Reforming Hell. Marilyn "Mattie" Brahen

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СКАЧАТЬ Quatama were both my spirit masters, when I first lived as Leianna in Eliom.

      You’re probably more familiar with Eliom as Eden and with Quatama as Gautama Buddha. I still think of and spell his name as Quatama. He’s reached Nirvana and is one with everything, and knows me beyond my own current knowledge of myself. He allows whatever will help the world reach its own Nirvana.

      M—is, of course, the prophet of Islam. I know that Muslims aren’t supposed to “portray” him, but I’m not a Muslim, and this isn’t a portrayal . . . I’m telling a true story. But out of respect to him and his followers, I am only using his initial in place of his name.

      M—was the previous Keeper of the Earth before me. Before him it was J.C. and before that it was Quatama. The Keeper, in theory, watches over the world and leaves some legacy to the Earth and its people, a legacy which helps to keep both the Earth and mankind balanced. I haven’t chosen my legacy yet.

      In 1971, when Quatama first told me that I was the current Keeper, I asked him who the previous Keeper had been, who had symbolically handed me that baton. But M—felt I wasn’t quite ready to learn his identity. I knew nothing about Islam.

      Since then I’ve learned that the name M—, in Arabic, means “one who is praised,” an honorable name, but he isn’t just any M—, he’s The M—. I also had no idea that, for a very long time, two of my dear astral friends, Ali and his wife Fatima, were M—’s son-in-law and his daughter. At first I was upset when I found all of this out. I was in no way going to kow-tow to anyone’s religious superstar. But Ali and ’Tima calmed me down and helped both M—and me to compromise and trust each other. They are a blessing in my eternal life.

      Yeshua, called Jesus by most of today’s modern world, lets me affectionately call him J.C. I never call him Jesus. During his one earthly lifetime—his name in Hebrew was Yeshua—I had both the honor and sorrow of being his mother. Today our roles are slightly reversed. He calls me Little Sister, and I still call him Yeshua.

      When M—came forward and identified himself after September 11, 2001, I had my hackles up, my back against the wall, with radar on full alert.

      I needed to let him know that I was not subordinate to him, that I owed him nothing that I didn’t wish to give out of my heart’s true desire, when he came around and told me that he had been the previous Keeper.

      M—couldn’t understand why Allah would now give that re­sponsibility to a divorced Jewish-American woman from Northeast Philadelphia. He complained to Quatama that if I hadn’t the simple courage to face my own destiny, it didn’t seem likely I’d ever leave any legacy to the world as great as Islam. The only reason, he said, that he accepted my becoming the Keeper was because Allah willed it.

      When M—added in a gravelly tone, “I will have to strive to understand how such a thing could be,” that ruffled my spiritual wings. I very calmly looked up at him and said, “Well, we’re apparently going to find that out now, aren’t we?” He understood exactly what I meant, because when you are in spirit, your feelings are heightened by your words, and he very quietly replied, “You are being an irritating woman.”

      “No, I’m not,” I told him. “I think you’re uncomfortable with my being a woman.”

      For years, we verbally sparred back and forth, neither of us gaining or conceding an inch. I read about one-third of the Koran and found contradictions in it: compassion and cruelty, spiritual tolerance and religious prejudice. Other books of religion also contradict themselves, while insisting they’re the last word from God. God’s absolute word? Many religious passages are not about what God has to say to humans, but what humans say to God, asking God to sanction their behavior unconditionally, and then insisting that God does so. Who could prove this except by faith? If the “sanctioned” behavior is harmful to us, shall we blame God for it or say our prayer went unanswered? If the “sanctioned” behavior harmed others, are we denying our own responsibility for our violence, and blaspheming when we call it God’s will? Humans fight for human reasons. Humans wrote these religious works. Perhaps some passages were inspired by God, but I can’t consider them absolute.

      Years ago, I decided never to join any mortal religion, including Judaism, but I still study spiritual texts, believe in God, and have my own philosophy. I call it Universophy, which is not a religion. The world doesn’t need any more religions. It needs bridges to connect these beliefs in peace.

      In 2006, M—and I had a breakthrough. We simultaneously realized hostility was useless. He accepted my individuality and I accepted his, and we learned to deal with our differences honorably, even affectionately. Never angrily. We realized if his legacy was to survive, he would have to sincerely help me with mine.

      The hyacinths are staggered with rows of geraniums, tulips and borders of ageratum. A mild spring permeates the Garden today. M—waits for me, holding a large clay pot, thick with pinkish orange blooms, which he offers me. Quatama and Yeshua materialize behind him. M—explains: “For your house on the eighth plane. I know you like begonias. They are from my garden.”

      M—lives on the eighth physical astral plane with his wife Aishah. When he was alive, she was his third wife. Fatima has told me that her father had nine wives then. She didn’t expect me to find this extraordinary, as I myself have more than one astral husband now and our astral group marriage also includes Sharlan, the only other sister-wife in it.

      As far as I know, Aishah is M—’s only wife now. When we were introduced, she was polite but taciturn with me, serving us coffee in M—’s vast garden, standing off to one side while her husband talked with me. I asked him if she wanted to join us, and he said no, she had no reason to. Yet I knew that she could hear our conversation, standing near us at the edge of the patio, by the back door of their spacious, single-story home, as if awaiting her husband’s further instructions.

      But the woman he was instructing was me, in the history of Islam, beginning with his meeting with my eternal uncle, the angel Gabriel. My uncle Gabriel verbally dictated the Koran to M—, who wrote it down and brought it to his people.

      During those lessons, the pot of coffee stayed ever full, fragrant and warm, even though we poured generous cups. A plate of sweet pastries filled with pistachio nuts also sat on a plate nearby, but these did not replenish themselves, to my chagrin, because they tasted divine. When the plate lay bare, I sighed, and then Aishah appeared, a fresh plate in her hand. She laid it down, took away the empty one and smiled briefly at me. And M—murmured, “My wife appreciates your compliment to her baking skill.”

      Today I accept M—’s gift, the pot of the sturdy begonias, taking it in my own hands. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

      A white, wrought-iron table and four chairs appear beside us. I place the begonias, as a centerpiece, upon it and sit down. Yeshua and Quatama also seat themselves, and M—sits directly across from me. He clasps his hands and speaks: “The time has come for me to choose whether to guide my people toward change and its acceptance or to stand behind those who reject it, who insist rigidly upon the old values and the immutability of the law.

      “The problem, of course, is that sharia is applicable only on Earth and only for Muslims. Allah is most tolerant and generous toward all good-hearted humans in the afterlife.” He glances at Quatama, who smiles but says nothing. “The Seraphim tell me that my choice will be influenced by you, Leianna, by decisions you have made before and those you will make in the near future, and that these decisions will decide what your legacy will be. And so, I cannot make my own choice until I understand yours.

      “I need you to begin instructing me in the story of your current life, mortal and astral: what you do, who you love, your challenges, СКАЧАТЬ