For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to he born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted.
—Ecclesiastes 3:1–2
Order is the first law of the universe. Indeed there could be no universe unless its various parts were kept in perfect harmony.
—Charles Fillmore, Mysteries of Genesis
One night away from the city, viewing the night sky unobstructed by clouds, I giddily identified the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and Venus as I had done years before at summer camp. I thought about the constancy of these images throughout history. My eyes were fixed on heavenly bodies recognizable in the sky that Jesus of Nazareth viewed, and before him, Gautama Buddha. They are reliable markers of planet Earth's location in space.
The sun rises and sets. Winter gives way to spring. Apple seeds grow into apple trees. Human birth occurs in the ninth month after conception. One plus one equals two.
Order is built into all of life. Order is the architecture of the universe. Everything, from the spirals of a nautilus to a hexagonal honeycomb, from infinity lines to ever-expanding circles, displays an orderliness that dazzles scientists and theologians alike.
Order fascinates us. We rely upon it. We study and make meaning of it. For example, every ancient culture, no matter how isolated, incorporated spirals into their recordkeeping. Spirals represented creation, growth, and development, invisible yet sensed order, immortality, and the circle of life. The spiral is a popular image in modern culture. The koru (a Māori word meaning “loop” or “spiral”), often used in Māori art as a symbol of creation, is based on the shape of an unfurling fern frond. The koru represents new life. It is the symbol of beginnings, the undeveloped potential awaiting its fulfillment. It is also the symbol for renewal, bringing to mind the cycle of seasons and new growth in springtime. The koru symbolizes transformation, or moving from one state of being into another. Its spiral shape conveys the idea of perpetual movement, signifying continuous growth and vitality. Like a new fern shoot arising from the ground to reach toward the light, the koru represents our reach toward enlightenment or realization of oneness.
The order we sense and experience in the natural world is a material representation of spiritual order, the intelligent underlying and overarching, though invisible, order out of which all becomes possible. When the material world—and our circumstances—appear random rather than orderly, we doubt the reality of spiritual order. The world seems particularly out of order when a child dies before her parents, when an armed assailant opens fire during a public celebration, when a limb must be severed to spare the rest of the body, or when a lover leaves inexplicably. Either the universe is unfair, we may think, or God knows what we do not know.
“God's will” is often the explanation for inexplicable circumstances. It must be God's will! When we do not like what is happening or where we are in relationship to where we would rather be, it must be God's will! The failure of human reasoning to comprehend divine order has led to superstition and anthropomorphizing GOD: God wanted that child in heaven; God allows humans to suffer on earth so they will be happy in the afterlife; God wants our misery so we will turn to him. But wait! GOD is not a superhuman personality that imposes order. Rather, GOD is order, the organizing principle revealed in the pattern and sequence inherent in all of life. Divine order is not a correction of some unhappy condition but an integrated arrangement of energy in a pattern, sequence, or method.
When my sister Maureen died by suicide thirteen years ago, my family and I suffered unspeakable sorrow. In common with others whose loved ones take their own lives, I grieved guiltily, thinking I should have noticed forewarning signs or stayed in closer contact with my sister. I searched my soul and sought spiritual support in an effort to make sense of this seemingly senseless circumstance.
I felt guilty for having distanced myself from Maureen during the year and a half preceding her death. Our relationship had become one-sided as Maureen withdrew from most human contact during that time. I stopped telephoning her as regularly as I had in earlier years, because it was painful to hear Maureen's voice reduced to a whisper and her interest in life waning. A minister accustomed to praying with people and lifting their spirits, I felt helpless and useless with Maureen, who would not allow mention of healing or spirituality. I had done all I could do, all Maureen would permit, so I withdrew in resignation. I regretted, afterward, that I had withdrawn due to my own frustration without considering the message my sister might have received by my telephone calls: that I loved her and cared about her well-being.
I regretted that my sister died alone, in pain. I had sorrowfully observed Maureen's deteriorating mental health over many years. I held no religious or moral objection to Maureen's insistence on self-determination. Therefore, had Maureen told me of her suicide plan, I believe I would have held her hand through it.
