"Welcome to Sin City” a banner across a certain street read in a certain city in the west. A disciple, whom I have known for centuries, and in truth, forever, read these words as he drove into the town for his father’s funeral. His parent had lived out his life in this bustling city that people from all over the world visit for entertainment in the material, physical world. My disciple’s mind wandered back to his youth and when his father also was young. His father worked and lived out his life in the dross of souls seeking solace through drinking alcohol, eating more food than is good for the physical form, celebrity of-the-moment entertainment, mind-numbing gambling, and gratification of the senses to the maximum capacity in this city called by both the press and the promoters of the tourist advertisements—“Sin City.” Amidst all this, the father was a minister of the Christian Tradition.
Next, the three days before the funeral, as is according to tradition, the disciple went to the family home and began clearing out his father’s worldly possessions and sorting his father’s belongings to be given to relatives, charity, or sold by the estate broker. In a corner of the basement he found several boxes of letters from all over the world, all addressed to his father. As he opened, and randomly read a few lines from each letter, he determined these letters were from people to whom his father has given God’s service when they ran into trouble there in Sin City and in their lives. As he leafed through the last box, my disciple decided that they all should be placed with the household items marked, “Trash” as they would be of no further use to his father or anyone. My disciple knew for certain, in his heart, that his Earthly father must surely, even now, be basking in the light and love of his “Father Who Art In Heaven.”
My disciple’s eye caught one letter in this last box with the postmark and the address indicating it was from Rishikish, India. This is what was written to his father many years before:
My Dear Son,
The dawn breaks as you awaken and open your Bible, and I am with you.
The birdsong you hear at your window seems an echo of Celestial music you remember from before birth, and I am with you.
Your nine-year-old son comes and hugs you,
tugging at your heart strings,
and I am with you.
A knock at your door brings a bleeding one
from the city where you serve God
amidst the sick-at-heart and fearful ones
seeking solace in the five senses
of Earthly pleasures. . .and I am with you.
I send my love and blessings to
you for caring for these lost sheep,
and thank you for your love.
For you see, my Dear Son,
I know about it…for I am in your heart,
and I am in your every breath.
I hear your prayers. I feel your love,
and eternally I am with you.
At eventide, when your immortal soul leaves
this Earth, never fear. . . I am with you.
I am in your spiritual heart,
which never stops beating;
I am in your every breath!
My son, I love you.
Written at the bottom of this letter in his father’s handwriting, as was his wont to do when making notes for his sermons, my disciple read the following words:
(l) I don’t know anyone in Rishikish, India where this letter originated!
(2) What is this OM; what does it mean, really?
(3) Is it possible that God writes letters with paper and pen, and then actually mails them to people? We know God wrote once His Divine Laws on stone tablets with His Finger of Fire and gave them to His servant, Moses,to give to his people. Why, then, not pen and paper and the mail systems of east and west as servants?
(4) Remember to pray about this strange letter, from whom I do not know.
(5) From where did the one drop of blood come that appeared suddenly, liquid, fresh, and bright red? It dropped onto the page, as if miraculously sent from above somewhere of which I could not see the Source. This drop of life’s blood reminds me of the blood Christ shed on the cross of Calvary. This one drop of blood appeared on the word God, ever so peacefully, as I read: “A knock at your door brings a bleeding one from the city where you serve God amidst the sick-at-heart and fearful ones seeking solace in the five senses of Earthly pleasures. . .and I am with you.”
And with tears in his eyes, my disciple looked above in the letter written to his father dated the year he was nine years old. He noticed, what he had thought earlier as he read, was a small bit of soil, and indeed, he now perceived what could be a tiny drop of dried blood just above and bleeding into the word, God! And the letter was signed simply:
*I AM that I AM
And my disciple remembered me, His Satguru, as he carefully placed the letter in his pocket to keep in memory of his Beloved Birth Father!
And so it is with you all, my dear disciples and readers. I write letters herein, to send you my love, to inspire you to choose freedom from the bondage of worldly desires, to awaken your memory to the Celestial Song of your own Divinity that your heart remembers from a time long before time. So Let It Be. It Is Written and It Is So!
* I Am that I Am—Bible American King James: And God said to Moses, I AM That I AM: and he said, Thus shall you say to the children of Israel, I AM has sent me to you.