CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Touring the City of Light

Biblical interpretation is always risky business. Television preachers would have us believe that there is only one way to look at the Bible—theirs. Many of them speak with thundering authority on how the Bible must be taken literally, how each and every word is absolute truth.

The problem with this approach is that it only stands up to a casual reading of the Bible. When we look more closely, there are many things that don't fit very neatly.

For instance, the sanctity of the nuclear family is often hammered home relentlessly. It's based on the idea of one husband per wife, one from each sex.

Yet the Bible was written in a Middle Eastern environment. Hence, many of the patriarchs had multiple wives. If the Bible is to be taken literally, then polygamy, obviously, should be an option for us today.

And then there's the variation on that story of Abraham and his half sister, Sarah, who became his wife. But the fact that they were related is not the most troubling part of the story.

A PIMP AS A HERO?

Several years ago, I listened to Terry Gross interviewing Rabbi Burton Visotzky on the NPR show Fresh Air.⁹⁵ Rabbi Visotzky had gathered people from all walks of life simply to read, and then discuss, the first book of the Bible. It was quite surprising to the rabbi to see the radically new interpretations these people came up with because they were not hampered by tradition and its preconceived notions.

His own awakening came when Visotzky studied the story of Abraham. Before they went into Egypt, Abraham asked Sarah, his wife, not to tell anyone that they were married. Instead, he insisted that she tell them she was his sister.

The reason Abraham gave was that Sarah was very beautiful, and he was afraid they would kill him in order to get her. “Say you are my sister, so that it may go well with me because of you and that my life may be spared on your account.”⁹⁶

It was a half-truth because both Abraham and Sarah had the same father, though different mothers. Abraham used this white lie on at least two occasions, once when going to Egypt and once when traveling to the region of the Negeb. In both instances, Abraham came away with great wealth.

As Visotzky and his group read the story, it became apparent that this white lie not only dramatically increased Abraham's wealth, but it elevated his social standing to the point where he was rubbing elbows with heads of state. The rewards were so great that it became very difficult to ignore the possibility that Abraham had been, in fact, pimping his wife for personal profit.

The idea was shocking. It dramatically changed the wayVisotzky viewed Abraham. The realization spawned spirited debate within his reading group. But on a deeper level, it also confronted him with the limitations of traditional methods of interpretation.

BATTLE FOR THE BIBLE

Faced with puzzling challenges in the biblical texts, many believers simply poke their heads in the sand, more than happy to turn off their God-given intellect and insist that we al just need to “take these things on faith.” Billy Graham, for instance, once said that a watershed in his early career came when he had to decide, once and for all, whether or not the Bible was God's inerrant word. He opted for inerrancy and never looked back.

The real disadvantage of seeing the Bible as pristine is that the characters within it become distressingly boring and one-dimensional. They all become either saints or instruments of the devil. Good guys and bad guys. Either way, they become radically different from us, and their stories never really get into our guts. They're mere abstractions, flannel board cutouts who teach us lessons about how to be good people.

Gone are the craftiness and guile that many of them lived by. Gone are the politics. Gone is the raw sexuality. Gone is the self-interested opportunism that carried them through tough times.

All we see is that they are heroes we should learn from. Because they're not like us, we can never be contacted by God, as they were. The Bible and its characters are reduced to a one-dimensional morality play.

Knowing all too well that the proposition of a Bible without error is a house of cards, more liberal scholars have chosen instead to embrace the intellect fully. The pitfall with this approach is that these scholars are greatly influenced by the leading myth of our time: scientific materialism. Nothing is real that can't be perceived by the five senses.

For liberal scholars, there is no separation between the biblical characters and us. They were motivated by the same things we are. They were every bit as flawed and out of touch. But because most Western people have lost touch with the transcendent realm, then, obviously, the fantastic experiences of biblical characters can't literally be true. Such things don't exist; otherwise, we'd know of them today.

Half a century ago, this view culminated in an effort to demythologize the Bible. Everything was seen in the light of a rational perspective. Anything that smacked of mystery was to be overlooked as being the product of fanciful imaginations. The real story, the genuine history, was everything that was left after the mythological was cut out.

THE NEW JERUSALEM

The odd thing is that both of these methods of interpretation—the school of biblical inerrancy and the school of demythologizing—for all their differences, shared one important element. Neither of them was able to make any room for the transcendent in everyday life. The fundamentalists couldn't grasp it because, for them, there is too big a gap between the biblical characters and us. Liberal scholars dismissed mystical encounters because they saw biblical characters as being too much like us. Both have stripped the spiritual journey of its wonder and mystery.

So when confronted with a vision brimming with mystical overtones, both camps dismiss it. Take, for instance, one of the most enduring images in all of biblical literature: the New Jerusalem. It's presented as the culmination of the human journey, the ultimate restoration of the Garden of Eden. As John describes the New Jerusalem, it is a place where God will “wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”⁹⁷ It seems to glow with its own light: “And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the lamb.”⁹⁸

For conservative Christians, the New Jerusalem is a depiction of the afterlife. It's a place where all the ravages of this world are healed and the separation between human beings and God is breached. It will never be discovered in this world. In fact, it will come into being only when all of creation is consumed in the end times.

For liberal scholars, the city is a metaphor for hope. It's a symbol, perhaps the product of our collective imaginations. It's a pictorial representation of an illusive peace on earth to be achieved sometime in the future when we've all evolved sufficiently.

Neither believes that such a place exists in the present. And at one time, I would have agreed with them.