Guilt and regret made my grief complicated. I will always remember the moment I released guilt and regret, when I could feel “clean” grief. It happened during a session of spiritual counseling, when I challenged myself to discern the underlying and overarching order inherent in all circumstances. Glimpsing eternity, I recategorized Maureen's death as a benign occurrence that made perfect sense in light of Maureen's desire for relief from a punishing, malfunctioning human brain. Shifting my attention from my personal experience to a universal view, I relinquished guilt as I realized that Maureen's mind in eternity could not harbor blame, could not fathom any only-human sense of separation. I had been operating from a myopic, limited awareness, but now I could simply feel sad for my loss of my sister's physical presence. In time, my sadness too dissipated as I encountered Maureen in my memories and, occasionally, in a random acerbic thought I recognized as a Maureen-ism.
When a hawk stalks, kills, and eats a dove, most people recognize this violence as consistent with natural order. Were we to suspend human moralism and religiosity regarding the many challenging and disturbing occurrences in our own lives, we might more easily access the inherent order that is in every moment, in all dimensions.
When my loved one dies, when I get laid off from my job, when I run out of money and my car gets repossessed, when my lover leaves . . . naturally, humanly, I grieve. Also, I assert my rightful power of order. I claim the power of spiritual organization, adjustment, and evolution.
In the northeast region of the United States, where I lived during childhood, a first mark of springtime was the blossoming of my backyard forsythia bush. When it burst into bright yellow blooms, I could be absolutely certain that the forsythia bush in my girlfriend's yard had also flowered. All the forsythias in the region, on an indiscernible cue, sprang to life. Today, I live in south Texas, where we mark spring by the bloom of bluebonnets. When one bluebonnet plant blooms, we can presume that in optimal conditions of light, moisture, and temperature all other bluebonnets will be blooming as well.
Order is the framework, structure, pattern, and sequence at the heart of all that lives. The organizing principle of order is evident in all of nature: “The earth produces of itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head” (Mark 4:28). Order underlies music and mathematics. Search online for “the beauty of math” and you will find stunning images of mathematical order.
Observing the organizing principle in the manifest world, we obtain clues about how to create our own experience. We wield our spiritual power of order in this sequence: mind, idea, and manifestation. Mind, or Divine Mind, is the essential oneness often referred to as GOD, or Spirit, universal intelligence, or the kingdom of the heavens. Mind is the source of all possibilities, all that can be. One with mind, we have access to all that can be. We catch hold of one idea in the One Mind, and we develop that one idea by use of our spiritual abilities, such as imagination, faith, wisdom, etc. The idea dwells in us. It grows as a seed grows in fertile soil. We water it with enthusiasm and anticipation. The idea manifests as our experience.
Several years before I met my friend Connie, her sixteen-year-old daughter died from injuries sustained in a car accident. I was surprised at how “okay” Connie seemed, as I could not conceive of how a mother could go on living after her child's death. I learned that Connie did not get to “okay” all at once. For a long while, her terrible grief seemed interminable. Connie had a firm foundation in spiritual understanding, however, which convinced her that her daughter was not dead in an eternal sense; that everlasting life was a reality; and that her daughter was and always would be with her. Connie was tuned to Divine Mind, the ultimate truth beyond all appearances. Out of this understanding came the idea Connie was seeking: that all was well with her daughter and that she, Connie, could live in peace. Connie worked with this idea over time, feeling reassured over and over again in moments of connection with her daughter that urged her toward acceptance. Connie dipped her toes into the current of her life streaming toward the future, knowing it would be all right, and not a betrayal, for her to be happy. I am unable to describe Connie's knowing in human language because she felt rather than thought this idea. When Connie speaks of her daughter these days, her smile fills her face with light.
In a state of oneness consciousness, Connie caught the divine idea of uninterruptible, incorruptible divine life. She caught the divine idea of unifying, harmonizing divine love. She held these ideas in mind, as truths to be realized, until they became her lived reality.
Each of us, by nature, is capable of tuning to the intelligent order that is the framework, structure, pattern, and sequence at the heart of all that can ever be. We are capable of organizing our thoughts, words, and actions in concert with divine order: “Even in the small details of life, such as dress, conversation, eating, sleeping, and working, system and order enable one to live a richer and fuller life” (Fillmore, Mysteries of Genesis, 241).
Adjustment is a feature of order. Adjustment in the body occurs through homeostasis, the body's effort to regulate optimum conditions for health. Similarly, the natural world is continually adjusting to changing conditions and reestablishing order. What appears to be a catastrophic natural disaster, such as a forest fire not caused by human action, is nature's way of adjusting conditions in the interest of long-range health of the planet.
