What Remains of Mom

 

I went to see what is left of Mom after work yesterday. There is a very old person now at Ross Memorial. What has managed to hold onto her body — the remnants of a life-story of its own — are Mom’s most difficult parts. The better portions of her being have already gone into the aether, where they have rejoined consciousness, met up with Dad and other lost loved ones, and begun to reflect as an Akashic book in the library of human experience.

This remaining part of Mom’s portrayal is the part that often hijacked her body and gave us considerable grief for decades. When I walked in to see her last night, I felt as though I were entering to have some discourse with the legions of spirits I had sometimes managed to knock in the head, as in the popular Whac-A-Mole game. Until last night, there was always a tolerable side of my mother, if I was willing and patient enough to filter through the complaints. But last night, I discovered those “ugly spirits” to be occupying their old host without the spirit of my old friend anywhere to be found.

If I didn’t know any better, I might think the good old soul was gone — dissolved and only remaining as some of my pleasant memories now. But I do know better. Love never dies, and all of my mother’s moments of joy are written in a living volume with her familiar name on the cover and binder.

When she held each grandchild, one by one…
When she saw those beautiful sunsets and called me to urge, “Look out your own window”…
When she talked about the way Myra would say, “When ‘pring comes”…
When she got in the passenger side of a car and rode with me to New York or Florida to visit Bill…
When she received those Wednesday calls from Jeffrey…
When she talked about the grandkids, prepared a big Sunday meal, made potato soup for Daddy or stewed cabbage for Bill, cornbread and biscuits too…
When she listened to that “little preacher” in the evenings before bed, or sang old hymns while doing her chores—

All of that is sealed for eternity, free from the bothersome spirits who always managed to find something to complain about.

The Akashic Version of The Book of Shirley Joyce Coker is a must-read. It is filled with love and happiness. It covers the period when she stood on her Daddy’s feet while he walked along, lifting her tiny legs with each step of his own. It covers the first time she kissed my Dad and the private moment when she said, “I do.” It covers the magical moment in 1959 when she was given her first baby to hold, and all of the emotions that were packed into that moment. It holds the hopes and dreams she had for each grandchild.

If I didn’t believe in the Akashic Record, I would have to assume my mom is still in that body at Ross Memorial—buried under all her troubles and unable to express herself due to the misfires of a troubled mind. But no, that’s not her. Of course, we will treat the body with respect and ask the doctors and nurses to keep her as comfortable as possible. But all the good that Mother was is slowly and carefully donning an astral body and will never suffer again. And as such, she will never die.

I don’t mean to sound mystical or mysterious. I’ve simply discovered that some of the most ancient ideas are true. Since 2009, I’ve felt my own soul tethered to my father’s soul, and over the years I have traced that tether all the way to the source of the very Love I feel my Daddy returning to me. This almost indescribable feeling has been named by millions and referred to as millions of things. Some would say it is a ghost; others would say that it is a memory. I’ve simply labeled it “Akashic” for lack of a better term. This word is not my invention; it is only one way to point to what cannot be experienced beyond feelings.

What is Akasha?
It is the actual repository of all knowledge and experiences — of yesterday, today, and forever. According to my interpretation, it is a read-only record, edited to include only that which increases and yields joy in the Universe, and accessed only by Love.

We sample this record every day, but the record is never consumed. It is sometimes referred to as “The Bread of Life,” and most scriptural references to bread can be read as examples of Joy — the way True Love is expressed and felt throughout the Universe and across time.

When you “read” from the volumes held in the Akashic Library, you are breaking the Bread of Life and eating it. Doing so is to remember Love. When manna fell from Heaven, the people asked, “What is it?” When you experience the Bread, you will wonder what it is as well. But it will always be provided. It is meant to be gathered and shared. If you have only five loaves of this Perfect Joy, it can feed thousands by being multiplied.

And when you pray with this in mind, it is good to say, “Give us this day, our daily bread.”