Last January, after a weekend of work together, a meeting I attended near Palm Springs, California was breaking up. There had been some hectic, unbalanced energy within the group as we said our goodbyes. I was a little rattled. I breathed slowly and deeply, calming myself down. Saying goodbye to the dozen or so people who had attended the meeting with me, I gathered my belongings as the party broke up, everyone seeking their travel plans.
Finally only two of us were left, myself and Jean-Claude Gerard Koven, whose UPI column, "Shooting Dead Horses", graces this website weekly and whose recent book, "Going Deeper," has had such success that these days, he travels constantly, talking with the people who are excited about his work. Jean-Claude and I were exhausted, excited and — speaking for myself — jangled.
With a gentle, merry grin, Koven began singing. The words of his chant were the Hebrew version of the Christian text called the "Sanctus."
The English is "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts."
The Hebrew words are ""Kodoish, Kodoish, Kodoish Adonai T'Sebayoth."
Koven sang in Hebrew, filling the spacious lobby of our meeting place with the power and timbre of his voice. The chant, involving ritual repetitions, as does the Christian version, seemed to lift me into a kind of vehicle as it went on for about five minutes. This vehicle was made of sound. His fragile breath had created for me a ship in which I was quite abruptly sailing and soaring into the heaven worlds.
I was transfixed. All my tangled emotions unsnarled. All my weariness vanished. Koven's voice, lifted in adoration and praise, had changed the structure of my world. Subjectively speaking, I was a new woman.
We were designed to be instruments by the Creator. We are wind instruments. We are sensitive instruments. Our breath supplies us with the wind to speak and to sing. What shall we speak? What shall we sing?
In exploring this question, we are exploring who we are in a way which logic and rational thought cannot comprehend entirely. For as we speak and sing, we are - inadvertently, for the most part — musicians. When the human breath is involved, the potential for the sacred expression of our essence is always there.
The gentle hum of a mother's lullaby expresses love in a profound and comforting way. The beloved's voice on the telephone saying, "I am all right. I'll be home soon," can bring one to tears of joy. As we breathe in and out, we are breathing sacred energy in and choosing how to breathe that sacred energy back out with what we say and how we say it. There can be infinite love in our voice, if our state of heart and mind are open to that love; aware of that Presence.
People write in to me often, asking how they can serve. And I tell them that they are already serving as they breathe in and breathe out. Their first service is to be themselves: to be present and aware of the moment; as Ram Dass said it, "be here now." In that sacred Presence is the heart of our service here on Earth.
The Confederation entity, Q’uo, which I channel, says this in a channeling through L/L Research dated March 16, 1997:
"You can serve. You will serve. Fear not. Do not be distraught because you are confused or because you have not that mountaintop experience on this particular day at this particular time.
"You shall perform your mission. Each of you shall serve effectively that light and that love that you so adore. You cannot fail at this, for as you breathe in and as you breathe out, you are an essence. You are the one great original Thought. You are Love."
The breath is enormously, centrally sacred. It is utterly essential to our life. We do not think on the miracle of life much, as we are too busy dealing with that miracle in the hurly-burly of everyday. The image from the Old Testament of the Holy Bible of the great Tetragrammaton breathing life into Adam in the Garden of Eden catches this sacred and pivotal connection, in breath itself, of Creator to human beautifully.
And the Confederation entities which I channel confirm the sacred nature of the descending Spirit. When the Spirit is sent forth, we are created, the Psalmist sings. My favorite version of this sentiment is a poem written by Edwin Hatch in 1878, whose words form a hymn I have sung since childhood:
[lyrics start] Breathe on me, breath of God. Fill me with life anew.
That I may love what thou dost love and do what thou dost do.
Breathe on me, breath of God, until my heart is pure.
Until with thee I will one will, to do or to endure.
Breathe on me, breath of God, till I am wholly Thine,
Till all this earthly part of me glows with thy fire divine. [lyrics end]
Living as a spiritual being in an earthly world is a challenge if we focus on the literal and the physically obvious. Life is not in the heaviness of physical things. It is in the invisible, sacred and life-giving breath that animates them. When you can take your power and choose to identify yourself as an instrument through which the Creator can play Its tune, then you have become more than your circumstances. You have become a voice in the wilderness which is lifted in praise and thanksgiving. You have become a light unto the nations.
I received an anonymous verse the other day from a beloved old friend. I printed it out and taped it to my computer so I would see it every day. It reads, simply,
[lyrics start] I am the place where God shines through.
For God and I are one, not two.
I need not fret, nor will, nor plan;
God wants me where and as I am.
If I'll just be relaxed and free,
She'll carry out Her work through me. [lyrics end]
I open my arms and embrace your spirit. Make a joyful noise unto the Lord today, all ye lands! As you speak today, feel the breath running through your instrument. What shall you speak? What shall you sing? How shall the Creator carry out Its work through you today?