Your Consciousness is Your Life

We continue our study of Imelda Shanklin's "What Are You?" with  Rev. John Zenkewich

Consciousness is direct knowledge or perception of an object, state, or sensation.

The things of which you most commonly and most ardently think become your consciousness.  Because this is true, you are responsible for what you have about you.  Do you know the character of your consciousness?  If your group of material thoughts and your group of spiritual thoughts should instantly take on three-dimensional form and stand before you, which group would be the stronger?  In which group would your thoughts of life be found?  Where do you think your thoughts of finance would appear?  In which association should you look, were you to search for your health thoughts?  With which array would you find your conceptions of love?  Examine your two groups; you can determine without the aid of a seer whether your predominating consciousness is spiritual or material.  Knowing which group prevails, frequently remind yourself that your consciousness is your life.  This will keep you alert to the need of construction or reconstruction, in accordance with the chosen aim of your life.

If your consciousness seems to be balanced between spirituality and materiality, watch your reaction when a crisis occurs.  If at the crisis your thought leaps to God as your deliverer, you are building a consciousness that will be so highly protective that it will disperse the assault against you before assault can be organized.

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What are You?

I saw this poem and it goe s perfectly with our lesson from this morning.


“Two Kinds of Intelligence” The Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks (Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 1997) p. 178.

There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired,
as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts
from books and from what the teacher says,
collecting information from the traditional sciences
as well as from the new sciences.
With such intelligence you rise in the world.
You get ranked ahead or behind others
in regard to your competence in retaining
information. You stroll with this intelligence
in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more
marks on your tablets.
There is another kind of tablet, one
already completed and preserved inside you,
a spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness
in the center of the chest. This other intelligence
does not turn yellow or stagnate. It’s fluid,
and it doesn’t move from outside to inside
through the conduits of plumbing-learning.
This second knowing is a fountainhead
from within you, moving out.  

Diane Ackerman, "School Prayer"

 Diane Ackerman, "School Prayer" 
(New York: Vintage, 2000, Kindle edition), p.3.

In the name of the daybreak
and the eyelids of morning
and the wayfaring moon
and the night when it departs,

I swear I will not dishonor
my soul with hatred,
but offer myself humbly
as a guardian of nature,
as a healer of misery,
as a messenger of wonder,
as an architect of peace.

In the name of the sun and its mirrors
and the day that embraces it
and the cloud veils drawn over it
and the uttermost night
and the male and the female
and the plants bursting with seed
and the crowning seasons
of the firefly and the apple,

I will honor all life
—wherever and in whatever form 
it may dwell—on Earth my home,
and in the mansions of the stars.