It was heralded as the greatest American achievement of the 1800’s, the completion of the first transcontinental railroad in the United States.

After hostile congressional debate, Civil War and other obstacles ranging from uncharted terrain, supply limitations and cruel labor conditions, the “Wedding of the Rails” took place in May of 1869. The merging of the Union Pacific from Omaha, Nebraska to the Central Pacific in Sacramento, California met at the designated halfway point in the desert of Promontory, Utah. Combined, there was more than 3500 miles of track joining east to west. To celebrate the completion, a golden spike was driven into the last tie plat by Governor Leland Stanford as journalist and spectators from around the country cheered.

Having been away from a history textbook for decades, I had little memory of this event.

But, as I sat watching the 2002 Winter Olympic Ceremonies from Salt Lake, the television commentator mentioned this event as part of the areas cultural heritage.

He ended the history lesson with the line, “a commute that use to take six months had now been reduced to six days.”

Something about that information resonated with me and I obeyed the intuitive urge to write down golden spike on a note pad for further investigation.

I discovered that like any change, be it subtle or monumental, there was great debate between the visionaries and those who resist altering the way things are. Many of that era felt it simply could not be done. Investors pulled out at the first sign of inconvenience and there were others who feared their own self-interest would be drastically impaired. It was even rumored that some naysayers went as far as paying outlaws to ambush workers to prove their point.

It became increasingly clear why I had been drawn to this information. Just like civilizations before me, I, too, was afraid of change. More accurately, I was afraid of the possibility of failure.

After more than 17 years in the human potential movement, I had progressed from a vocalist for hire to becoming a motivational speaker and licensed minister, logging thousands of miles a year. Yet, with each new crossroads, doubt seemed to consume me and I blindly followed an old paradigm of ambushing my own endeavors. Here I was delivering words of inspiration that my soul felt to be true, yet living with the duality that somehow I wasn’t good enough, smart enough or even worthy enough to be in front of anybody. It was the classic mental recipe for procrastination and sabotage. An impoverished childhood fostered a belief in futility and struggle that created what I was later to understand as my “big lie”—a deeply saturating idea of unworthiness that soaked through layers of my belief system I didn’t even know existed. This lie could be subtle in its familiarity like a matriarch resting in the corner, barely speaking, but creating an unforgettable presence.

So, when my hearts desire to write about my life path was added to audience requests for a book, one would think the obvious sum of the equation would be to start writing.

Yet, lingering in bookstore after bookstore, I glanced at titles on the shelf, and secretly downplayed my dream. “What do I have to say that already hasn’t been said?” “Does the world really need another book?” “Would anyone really care to read it?"

Hardly the thoughts of a visionary. Ending the sabotage meant taking responsibility. I was fully aware that the only naysayer in my desire was yours truly.

I recalled the “new” definition of insanity—if we keep doing things the same old way, how can we expect different results? I was willing to embrace new ideas but discovered I was going about them with stale, defeatist intentions. If my intentions were laying the tracks of my experiences, then it’s no mystery that the train carrying my passionate longings would have to travel immeasurable distances of time and space or become derailed before demonstration.

It was time to not only welcome change but to drive a golden spike of intention into my “big lie.”

I began a year of dutifully putting thought to paper. I continued visiting bookstores, but now went to the section of the alphabet where my name belonged and imagined the spine of my book nestled in among the rest. I lingered by the information counter and fantasized people repeatedly asking where they could find my sought after work. Visually, I cut out the New York Times bestseller list and pasted my name and title in the number one slot.

With each new shift in consciousness, I began lying down more and more track, bringing my personal vision to reality.

Finishing my first literary work creates so many exciting, new possibilities. But, the deeper satisfaction is realizing I am always in minds reach of inexhaustible golden spikes whenever lies of limitation try to get in my way.

An Excerpt from the Upcoming Book,
Where Regret Cannot Find Me

I have a crack in my windshield. Somehow a single pebble escaped the suction of the fresh asphalt on the Interstate by my house in Los Angeles and launched itself towards the glass of my truck. What started as a single bullet shaped scar soon gave way to a free flowing line that worked its way across the glass like the outline of the surrounding Southern California Mountains. It wasn’t the first time that this cosmetic “flaw” had paid a visit. With a modicum of regularity, it seemed that every car I’d ever owned eventually displayed this. Yet, this time, there wasn’t the urgency to have it fixed. I even stopped apologizing for it whenever I had a guest passenger. This thin, prism-like crack, with its peaks and valleys, became both mirror and messenger to my aching heart.

