July 25th 1966
...to impress upon you to be, as it were, in the state of the stone, who, although giving out of its radiance and beauty, does not absorb or take unto itself the trials, woes, and the anxieties of others.
And now we will try to enlighten you concerning the 'I AΜ. The 'I AM' of which Jesus spoke, and the 'THOU ART THAT of which Bhudda spoke.
You say, "Do I imagine this? Do I imagine that?" This one speaks of these things and it causes this one anxiety. This one thoroughly enjoys doing this or that. These things do not interest me. Why? Why cannot I think as others and enjoy the things that others enjoy?"
Children. You must be firm. You must be sure. You must be true to yourselves. You must be still. You must be strong. You must be brave. For thou art 'THAT, Thou art the 'I AM'. And water will find it's on level. It will not flow uphill.
Neither will your thoughts, neither will the things of your heart and mind go in the opposite direction to your will. You have chosen to walk the path. You have chosen to search. You have asked for knowledge. You have knocked upon the door. And the promise to those who would do these things was answered with bread, and you have been told, not stones.
When you are depressed and you think to yourself, "I should feel and think in another way, like another person”. We would have you remember the great ones, and yet the humble ones, for side by side with the greatness of Jesus side by side with His power, his knowledge, was a tremendous humility. Think you as to the feelings of those around when He said, "I am the way, the truth, and the light. I am the light of the world."
Those standing around could only think, "What conceit! Whet arrogance!" And then, He would stretch forth His hand unto the prostitutes, and to the little children, and to the old and the sick, and those who suffered from leprosy and various terrible diseases. Think you as to these things. Think you just for a little while.
These who think so differently from you, are all no doubt well-versed in the scriptures. They know that Jesus said these things. "I am. I am the way, the truth, the light. I am the light of the world. It is not I that doeth the work. Even the things that I do, so canst thou do, even greater things."
They don't believe. They can't believe. They don't want to believe. For they are comforted to think of Christ as Jesus of two thousand years ago. This is the mass. This is the multitude. This is the common way of thinking. Where would we have been, all of us, you and I, if Jesus had worried or cared about what the other people thought? If He had not been willing to stand alone, and say, "I am". This tools courage, faith. He died because He said these things. Will you worry, children, because those around you have not made this search? because they see a little differently? You are a peculiar people. You will walk alone. You know that Jesus said, "Even the foxes have holes”, and so you cannot think exactly the same as other people around you and make this search.
It is a lonely path, but it is the only path. And one day it will be your pleasure to retrace your steps along a way which is familiar to you. And you will be able to stretch forth your hands to those who have not made the same search, but who are beginning to feel the need for the company and for the friendship of one who has. And then, they will be waiting just for you.
It is not that they cannot think, they cannot search, some of these people can, but they are refusing to take upon themselves the responsibility. They promised to. But they find, as we have told you, a fascination in the other, lesser lights. Not evil, but lesser lights. We must speak the truth. For you come here to hear the truth. You ask for the truth. And we will tell you the truth as we see it.
We love you, we love all those belonging to you. We will help them all the time through your thoughts and prayers.
But remember, it matters not how near or dear to you they are, or how far removed, we love you all. God loves them. They are the children of the Father, even as thou art. Would He leave them stranded? Would He see them hurt? No. But, He knows their needs. He cares not for the things they want. And if their needs are things that cause them a little hurt, a little discouragement, perhaps a little loneliness, so be it. So be it, beloved. Have you not waited? Have you not been lonely? Have you not been sick at heart? And now that you have found the peace would you barter it? Would you change it? Just to be as other folk are? Would you? No. You cannot let go. We cannot let you go. Be at peace. Be quiet. All will pass away. All that is not real, that is not true, that is not of the Father.
O Mary, we have told you that the lawn will one day be prepared, but at the moment there is much scything to do. There is deep grass in various places that must be cut down. And there are stones that must be removed. And we show you a huge stone at the centre of the rough lawn, it looks like a rubber ball. It looks as if one could kick it away very easily, but this is not so. In the centre there is something.. not evil, but rather pleasant to look at. But it will take a lot of strength and a lot of patience to move it. But it will be moved. It will be moved. And when this has been moved then Margaret will come face to face with her God. With love. And recognise it as such in the place where she least expected to find it.
"The state of the stone" reprises an image from earlier in this collection — giving out radiance and beauty while not absorbing the trials and anxieties of others — and pairs it here with "I AM" and "Thou art That," already familiar from this book as one recurring core teaching. What's added this time is what that teaching costs: standing firm in one's own search means walking apart from those who haven't made it, even loved ones, even when it looks, from the outside, like arrogance. Jesus's own "I am the way, the truth, and the light" is offered as the model — a claim that scandalised those around him precisely because it required standing entirely alone, with nothing external to lean on for validation.
This unmoved but radiant steadiness is close to what the Stoics called apatheia — not indifference, but freedom from being tossed about by passions and circumstance one cannot control, while still, like the stone, giving fully to others from a settled centre.
The transcript is careful, though, not to let this become superiority: those who haven't searched are not condemned, only understood as drawn, for now, to "lesser lights, not evil." God's love for them is undiminished, and their hurt, where it comes, is not abandonment but part of their own needed lesson — the same principle of natural, unpunishing consequence met in earlier transcripts. And it closes with a very personal image: a stone at the centre of Margaret's own unfinished lawn, pleasant rather than evil at its core, difficult to shift but certain, eventually, to be moved — after which she will meet her God "in the place where she least expected to find it."