An Exchange Of Great Value

'Will you continue your work, child?' 

Misthael asked me, not for the first time.  

'Will you accept the commission,  

Will you carry the message of healing and hope?' 

'I will go back', I said,  

'But first, show me how it all works.' 

This wasn't my first near death experience,  

And I was done with pondering 'why',  

If they wanted to keep doing this to me,  

They were going to give me some answers. 

At the beginning of every year of my life,  

For at least thirty years,  

I had made the same resolution.  

'I will share my healing with the world',  

But I had failed over and over again to make a difference,  

And I was tired of toiling with little reward.  

Holding Misthael's hand, I stood in a bustling travel hub,  

A bit like an airport or train station,  

And there were people everywhere.  

I was wearing nothing but my bathrobe,  

But I wasn't ashamed of my nakedness.  

The room was cavernous, I had a feeling that it went on forever.  

What I could see of it reminded me of a bank.  

It was all polished mahogany and brass red velvet ropes,  

Windows with tellers standing behind them,  

Interspersed with doors around the circumference of the room,  

A huge desk on a podium in the center of the floor.  

The floor was made of something that looked like marble,  

Snow white and flecked with veins of gold,  

But felt warm under my bare feet.  

My attention was drawn by what seemed to be a group of prisoners,  

Bound, blindfolded, shuffling by with their heads down,  

I stepped away from them instinctually,  

As if coming into contact with them would harm me somehow,  

And I saw that I was not the only one who withdrew from their presence.  

As the group of shadowed ones moved farther away,  

I could hear the music again.  

I wondered who they are and what they had done,  

That brought a coolness, stole the color and music away.  

Everywhere I looked, there were people standing in lines,  

Some standing still and others moving like they were on a conveyor belt of some sort,  

One of those moving sidewalks that the big airports have,  

But none of them seeming to be in any particular hurry.  

There were people dressed in the garb of many different religions,  

Clustered together in groups.  

Exclusive to a fault.  

These people stood waiting in front of great doors,  

Each door decorated and carved to represent the gods that were worshipped there.  

In the center of the room was a circular podium,  

A sort of information desk, I gathered,  

I watched as occasionally someone stepped up and was pointed toward a door.  

'This is the hall of souls', Misthael said.  

'This is where those with little to no karmic debt come when they die,  

It is here that you may choose your path,  

Whether to go back to your Earthly life,  

Or to continue on your soul's dharmic path.' 

I nodded, 'I understand that much.' 

'I want to see what will happen on the day that I come here and decide to stay.' 

In front of her a window appeared,  

Looking down over a wide hall,  

A bit like the catwalk where the manager of a grocery store or casino sits,  

But nothing like that at all,  

And a million times bigger.  

'Choose your god' Misthael told me.  

'I never worshipped any one god.  

Show me where the Omnists go.' 

As I watched, the floor shrank away,  

Until I could clearly see that it was a hub, wheel-shaped,  

I looked to my left and right and saw others like me,  

Holding the hands of their angels,  

Looking down over the Exchange of Great Value,  

Trying to decide which path to choose to their afterlife.  

I instinctively knew them to be kindred souls,  

And I smiled into the eyes of those who looked at her.  

'You must purchase a ticket, first. 

Each Heaven has a different admission cost.' 

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once.  

'How?' I asked.  

'Go to Joseph, in the center.' 

I let go of my angel's hand and lowered down,  

The desk was chin high,  

But there were places with steps that would bring me to a more comfortable height,  

Slowly I settled to stand in front of the huge, round desk.  

The angel behind the desk was huge,  

I felt like a small child in comparison,  

But his smile put me at ease.  

'Where would you like to go?' He asked, his voice rumbling in my bones.  

"I don't know, Sir. Someplace nice.' 

'Define nice.' 

'Well, kind, I suppose. I'd like to go someplace kind.' 

'Let's check your account balance.' 

He picked up a little device that looked a bit like a cell phone,  

And he placed it against my forehead.  

'It looks like your karmic balance is depleted.' 

At the look of confusion that must have been on my face, he smiled again, gently.  

'You did what you could to never be cruel,  

and you were kind in your own sphere,  

But it is the purpose of every soul to go forth in life,  

To bring the kindness of their words and deeds far and wide. 

You were a good gardener in your lifetime,  

But you never left your own little garden.  

