Knowing God
                     Our Father/Mother


Original Reader Contributions on God Our Mother

On the Mountain

with the Divine Mother



Bro. Joshua J. Wilson


It was a balmy Spring season in the Tonto National Forest in northern Arizona when I found myself in solitude on an isolated retreat on the mountain for eleven days. This private camp at 4400 feet in elevation beneath towering juniper trees was designed for, and proved to be, an ideal place for spiritual seekers to escape the traffic and noise of the city, and perhaps even have a time of mirth and merriment.

The year was 2010 and I had been working for a few years on the camp, Healing Waters, and with the help of friends and meager funds we had outfitted a primitive, off-grid retreat on three secluded acres along the designs of a monastery with some Eastern, such as Japanese, as well as Western monastic motifs.

The camp is bordered on one side by the vast national forest of a million acres (not exaggerating) and on the other by a small river. You have to peer through the trees to see the nearest neighbor's cabin. I finally had a tiny house erected, just 10 feet by 16 feet in size where I could shield myself from the sun, the wind, and the occasional shower that might squall up even in dry Arizona.

The monk's cell is sparsely appointed with a futon mattress, a low marble table-altar, a bookshelf, no other furniture, and a CD player powered by a solar panel. Water is collected from the roof and filtered through a ceramic filter.

A second, smaller building provides a composting toilet and a place to wash up with rain water. Very simple. The basic building work by hand had been done, and I set up camp to relax, enjoy the progress made, and perhaps get a few chores done, like working on the small but meaningful Michael Memorial under the north star. 

I had spent twenty years working hard at our family's children’s home east of Phoenix raising about 700 orphans, and later presiding over a music teacher's association for ten years. My dear wife had died over a year earlier. I was fifty-eight years of age. It took some planning to clear my calendar of all personal and work obligations, but there I found myself with two weeks of Spring Break from teaching and in absolute quiet. I was at the camp alone, no companions. 

The account I am about to share with you truly happened, but I must make it clear that the experience and personal visitation I received was an utter and total surprise to me. Upon arriving for this solitary vacation at the camp I made the usual prayers of gratitude for the time off, and submission of my will to the will of God. Other than that I went about my way like a good monk, cooking, carrying water, cleaning up, and doing all the regular camp chores in a rather Zen state of mind.

I was well aware that the master had made it clear that his followers were not to seek after or be led about by visions and ecstatic and mystical experiences. I can assure you that I in no way was even remotely thinking along those lines. 

God the Mother came to me. It is an example of "God first seeking and finding man."  

The experience built up in a crescendo day after day for eleven days in the deep forest. I became fully aware of a presence that I was sure of only on two dimensions: it was feminine, and She was divine. I'm familiar with the presence of my guardian angels, more so all the time. They are true friends.

I'm acquainted with the presence of the divine Adjuster/Controller patiently piloting my journey. Jesus has been my near companion from the start, and I've communed with the Holy Spirit since my youth cultivating her gifts and fruits of the Spirit. But this was different. To be honest, I thought at first that it must be a sort of feminine representation of the Adjuster. I didn't know. The experience was new, overwhelming, deep, constant, all those kinds of things, for sure.

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It did not occur to me, perhaps surprisingly, to figure out exactly "who" this was. All I knew was that I was in touch intimately with the divine presence, and it was unmistakably "She." To what could I compare such an experience? How would I know what was happening?  But it was more than enough to have cascade after cascade of love, caring, intimate companionship, and personal relatedness washing over me in successive waves of divine love. It was accompanied by revelation of divine truths about many things. 

I will attempt to relate the unexplainable: at times it was like being on a vacation with a friend to Barbados, at other times like the the love of a wife, and at other times akin to the love of a dear mother on a fabulous holiday together. None of these really does it justice, but it was kind of like that. I mean, there was no separation or filter or curtain between our sharing.

It was much like being on leave with a best friend. All and everything was shared, with no judgement whatsoever, only vibrant mutual enjoyment of the energy of life and love. Probably the best description is to say the experience was lighthearted, happy, and joyous—"joy unspeakable and full of glory." We would say to each other, "I love being here with you." So, I will say it: it was an ecstasy. 

I was in rapture. She had found me. If the wind blew in the chimes as the air rose from the canyon at eventide, it was a message of her music, the  supernal universal language of men and angels. If I listened to music, which I did often, every syllable and word seemed to be the equivalent of a whole paragraph or chapter of the Urantia Book. If I had a cocktail at sunset, we were having a drink together. When the moon shone, or the sun shined it was her light. I wrote poetry to her. Several times in these hours of rapturous adoration I would then suddenly hear the birds chirping as the sun rose, only to realize that our communion had continued through the entire night unbroken! 

After these eleven days it was time to get in the car and drive down off the mountain back to my teaching schedule in the valley. When I arrived home, my first impulse was to call my mother. She was aged, her sight was failing, and she lived in an upscale care community in southern California. She was a devotee of Quan Yin, the Mother.

When she answered the phone, I endeavored to speak, but nothing came out, I could only croak. So many days of not speaking had rendered my vocal chords inoperative. Perhaps that is why monks chant, to keep their voices up. I'll have to remember that. I tried again, but could not speak. Slowly, gradually my voice returned and I managed to tell her what happened.

She truly understood the experience, and could relate to it. I was thankful that there was one person I could share the experience with. After that, I endeavored to share the emotion and grandeur of my experience with all my friends, but it was too remote to be understood easily, even though they listened patiently and sincerely. 

So, I set about writing about the experience, couched in terms of St. Teresa of Avila's and other saints' and poets' experience of the inner life with God. St. Teresa understood. 

It should be noted here that when the divine Mother focalizes Michael's Spirit of Truth through her Holy Spirit, this is always done in consonance with the Father's gift of the Mystery Monitor, the divine Adjuster. All these Spirit influences operate as one. The meaning of the Last Supper and the communion bread is that our divine Parent and the Universal Father are conjoined as one in our experience. 

It took me some months and years to sort out what had happened to me. Now I understand that the Mother was intimately with me concurrently as my soul ascended another psychic circle, a soul experience with the Adjuster. They were all working together, as one. That is the "God" way.

Such an experience can create disequilibrium in the mind if the intellectual understanding is overwhelmed. So after a few months I set about thoughtfully relating my experience by writing the book Inner Mansions in the year 2011. The process of writing went quite fast and I was able to both process and capture a sense of what had happened. It was necessary that I would thoughtfully and devotedly commit my thoughts to paper. But a few more years would need to pass before I could begin writing essays such as "Adoration of the Mother" for the purpose of encouraging my spiritual family to become more closely and intimately involved in a love relationship with the divine—love, the greatest thing in the universe.







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