“Stop trying to cover me up,” it seemed to lament. “Don’t be in such a hurry to replace or fix me. So what if I’m not perfect. Let me be your teacher.”

My imperfect windshield and I made our way to a lunch with one of my oldest friends. Hope and I first met in sixth grade and bonded through our love of journalism and theatre. We stayed best buds from high school graduation through our years of living in New York City and Los Angeles. Yet, even though we lived only fifteen minutes apart now, there were times when our schedules were just crazy enough to keep us from seeing each other. This lunch was our new commitment to at least make the effort once a month to sit down to a meal together and catch up.

She called before to let me know that her four-year-old daughter, Sophia, would be joining us.

Sophia was at that stage of independent exploration where she insisted on dressing herself. Greens with purples, stripes with plaids, and in this case a black feather boa. Hope wanted to warn me ahead of time.

“How brave,” I laughed, “I would never consider a boa in daylight.”

There really wasn’t much “catching up”, as Sophia innocently demanded much of her mother’s attention. Even with a bag full of distractions from books to games to dolls, she still wanted to be a part of our discussion. I marveled at what Hope had assembled to keep her daughter entertained, finding myself mentally reciting a phrase that was quick to age me.

“In my day…” “Well, at least I hadn’t ventured into the time segregating commentary about the number of miles I had to walk to school,” I reasoned.

The established toy choices available to me at that age were Hot Wheels and G I Joes. If fortune smiled, an Etch-A-Sketch was thrown in—a far cry from the electronic, high tech gadgetry that blankets today’s shelves.

Mine was a generation that played games outdoors. In the neighborhood of my adolescence, it was not uncommon, as the sun went down, for our mothers to be calling and calling. With sweat from the sweltering humidity as layer number one, dirt and pinesap nestled into the creases of our necks, arms and knees creating a zebra effect. We were hard pressed to give up tree climbing, fort building and the multiple uses of spare tires. However, the most popular game by far was always Hide and Seek. There were myriad’s of places to hide—under the house, in drainage ditch openings, in trees and on rooftops. As I became a seasoned Hide and Seek professional, I realized that I would much rather be the one who was “it”. Hiding became boring fast and I always drew attention to myself so that I could be found. Being the seeker meant freedom to explore and search, and at those times when I felt exceptionally mischievous, I’d go inside and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while the others hid.

In retrospect, I can appreciate the parallel of that game with my spiritual path. There is that part of us that abhors hiding. To deny any part of the full spectrum of life—the disappointments as well as the victories, grief and joy, times of doubt as well as faith—is to hide from our feeling nature.

Now, the message of the windshield seemed vitally clear. Stop judging how you feel.

I was experiencing the mental exhaustion that comes from standing in front of the dam of disappointments, pressing my hands against the cracks to keep the regrets and sorrow at bay—so much energy expended in the denial of feeling and yet thinking I was doing the admirable thing.

I knew now I’d reached the point on my life path where I could no longer hold up the dam. It was time to let the walls crack, crumble and fall.

Days later, staring again at my fractured, yet freshly washed “illustration”, I began to weep. You know, the sobbing kind. Yes, if you look back at the cover it will confirm that I am a man. It isn’t that men don’t cry, it’s that men don’t seem to cry very neatly. And this was one that had waited for 42 years to hit shore, an uninterrupted current that was extremely messy, spilling without tissue, Starbuck’s napkin or moist towelette in sight. I had just started the drive from Los Angeles to Napa and was resolved to get to the wedding rehearsal I was officiating at by early evening. But the tears had started free of even radio sad song stimulus. I could no longer hold it in.

The romantic break up from someone I loved dearly followed a litany of failed occurrences that seemed to plague my life in that past year. Everything I touched did not turn to gold; instead, it resembled mold.

Feeling like some cosmic delete button was eliminating everything I planned both personally and professionally, the waves of disappointment were crashing in on me like the hurricane surf I had watched as a child. Somehow the turbulent Gulf of Mexico seemed mild compared to this.

Honestly, I don’t remember driving the six plus hours or the fact that I must have stopped for gas. I remember only the overwhelming grief that propelled the release. Anyone passing me on Interstate 5 in California who looked my way must have gotten an eye full.

These heartbreaking sobs were not just about the sadness of the relationship changing form. That was merely the catalyst. These tears seemed laden with the death of my father, the loss of so many friends and colleagues from AIDS, the struggles from my show business years, family issues, financial pit falls—even pimples in high school.

