally understood the simplest thing in the world which is that I don't have to think thoughts that harm and hurt me. Took me almost sixty-two years. For all those years I have vehemently denied this, saying, "I can't help thinking the thoughts I think." It always looked like the obvious, the most natural thing to me. And now suddenly, unexpectedly, the time of Rub-a-dub-dub has come. I experimented and played with this the whole day, finding that there is this hall of silence and that I can enter it, leaving everything outside. How come? Why today? What led up to this? Who built this hall of silence? I don't know. But it's true, when something disturbing comes my way, some angry or sad or fearful thought, I can softly enter this hall of silence and be free, simply by refusing to go on thinking this thought. "Refusing" is too strong a word. It's a very soft but resolute turning away from the painful thought, and in turning, silence envelops you. Some thoughts keep creeping up on you and it feels so good to exercise your power to turn away. Perhaps I will be better able to explain after some getting used to this. Feels like a beginning.