Spiritually, adjustment is our power of modifying thoughts, words, and actions to support our wholeness of being. We flip a switch or shift our awareness to adapt to new spiritual understanding or to modify our habits of thought and feeling. Spiritual practices such as meditating, journaling, releasing, and saying affirmations provide a process—an order—for conditioning, or adjusting, our consciousness.
Perhaps you can relate to this perpetual balancing act: I benefit from being busy. I thoroughly enjoy filling my calendar with meaningful, interesting activities. I also benefit from being still. I relish times of meditation as well as physical, mental, and spiritual rest.
Action and stillness may appear to be opposites, but rather than opposing each other, they support each other. Action and stillness are examples not of polar opposites but of polarities. Barry Johnson, PhD, author of Polarity Management, teaches that polarities are not problems; they are equal values that we all juggle, unavoidable energies that we all deal with, within ourselves. Whenever we reflect, “I need more balance in my life,” we are unknowingly acknowledging our desire to adjust one or more polarities.
Action and stillness in my experience are like summer and winter, two distinct seasons. Among the disciplines of yoga practice, action is akin to Karma Yoga and stillness is akin to Rāja Yoga. Life would be incomplete without both of them; they each fulfill an important purpose; and one well observed enriches the other.
Jesus said, “If they say to you, ‘Where have you come from?’ say to them, ‘We have come from the light, from the place where the light came into being by itself, established [itself], and appeared in their image.’ If they say to you, ‘Is it you?’ say, ‘We are its children, and we are the chosen of the living Father.’ If they ask you, ‘What is the evidence of your Father in you?’ say to them, ‘It is motion and rest’” (Thomas 50).
Motion and rest, action and stillness, are coequal spiritual values. One is as important as the other for the fullness of life. When I am active, my body thrives and my brain is engaged in creativity. I feel productive. I enjoy the stimulation of preparing and executing a plan. I relish the feeling of satisfaction at the end of a busy day. Filling my calendar with appointments for work and play gives me joy, for I recognize the pleasure I derive from every chosen activity.
Keeping busy, I can go a long while before I begin to feel run-down. At some point, I will look at all the hours I have scheduled and realize I feel stretched too thin, overscheduled. All that I had been eagerly anticipating now feels like a demand. Pleasurable activities such as gardening now have to be squeezed in, which turns them into jobs that need to be done. I am so busy that I skip morning meditation, journaling, yoga, and other mind-quieting practices. I have no time for dreaming or meaning making. I begin to suffer agitation, anxiousness, and spiritual aridity. Sufficiently provoked by discomfort, I realize I am starved for stillness.
When I am still, I retreat from the world and other people into a cocoon of peace. My mind quiets. I return to my source of being, universal oneness during extended meditation. I am at home within myself. I am centered spiritually, renewed. I live in the moment, being rather than doing. Deeply, I rest.
If I remain on retreat too long, I begin to feel mentally dull and unfocused. Lack of interaction with others can result in self-delusion and a sense of disconnection. A need for structure and activity arises as a feeling of restlessness. These stirrings propel me into action by the adjusting power of order.
Previous generations of self-help education emphasized balance, which meant a kind of mental and emotional homeostasis. The idea was that if we could somehow achieve an ideal balance of activity and stillness, and hold there, life would be smooth sailing from that point forward. The quest to achieve a once-and-for-all balance left most people feeling inadequate when they could not maintain such a balance day to day. How many times in your life have you achieved what seems a perfect balance in your morning routine: You awaken early to meditate, work out at the gym, get yourself—as well as the children and the pets—ready for the day. You are balancing stillness and activity, home and work, taking care of your kids and teaching them to be independent . . . One morning, you feel ill. Or your child feels ill. Or it's a holiday and everyone sleeps in. Or you go on vacation. It doesn't take much to interrupt the delicate balance we all seem to strive for, as if that perfect schedule could extend into eternity. It cannot.