All I remember is that I allowed myself, once and for all, to be held by the arms of sorrow.

I’m not sure why I was always so apprehensive to venture into her arms or, when there, wish to wriggle my way out like a hug from an over-perfumed aunt.

I flashed onto a scene from the movie version of A Chorus Line. The director asks one girl after reviewing her resume’, why she hadn’t worked in over a year. You could tell by her face that she was searching her mental index to come up with something appropriate or appealing to respond with. Instead she told the truth. “I had a nervous breakdown,” she softly confesses. I started crying one day and I couldn’t stop.”

I thought that would happen to me. If I tossed out that emotional line I might never be able to reel it back in. Experience has taught me my fears were unfounded.

Months afterwards, I attended a reception to honor a publisher in the field of metaphysics. It was held at an exclusive hotel in Los Angeles in one of their finest banquet rooms. There was a sit down dinner with several introductions of visiting dignitaries and a congratulatory speech from a well-known author preceding the honoree. During the opening remarks, loud band music began to filter in from a wedding being held in the adjacent hall. The music was distracting and it was difficult even to hear what was being said about the publisher. Yet, no one said anything about it and the speakers kept plowing through their part of the program. Finally, when the honoree took his place behind the podium, he joked, “I’ve been excited about receiving this award for months but I never knew it would come with a rendition of Wasting Away Again In Marguaritaville. The tension relaxed, and the entire banquet hall exploded with laughter.

Just as the speaker finally acknowledged the “white elephant” in that room, releasing the tension, so does acknowledging sorrow. We then begin the move towards healing it. Denying it seems as useful as a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. It’s better to let the wound be looked at, washed and salved.

Deepak Chopra wrote, “Pretending they (regrets) are not there is accepting the idea that they are somehow unhealable, unforgivable. Our greatest insight is that everything is all right. Our greatest delusion is we have made unforgivable mistakes.”

However, the reverse of this acknowledgment reveals those who are professionals in being the walking wounded. They collect their victim charms and wear them on ID bracelets, shaking them in our faces. What would they talk about if they worked towards resolution? To me, that is stagnation, making a mantra out of “ain’t it awful”. What I’m referring to is simply acknowledging the regrets and taking actions to heal and cleanse them from becoming our identifiable calling cards.

Allowing our feeling nature free reign to express deepens our ability of understanding and strengthens our compassion.

As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Sorrow makes us all children again, destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest knows nothing.”

I arrived in Napa, the front of my shirt soaked from tears and the accompanying runny nose. I quickly changed, wiped my face as best I could and approached the door to the wedding rehearsal. The bride flung open the door, took one look at me and said, “You look so peaceful. Thank God! We’re all nervous wrecks!”

My first thought was, “If you only knew.”

After the festivities, I spent some time walking around Napa. I love the area and I strolled from shop to shop stopping at my favorite used bookstore. At that moment I remembered a phone call I was to make and opened my day planner to find the number. The calendar section stared back at me and in the squares for the present weekend was written my partner’s name and mine.

More tears.

Even in one of my favorite places, I couldn’t seem to escape regret and sorrow. I remember thinking; “I just want to go somewhere where regret cannot find me.”

I looked up at the bookstore window and realized I had found the title for my book.

It encompassed the great paradox, for in order to discover such a place we must first let it find us and invite it in, acknowledge its meaningful but temporary visit, creating the healing ability to move on. Just as in Hide and Seek, it felt better to be found.

The thirteenth century Sufi poet Rumi wrote:

This being human is a guesthouse.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
She may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
Meet them at the door laughing
And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

Opening the door to sorrow revealed a lady of sweet understanding. The depths of her compassion are comparative to God’s own. She is the mistress who accompanies everyone in secret but longs to stroll side by side even in the light of day. Her beauty and vulnerable gifts are never fully appreciated unless they are brought into that light. It is the divine paradox of sadness and joy, dark and light, tears and laughter that turn our inward dial of life to the setting called “full experience”. With senses so heightened we cry in the light and watch as our tears cascade and collect into pools of diamonds reflecting the rainbows of our souls.

The great Harlem Renaissance author Zora Neale Hurston once wrote, “I have been in sorrow’s kitchen and licked out all the pots. I have stood on the mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands.”

Beginning to explore this new mountain, my hands hold on to vulnerability and courage as supportive companions.

