Looking out the windows of light, a person cannot but possibly see all that is in the moment of this reality, the new venture, the unwanted adventure, the white untouched canvas of unexpected realization; there is so much out there yet to discover, there is a complete and wonderful creation waiting to be discovered on the other side of the voyage.
So was one such day, so is many such days, but are they all not just the same when corralled by then responsibilities and the ever encompassing functions that surround the regular day. A morning awakening, its ritual coffee with the ever present need to attend that schedule we have so feverishly attached to ourselves. Giving yet another day in the long list of calendar rehearsals as they play so solemnly past like the ever never ending march of soldiers following step from the one before pressing forward to not halter the ones behind, stepping on in silent but rhythmic procession, keeping step in their ever present form, the routine set down before them by powers not quite understood and seldom fathomed.
A person can find themselves on a journey sometimes hardly knowing the ship has sailed, little do they know they have inadvertently stepped abroad, some stowaway wondering onto valiant voyage to distant shores yet unknown and undiscovered. I think such a day was also for me in such days, because in and around the sets of days broader expanses of realization began to find their way into the supple dispositions of my mind. I guess I was on a journey to discover health.
Existing in the health care profession, as many would tell you, especially after many years of practicing, the stream of people coming through the door, all with their eyed wide in expectation for what; an answer, a little tidbit of information that may lead to ease of burden, a reduction of irritation, the subtle elevation of burden carried by them, in this present and clear torment the irritation of the storms journey has presented them thus far? And what, can you give them anything, you haven’t given to a hundred, maybe a thousand others prior to these, regardless of the situation or structures of the facilitator that brought forth the issuing event in the first place?
You find yourself in such a present model, and over the course of so many years merely a provider of regurgitated leaflets of information that vary if anything from one to the other with as little variation as one might see in looking at the difference between aspirin pills in a bottle. This monogamy starts over time to inflict a more questionable realization in ones heart as to what exactly are you doing here? Are you really helping anyone? And whats the meaning of it all?
In such days, I found myself wondering and asking, if there is more, and if so what?
Still here I am driving down the long morning road, the images playing through the glass as mirages of worlds flowing past like islands across the horizon of some far off sailing soul, one cannot but sometime wonder the worlds of the lives swimming in the lands just out of touch yet passed by each and every day. I would like to make a difference, and how can that be, what must I do, to actually be relevant in these peoples life?
So is the tasks and the course of each day presenting itself also in a never ending line of people waiting for the rations of care given them for the injuries that they are rehabilitating from. So is the task and daily outlook for the therapist who has performed his care giving duties for last twenty-five plus years.
Such a day, same as many, most, no probably all of them, and while the care does change from time to time in a larger scope per injury or body part, the regiment is primarily the same and issued out like rations to a waiting hungry orphan for another morsel, hoping to relieve that hunger pain or fill some kind of hole left by the tragedy he or she has not quite completely returned from.
So to find myself wanting, a place not common in like, and less desirable then one might think if a more perspective look is examined from afar. Wanting in the area of satisfaction, satisfaction as to understanding in one’s self, as to; “Am I really making a difference, am I really helping?” What and exactly is the deference between what I attempt to do, and the actually healing that has been spoken of so often through history? Demonstrated with more clarity at least once in history as to a pure healing is really possible and what is lacking to sustain it on a regular and recurring basis?
I have heard it said; “God would that all of us were healed” as well as many other statements that seem to relate to the picture of an ideal that disease like sin, common in many ways, is not permanent, and the only thing one needs to be healed from any ailment is merely find faith.
Perplexing thought, given the examinations of many cases in my own mind regarding “Why do some heal and others don’t?” This question sits in my head as I ponder the thought driving down the hill. I have from occasion ask God very direct and specific questions, while most of the time all I seem to receive is the silent quietness that one often associates with a teacher not answering a question in the middle of a lesson, because the question has no impact at all on the lesson at hand or can in itself actually perpetuate more of a distraction from the point if addressed.
But I too have had more of an experience recently with asking and actually have some kind of answer follow, whether by direct word such as something immediately coming out of the radio or tv that answered the question. On occasion an image that when recorded or spoken actually answers the question exactly, and sometimes and not as often as I would like, even in almost distinct and all out audible words playing forth in my head.
Today was such a day.
“I would that everyone was healed.”
I heard it almost as clear as a spoken word sitting right next to me. The understanding of what I had come to know as God’s Voice, is not as much specific to me as it would seem, just resting inside the pondering mind of myself.
There is a deep resonance to it, a voice much like my own yet deeper and older than I have ever heard. There is a peacefulness about it that seems to not only exhibit tranquility but emirates itself in the very moment it is heard. An interesting fact is every time I hear the Voice of God, all other sounds in the universe seem to suddenly become conspicuously quiet, as if only the very sounds that I am hearing are the only important things I could be concerned with or should be.
Also without really understanding exactly the essence of what I am trying to describe, there is a sort of harmony to the voice, as if filled with an infinite accompanying of orchestra or some kind of soft choir just below the surface of my perception. That and everything I ever hear, when it appears to be from God, is completely different then any point or opinion I may have thought myself, much more wise or simplistic, seeming to cut a groove into my mind who’s memory transcends years and not just moments, as the many of the other thoughts or images that flow in or off my head seemingly do throughout the day.
“So if you would that everyone would be healed, what is stopping them, why do only a few seemed to be healed?” I said almost not exactly expecting an answer.
“People are healed every moment of every day. They are from the first morning of the first day they breath a breath, or utter a sound.”
“To understand the nature of healing one must first examine and understand the aspects of exactly what is going on. A person cannot understand, let alone hope to fight a battle if they are looking in the wrong direction or blind to exactly what forces are attacking.”
“Infirmities of all types, whether they be sicknesses, injuries, or afflictions that can last a lifetime, are attacks from the outside. People believed this once and today there needs to be a relearning of what is believed about these things.”……….
The Introduction chapter and excerpts from; “Jesus The First Therapist”
By Peter Colla