If you are happy with everything in your life, then this book (like A Course in Miracles which lies behind it) is not the book for you. But if some aspects of your life continue to trouble you, this is a book you may want to have a look at.
There Must Be Another Way is a collection of deeply-felt transformative essays, written in clear accessible prose, examining the concepts of the Course. It is filled with poetry, quotations from the New Testament, references to contemporary essays, books and movies. It’s the result of the author’s long years of sincere effort with the work.
I’ve included an Excerpt from the author’s Prologue, followed by a video in which Ray discusses the blank verse in A Course in Miracles.
If you were completely honest with yourself, you would have to admit that no matter how much you have tried to put together a life, there are times when you say to yourself, “There’s something seriously wrong here, and there must be another way.”
Fortunately for you, for all of us, not only is there another way, but this way has been mapped out in a how-to-manual that appeared on this planet in 1975, A Course in Miracles. This unworldly masterpiece was scribed by Helen Schucman who heard an “internal voice,” Jesus’ voice, say to her on October 21, 1965, “This is a course in miracles, take notes.” For the next seven years, she dutifully transcribed the Text, Workbook, and Manual for Teachers.
Before we can utilize the lessons of the Course, we must first take a look at the lessons you learned along the way by faithfully following the instructions of an unwritten manual, folklore passed down through the generations, teaching you that seeing is believing. You eagerly learned early on to trust as real what you see, hear, taste, smell and touch. Whatever was not sensed was unreal. This way of seeing seems completely natural, and that is why you are in the fix that you are in.
Let’s test out this belief that seeing is believing by being real specific. Let’s take a look at what is around us. I’ll go first.
I am sitting on my couch looking out of my window, gazing at the landscape bathed in the sunlight of a beautiful day in June. I close my eyes and make the decision that when I open them, I will look at what I customarily, habitually, normally look at, only the objects before me.
I see the cylindrical, mesh bird feeder containing black sunflower seeds. A Cardinal alights and pecks at the seeds. I am reminded of an incident when I was 6 or 7, and a friend and I were shooting at birds with BB guns. We wounded a Blue Jay, and we were chasing it through the neighborhood, when an old lady came running out of her house, chastising us for killing birds, and we said it was a Blue Jay, and she immediately let us off the hook because that was OK by her, Blue Jays menaced other birds.
And other associations immediately flooded in. At that time, my mother, father, sister and I lived in a little village, Moorepark, Michigan—my parents owned a general store, and we lived in the back in one room separated from the store by a curtain; no running water, only well water from a pump, an outhouse in the back; we went to a one-room schoolhouse, grades K-8, one teacher, Mrs. Steininger; across the street was a gunsmith, Bergie Hughey, who also ran a one-pump gas station; my friend, Rudy, and I played in the fields and swamps all day, exploring and hunting frogs with bows and arrows.
Whew. Now, I am back from that trip down memory lane, and I am going to try it again. This time, I will close my eyes, and when I open them, I will make the decision to look at what I customarily, normally do not look at, only the space between objects, wanting to see, in effect, only the air.
Now I am looking with soft eyes, in fact, I am not seeing as much as experiencing. Gazing in this manner, I find that my mind is peaceful, still, unoccupied, and tranquil. I am scanning what is before me, but I am not naming objects, and since I am not naming things, I am not flooded with associations. I am simply content; my mind is empty. When I do look at something, like a bird at the feeder, I experience only love. I continue gazing with soft eyes, becoming increasingly mellow, content, tranquil, loving, peaceful, unified and free. A tree branch, laden with green leaves, lifts and falls in the soft breeze, the leaves shimmering, the tops green and the undersides flashing gold.
While writing the draft of this essay, I did the exercises and then wrote about my experience, and at this point, gazing with soft eyes, I went so far out, losing all sense of being a body, fading into a state of consciousness of oneness, of light, so that what was inside my mind and what was outside were blended together.
The smallest leaf becomes a thing of wonder, a blade of grass a sign of God’s perfection. T-17.V1.6:3
At this point, I just decided to stay there, and I put down my pen for the day.
Now I am back, and another passage from the Course comes to mind.
Beyond this world there is a world I want.
I choose to see that world instead of this,
for here is nothing that I really want.
Then close your eyes upon the world you see,
and in the silent darkness watch the lights
that are not of this world light one by one,
until where one begins another ends
loses all meaning as they blend in one.
This is seeing through the eyes of Christ.
The present is the only time there is.
And so today, this instant, now, we come
to look upon what is forever there;
not in our sight, but in the eyes of Christ.
The world fades easily away before
His sight. Its sounds grow dim.
There is a silence into which the world
can not intrude. There is an ancient peace
you carry in your heart and have not lost.
Now, Dear Reader, you try it.
Ray Comeau received his formal education at Kalamazoo College (BA, 1963), and at the University of Chicago (MA, 1965, Ph.D. 1973), but his real education began on August 7, 1997, when he crossed the threshold of Endeavor Academy in Wisconsin, where his mind became transformed through Jesus’ unworldly masterpiece, A Course In Miracles, His New Testament, and the teachings of Master Teacher whose complete awakening occurred on July 4, 1979.
TODAY’S PRIZE CONTEST!
Steve is offering a Free Copy of THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY to today’s lucky winner.
Today’s Prize Giveaway has the same rules as the other giveaways:
1.To enter to win, simply COMMENT ON THIS BLOG, leaving an email address so we can contact you if you win. All names of commenters go into the ‘hat’.
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3. Only one entry per giveaway. (But you can enter as many different Daily Giveaway Contests as you want!)
If you don’t win this one, be sure to order a copy of Ray’s book from Amazon:
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