Now that sorrow was here, I no longer feared her for she had whispered to me that her arms were inviting. I had to agree. No longer was I focused on the energy of keeping my hands pressed against the cracks of the dam. I had freed them, watched it collapse and began floating in the collected tears of my lifetime. I no longer became concerned about when I’d stop or who could see because sorrow now stroked my hair, cradled me and rocked me through the night like the Eternal Mother.

The biblical metaphor reminds us we cannot put new wine into old skins. My prayers to be a bright light in a darkening world seemed attainable, for this metamorphosis delivered more compassion and clarity than I had ever known. I could feel, at last, new growth forming for my highest purpose to find its home.

The windshield still maintains its elongated crack. For now, it represents a map of an illuminating journey.

I thank sorrow for that. As she leaves to make room for joy, she softly kisses me and I know that we will meet again.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention! What you?ve all been waiting for—the definitive answer for creating a life filled with peace, joy, health, prosperity and the fulfillment of the desires of your heart is? …drum roll please… BELIEVING IS SEEING. Thank you and good night.

Hmmm, sorry if you were expecting something a bit more complex or grand but that’s really it. We try to complicate the answer, adorn it with the latest must have’s and can’t do without’s, but every book, seminar and speaker worth their weight in integrity will eventually tell you the same message that was imparted by one of the greatest masters that ever lived, “It is done unto you as you believe.”

I’ve often wondered, even after I know this so well intellectually, why many times I still go unconscious, allowing my thought processes to travel on roads that have long since led to disappointment. I know better than to say things like, I can’t afford it, that’ll never happen, I can’t get anyone to help, or I am so tired. I know that by saying these things, I activate a Universal law that supports me in having exactly what I declare.

I know that if I expect things to not work out or let doubt cloud my intention in the slightest, that I’m going to be delivered the blandest, smallest fruit from the Tree of Life, depriving myself of the juiciest of harvests.

It’s really no one else’s fault. You and I are the generator of our thoughts. Statistics have shown that more than 70% of those daily thoughts tend to be negative. And we wonder why we still carry with us some of the same issues that have zapped our energies and fostered futility in our hearts year after year?

It isn’t the economy. It is our belief about the economy. It isn’t that there are no good men or women available. It’s that we believe that to be so. It isn’t that we can’t make money doing what we love. It’s that somewhere along the line, we bought that as truth.

This month I turn 45 and I am more dedicated than ever to becoming a consistent, conscious steward of my thoughts. There is no greater gift I could give myself. It is the ultimate act of self-love. I prayed to awaken to something that was going to help me be more mindful, something that would “re-mind” me that the power to change worlds rest right here inside.

Shortly thereafter I read a passage by the metaphysician Ernest Holmes that encouraged the reader to sit, meditate and realize that we/you/I are the Center of Divine Attraction. Something about that statement leapt off the page! To actually affirm and proclaim that I am the center, the very core of divine attraction summoned up all sorts of remarkable images. The most exciting was that of a bulls-eye in the center of a target.

“Here I am” I joyously proclaimed, “a walking bulls-eye, declaring that I am the center of divine attraction! C’mon God, hit me with the good!”

I visualized Spirit as the master archer shooting arrows of outrageously awesome good fortune at me, piercing me in the very core of my being with all things grand and glorious. I began singing/chanting

I AM,
I AM THE CENTER OF,
I AM THE CENTER OF DIVINE ATTRACTION
ALL THINGS
ALL PURE AND BLESSED THINGS
ALL PURE AND BLESSED THINGS COME TO ME NOW

I had my graphics person design a target with a bulls-eye and I wrote my name in the very center of it. I placed a copy of that monogrammed target in front of my computer, on the refrigerator, on the bathroom mirror and on the dash of the car. I committed to singing that chant repeatedly throughout the day. I went into the recording studio and created a lively, energetic dance musical track and put those words to it so that I could play it at the gym when I’m on the treadmill or listen to it as I hike through the Angeles Crest National Forest. I infused these activities with a belief and a joy that heretofore had been non existent in such practises.

You sort of get the velocity at which an arrow travels, right?

After a few weeks of consistently doing this, my world began to rapidly change. The “believing” began to welcome its “seeing” counterpart.

Since truly becoming a believe-a-holic, I’ve traveled to Kauai on an all-expenses-paid gift. My first conference-at-sea was a sell out and one of the most gratifying experiences of my career. Funding arrived and I am now completing my first studio recording in over 4 years. My monthly Los Angeles workshops are at capacity as well as seeing an enormous increase in my counseling clientele. My health, energy and vitality are at an all time high and the balance between work and play feels effortless. I laugh as the information for my second book enthusiastically pours from me. My world is increasingly filled with powerful, peace-hungry people. I am traveling to Egypt and Africa in November to be a part of a team of conscious, loving individuals dedicated to “being the change,” and in January, I’m facilitating a trip to the sacred sites of Thailand and Cambodia. It’s there in Cambodia, I feel I will be introduced to the child I have long wanted to adopt.