It is impossible to remain perpetually balanced. Our daily schedules are not like a balancing act. They are more like a juggling act. Only one juggling pin at a time can be held in the hand. Likewise, only one item can be attended to at any time. The adjusting power of order is our ability to shift our attention to the other polarity. Our adjusting ability is inherent. It is born of wisdom—our power of judgment, discernment, and intuition—and, like juggling, it is a simple matter of opening our mind to sense the weight and shape of the pin we are catching. By the power of order, and by our focused intention, we know what we need moment by moment, whether it is activity or stillness, structure or flexibility, tradition or innovation, independence or dependence upon others: “The divine idea of order is the idea of adjustment, and as this is established in a person's thought, his or her mind and affirs will be at one with the universal harmony” (Fillmore, The Revealing Word, 143). Our ability to adjust is a rich spiritual resource from which we draw to bolster an affirmative outlook on life. Activating our power to adjust, we literally change our energy, shift our awareness, uplift our attitude, and transform our life.
I used to feel envious of people who devoted all their working years to a single career. When I was a practicing massage therapist, one of my several careers, a client was retiring from a job he had held for thirty-five years. I was in awe of his accomplishment. My father and mother were also faithful to their work; Dad was an electrical contractor and Mom was a fulltime homemaker. I was not cut from their cloth. I possessed a seemingly inborn restlessness. I changed jobs every few years, and I worried about myself every time I got the itch that led to a switch. I thought something was wrong with me. Why couldn't I settle somewhere and be happy like most other people seemed to do?
I was loving my work as a massage therapist. Every person left feeling better than when they had arrived. I served one person at a time, established a thriving full-time practice with faithful clientele, built a beautiful office in my home, had time between clients and after hours for my family and home projects, and was enrolled in Unity's spiritual education. I was my own boss. I was in the midst of a high time in my life. Soon, though, I felt a resurgence of restlessness. I could not ignore it this time because the thought that impressed itself in my mind was that it was time to play in a larger arena. The good that I was doing one person at a time I could be doing by spreading the Unity message as a teacher or—really?—a minister! Days, weeks, and months went by as I did my best to ignore this inner urge that I had not asked for. I loved my work!
My divine discontent continued, and before long the minister at my local Unity church approached me about joining his staff. I reduced my massage therapy load to half-time and served Unity of Omaha half-time as the associate pastor. It all made sense. I was evolving.
Evolution is the power of order demonstrated as development, progress, or growth. In spiritual circles, evolution is often referred to as spiritual unfolding or transformation. Evolution moves in the direction of expansion, from simple to complex. Our ability to evolve is inherent, just as evolution is inherent in the universe. The idea of evolution or harmonious expansion is a divine idea flowing from the Source or One Mind. Our urge to evolve comes from our catching that divine idea and cooperating with it. Charles Fillmore taught, “Involution always precedes evolution. That which is involved in mind evolves through matter” (The Twelve Powers of Man, 54).
The idea I had caught of ministering to a larger population I could have ignored. I could have, but I felt the idea as a physical stimulus. I sensed the idea as a compelling possibility. The idea “involved” me—and before long, I could not separate the idea from my identity. From the One Mind to my human mind, from my human mind to my being—this is the power of evolution. Fillmore said it this way:
Evolution is the result of the development of ideas in mind. What we are is the result of the evolution of our consciousness, and our consciousness is the result of the seed ideas sown in our mind. Therefore spiritual evolution is the unfolding of the Spirit of God into expression. It is the development achieved by [individuals] working under spiritual law (Keep a True Lent, 165).
Assuming a familiar posture supportive of meditation, I focus my attention on the splendid order in my body temple. Bone, muscle, skin, vortexes of nerves and energy, all organized for physical vitality and strength. Breath flowing in and out, effortlessly. Heart beating rhythmically, steadily, faithfully. I celebrate divine order.
Concentrating my attention within my body, behind my navel, I activate my body's center for order. I shine the verdant green light of order around my digestive organs and throughout the integrated, linked, and well-ordered systems in my body.
Order is my name and my nature. I AM the power of order, by which I connect with my innate sense of direction. I naturally attune to the magnificent Source, the One Mind from which all ideas flow. I catch divine ideas and bring them into manifestation by the power of order.
I AM the adjusting power of order, easily sensing where to place my attention, adjust my mindset, or correct my course of action.
I AM the evolving power of order, awakened to my ever-unfolding consciousness. I incorporate the best of my past into my present and reach, naturally, toward a fuller and more enlightened future.
By the power of order, I follow the clear path. I go through the open door. I choose an orderly course of thought and action. I bring about order moment by moment, choice by choice.