If you want to go to the place of kindness,  

You must bring your words and deeds wo the world at large.' 

I nodded, thinking that I at least partially understood.  

'The healing that I've done,  

I have to spread that to more people?' 

He nodded.  

'But, how?'  

I was concerned that he had asked me to do something impossible.  

'Every word or deed holds value,  

But only when they change the lives of another person. 

You must use your words and deeds to help as many others as you can.  

Your media makes this easy,  

You must go tell it to the mountain,  

Carry the good news far and wide,  

And dance to the songs of diverse cultures,  

Showing them all how there are no real boundaries.' 

'I must do the work of Ghandi?' 

I was shocked, how could I, a mere mortal,  

Grammie, Mama, Sister, and Aunt,  

Bring my humble gifts,  

Rain my simple dew,  

Into the vast ocean that is humanity? 

'How can my soul be lighter than a feather,  

If I'm to travel far and wide,  

Experiencing the pain and damage of all of humanity? 

How can I heal others when their pain damages me so deeply?' 

I felt something akin to despair,  

But the kindness in the angel's face wiped that away almost as soon as it arose.  

'Every word you speak into the ether has the same weight.  

Whether it's a megaton explosion,  

Or the tender kiss of an angel upon the listener's brow,  

Every conversation carries an equal force of change.  

When you speak healing words,  

They not only heal the listener,  

But they heal you, too.  

In this way, we exchange value with one another. 

This exchange of great value is called Karma,  

And it simply means that we, not one of us,  

Can avoid being the change we see in the world.  

When you strive to float along aimlessly through life,  

You are buffeted and beaten by the wind and the rain,  

But once you open your eyes and realize,  

That you've been drowning in the font of your own energy,  

You gain the sense to come indoors and weather the storms. 

In the center of yourself, within your own magical chi garden,  

Is a fountain, the font of your divine presence.  

Allowing others to freely drink from this healing drought,  

Is part of why we healers are incarnated here,  

But we must remember to save some for ourselves.  

Keep a reservoir of healing and use it on your own wounds,  

Because only when we use our words to heal ourselves,  

Will others believe that they can be healed by them, as well.' 

'Even Angels have karma. This is just one stop on our own dharmic wheel.' 

And then I understood something, completely.  

I knew that it would not be a chore, 

Although it takes a significant commitment. 

Joseph nodded.  

You must see yourself as the person in crisis who needs to be counseled,  

And offer yourself the same comfort and love that you give the world.  

It's not only alright for you to do this, it's imperative,  

Because when we speak healing words from an unhealed soul,  

They often bite and cut at those whom we most want to help,  

We become abusive and abrasive,  

And those who needed the shelter that we offer stand in the fountain and drown alongside us.  

Before you can teach someone to do something,  

You have to learn to do it yourself.  

The old adage, 'Those who can – do', 'Those who can't do – teach'. Is both right and wrong.  

The best literature teacher is a writer,  

And we all know you don't have to have notoriety to be an amazing writer,  

Just as the only one who can teach dancers to move fluidly,  

Are those who move fluidly as well.  

Our words, our craft, our experiences are our gift to the world.  

This is the waystation of the wordsmiths, the writers and the bards,  

And our trade is based on our experiences of life.' 

I nodded again, 

'We wouldn't have the gift of experience to give,  

If we had never been through the trials and tribulations ourselves.  

I couldn't be sitting here, doing this healing meditation with you,  

If I didn't at some point need to hear these words myself.  

I have healed incrementally as I have written and spoken these words,  

And I know that these words can help you find your own healing as well.  

But be aware that your healing will look different to mine,  

Because we are only as alike and as different from one another as two snowflakes.'  

'Yes, child, but we must be diamond snowflakes,  

Beautiful and delicate but not fragile.  

You have to be willing to do the work,  

And make no mistake, what we are doing here is work,  

Evoking our emotions and really staring into their faces,  

Is exhausting and potentially dangerous.  

You must remember to always put your shadows back into their crannies,  

Because they are as much a part of you as your light is.  

You can't have healing without shadow work,  

But you can't be a force of change if you are hiding under the bed.' 

I woke up then, on the floor beside my bed.  

Unclear how I had ended up down there,  

These words echoing in my soul,  

And I knew that I had to bring them to everyone who would listen,  

I had to make a decision to do something new,  

I had to accept the commission,  

'Send me, Lord.' I said aloud. 'I will go.'