With each conscious decision to focus on unlimited potentiality, the Universe loyally turns my attention to the many reminders that are out in the world to support such a belief.

I laughed the other day as I drove the streets of Los Angeles because, unaware of its presence, there’s been one of those reminders consistently in my face.

Take a look at the side view mirror on the passenger side of your car. There, the remarkable sentence reads: Objects In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear. I like to think that has very little to do with the depth perception of the cars behind us and everything to do with the sage wisdom of the ages.

The objects (thoughts) that are in your mind are a direct reflection of what is coming to you. If the thought is on what is working in this physical body and subsequently expressing appreciation for that, then generating more things optimally working is closer with each sustaining thought.

I often have my workshop participants do an exercise called deliberate dialoging. In a mindfulness walk through a local forest, I have them create an ongoing conversation with their highest aspirations. If they long to be on Oprah (a favorite), then they deliberately dialogue with her.

Participant: Gosh, it’s so great to be in this chair, on this stage, talking with you.

Oprah: I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to having you here. Your story/book/work has had such an impact! You must hear that all the time, but it’s so true. You have helped globally shift this planet to a more peaceful state and in such a unique way. Why in my own life, I often refer back to the principles/examples that you’ve shared.

Participant: Thanks! What an honor. I just kept focusing on the belief that I could do it and it happened.

Oprah: Girrrl/Mannn, you got it goin’ on!

If they want a loving relationship in their life, then they deliberately dialogue with that partner.

Participant: It’s so awesome sharing this walk with you. Thanks for being so thoughtful this morning and bringing me breakfast in bed. You do so much for me, so often. I just love you so much that I feel the need to find a new word for what I feel.

Desired Partner: Ditto, baby. You have been what I’ve prayed for, worked towards my whole life. I so appreciate you. I believe in you. Every toad ever kissed was worth it because it brought me to you. I’m in heaven.

Instead of focusing on what you don’t have, start dialoging with the desire. Put your belief in its manifestation. Dialogue with prosperity. Start counting the number of leaves on a tree, cracks in the sidewalk, stars in the sky or grains of sand on the beach and soon you will tire. There is simply too many. The Universe keeps showing us that there is more than enough—more than we could ever count. Focus on the plenty. Believe and declare that you are the center of divine attraction, the bulls-eye for every arrow of good that God can deliver. Believe in the unlimited supply and you will begin to see it. It’s closer than it appears!

¿He expresado amor éste año, real amor?
La clase de amor que no se anuncia a si mismo de manera estridente o estructurada, amor auténtico, sereno e internalizado, la clase de amor que burbujea en la al superficie cuando miras a otro con empatía , amor que te coloca en sus zapatos, amor que no juzga, amor profundamente compasivo.
Amor filantrópico, amor que se siente compelido a expresarse porque sabe que hay de sobra para todos.
Si no es así resuelvo ser mejor dando amor.

¿He perdonado éste año, he perdonado realmente?
¿La clase de perdón que abre mi corazón rompiendo rigideces y justificadas indignaciones permitiendo respirar a mi alma?
¿La clase de perdón que afloja la indignación de mis puños cerrados en alto ante ciertas situaciones y me salva de entrar en la próxima con la misma desconfianza?
¿El perdón que realiza que hay una diferencia entre comprender una opción de conducta y condenarla?
Si no fue así resuelvo ser mejor perdonando.

¿Paré éste año, realmente paré?
¿Paré de entumecerme y alejarme de quién realmente soy con distracciones, cortinas de humo, excusas y autoimpuestos clichés?
¿Paré para verme desnudo ante mis sentimientos, permitiéndoles expresarse?
Ni correcto no equivocado, solo parar para oír lo que necesito oír para vivir mas efectivamente?
Si no, resuelvo mejorar y permitirme parar

¿Busqué aventuras éste año, reales aventuras?
La clase de aventura que no solo implica salir de lo conocido y entrar en territorio desconocido quitando todas las telarañas de mis alas para volar con los maravillosos vientos del cambio?
La clase de aventuras para las que no hay red de seguridad en éste mundo físico, solo internas? Vivir en plenitud
Si no, resuelvo mejorar buscando aventuras.

¿Busqué bienestar éste año, real bienestar?
¿ La clase de bienestar que me hace estar totalmente conciente de lo que pongo dentro de mi cuerpo – la clase de bienestar que me hace practicar lo que predico entendiendo que el poder de cambiar reside en simplemente elegir cambiar?
Sabiduría que dice: “Este es el único cuerpo que tienes, trátame con respeto, hónrame como el sagrado templo que soy”.
Si no, resuelvo ser nejor y permitir bienestar en mi vida.

¿Jugué éste año, realmente jugué?
La clase de juego que valora la celestial actividad de divertirse, sabiendo que la alegría de divertirse es sagrada, que el juego es equivalente al trabajo ¿y que durante el el juego, renovación y relajación, surgen las mejores ideas? ¿Veía yo al juego como una función vital y no como un lujo?
Si no, resuelvo ser mejor jugador

¿Puse una meta para completar éste año y la realicé?
¿La clase de realización que deja una vibración de satisfacción y de confianza en mis habilidades y cura mis ideas de no ser lo suficientemente bueno? ¿Honré mi vida y su sagrado propósito usando mi tiempo con pensamientos hacia adelante sin dejar que mis errores intervengan? ¿Disolví mis inseguridades y mis demoras comprendiendo que mi poco explorado genio tiene un modo de expresarse que es a través de palabra y acción?
Si no, resuelvo ubicar mejor mis metas

¿Me abrí yo mismo como para aprender éste año , realmente aprender?
¿La clase de aprendizaje que me seduce ser un a ser un estudiante de la vida con sed y entusiasmo?
¿Puse una intención en descubrir mas de mi potencial entrando mas profundamente en las aguas de la sabiduría? Abrí un libro desconocido, aprendí un nuevo instrumento, visité otra cultura, me emocioné a mi mismo con la infinita capacidad que tengo de dominar mas de lo que suponía poder?
Si no es así, resuelvo poder.

¿Limpié mis relaciones éste año, realmente las limpié?
Esta clase de limpieza implica abrir los ojos, levantar las cortinas y remover palabras crueles, y falsas acusaciones, y malas opciones puestas en mi corazón. ¿Hice enmiendas en mis dolorosas maneras de descorazonar a otros negándome a honrar sus puntos de vista? ¿supe exponer mi punto de vista sin juzgar y sin malicia?
Con comprensión hacia el otro ¿supe plantear que podemos acordar o no sin malicia y sin juzgar?
Si no es así, resuelvo mejor limpiar mis relaciones.

¿He compartido mi dios éste año, realmente compartido?
Alegrándome por el éxito de otros sin esperar retorno o retribución?
¿He respondido dónde fuí espiritualmente alimentado transformado e inspirado? ¿He practicado a troche-moche actos amables, piadosos, dado mi tiempo, talento y tesoro realizando que no puede secarse aquello cuyo origen es la primaveral fuente de lo divino?
¿He cometido caminar el camino del altruismo recordando que cada paso trae sanación e iluminación al mundo?
Si no, resuelvo ser mejor en mi compartimiento.

¿He rezado éste año, realmente rezado?
La clase de rezos que no son dichos a Dios sino COMO Dios? rezos que afirman antes que suplicar, impregnados con afirmación mas que con dudas? He hecho de mis actividades diarias un rezo, realizando que cada pensamiento cargue con la responsabilidad de un efecto proyectado al mundo? ¿He recordado cuán verdaderamente poderoso es mi rezo justo ahora actualmente y que por simple devoción en practicarlo consigo el cambio? ¿He recordado que mi rezo busca e intruduce en mí al buscador?
Si no, resuelvo hacer y ser mejor en rezar.

¿Hice todas éstas cosas porque en el fondo comprendí completamente que precioso soy y que éstas actividades me ayudarán a ver que soy sostenido en la luz como una perfecta idea? ¿He recordado que fui perfectamente concebido y que soy siempre sostenido en la perfecta mente de Dios como un perfecto ser? ¿Conocí que no hay nada que pueda jamás decir, nada que puede jamás hacer que me pueda separar del amor de Dios?

Si por alguna razón hubiese olvidado mi divinidad éste año, entonces resuelvo ser y hacer mejor en mi conocimiento de ello y comprender totalmente y encarnar la verdad que es hecha a mi como yo creo, para mi, para ti y para todos.

Reverendo David Ault 2004
Traducción: Rodolfo Meier