A PLACE OF WONDER

When it came time for our introduction to Focus 21, the trainers said very little to us in preparation. Preferring not to prejudice our explorations, the only information they offered was that Focus 21 was some sort of bridge state between physical and nonphysical worlds. Other than describing the mechanics of the tape, that was it.

Moving back to the CHEC unit, I was quite sure that nothing could possibly top what I had already witnessed. I was simply going along out of curiosity. I'll just keep an open mind, I thought to myself

Once in the unit, I went through the usual preparations. I tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to arrange the pillows to take some of the pressure off my tailbone, which by now was aching from the “stress” of lying down so much.

Finally, the music faded and the familiar ocean surf at the beginning of each tape cued in. I settled down, scratched the last of my itches, and relaxed into Focus 10, then 12, then 15, as the signals took me easily through the now familiar states of consciousness.

As Monroe counted us to Focus 21, I had the sense of moving upward, as ifin a glass elevator going up the outside of a skyscraper. Monroe used colors to delineate the different focus levels above 15. “Now move through the red of 16, through the red of 16…Now move through the yellow of 17, through the yellow of 17…” until finally, “Now move into the white of 21…into the white of 21…”

I was shocked. There I was, with no effort on my part at all, suddenly standing in a white cloud. It wasn't an imaginary white, but had the vivid quality of standing in dense fog brightly lit from the sun just above. I turned around in the fog, marveling at how quickly it had materialized and how completely real it seemed to be.

Normally, if I'm imagining something in my mind, I have to go through a process of recalling a similar object or situation. Because I carry within me a rather large data bank of experience, I often have trouble settling on one specific image I want to bring into focus. Ifl'm successful in bringing this to mind, the image often has a jittery or temporary quality, and I have to work fairly hard to steady it.

This wasn't at all the case with the fog. Boom! It was there. There was no difference in my perception of it from the waking experience of walking into a real fog.

Then turning 180 degrees from my original orientation, I was flabbergasted to see—“Well, would you look at that! A real bridge! I thought that it was a metaphor! God! It's a real bridge!”

Only it wasn't a type of bridge I had ever seen before. Its railing was made of timbers delicately lashed together, and it had an almost Oriental feeling. There was an elegant upward arch to its shape. It looked like a footbridge one might find in the land of Oz.

But the surprising thing was that where you would normally walk, there were two rows of flowers stretching its length. Viewing it, I couldn't decide whether you could walk across it or float across it. The arch disappeared into the fog, so I wasn't able to see where it went or what was on the other side.

No sooner did I wonder what was hidden from view than I found myself flying over a city. But again, it wasn't like any city I had ever seen before. It wasn't lit up with points of light as our cities are in the evening. It glowed from within. The stones of the buildings carried a soft, luminescent sheen.

The city itself sat on a shoreline next to a body of water that stretched off into the darkness. Lights glistened off the calm surface.

Three huge arches dominated the skyline, very similar in shape to the St. Louis Arch. These arches, though, were made of stone. They too glowed faintly against the darkness.

Drawing near to one of the arches, I was awed by the texture and beauty of the stone. It was a combination of ancient building techniques and advanced technology. I had the impression that they were almost alive. Indeed, the whole city seemed to be teeming with a living essence, though at first I saw nothing that would resemble human life.

Moving closer down into one of the streets, I couldn't contain myself any longer. Like a kid on a snow day home from school, I went racing through the thoroughfares, wanting to see as much as I possibly could.

Every building, every stone, was radiant. The architecture actually elicited emotional responses from me, as I was overawed by the sheer glory of the surroundings. Each structure was alive with intelligence, elegance, and wonder.

So I ran through the streets, worried that we would be called back before I had a chance to see everything. Suddenly, I made a left turn into something that looked like a cathedral. Through two arched doors, I made my way into a huge Gothic sanctuary.

Hustling down the center aisle, I could see the pews rushing by in a blur. In a flash, I was standing at the chancel area with a being who radiated light in all directions. It carried an unmistakable sense of power and authority.

There was a communion table. All around was sacred space, precious woodwork. The sanctuary ceiling arched high overhead. I knew instinctively that this was a defining moment for me.

Standing there, I was enveloped in warmth and love. Maybe I would be told the course of my life from that moment on. Maybe I would be given the secrets of the universe.

I wanted to stay within the radiance. Yet I heard myself saying, “I know I really should stay here with you…but…but…I really want to see the city!” I didn't give the being time to respond. Like some hyperactive kid, as quick as I could, I turned and rushed outside.

The sights of that city were so astounding that I wanted to take it all in any way possible. Who knew if I would ever be able to return?

I turned into another building. This one was a dome inscribed with hieroglyphics of the most intricate and wonderful kind. These too had the power to elicit emotional responses.

It was a library of some sort, and I sensed that this was where the records of all history were kept. I suspected that if I pulled one of the books off the shelf, it would give me a three-dimensional depiction of whatever event I wanted.

I was tempted to take one down, but I didn't. The reason was that I didn't want to be disappointed. At some level, I was afraid that it wouldn't be what I hoped it to be. Everything else was so wondrous that I didn't want to spoil the fun if the books turned out to be ordinary ones that Id have to read. I was in the market for adventure, not literature.

So once again, I ran outside. Coming yet to another building, I suddenly found myself in the midst of a huge gathering of “light people” similar to the ones who had been working with my father after he died.

The room itself was much like a concert hall with an upper and lower tier. Like all the other buildings, everything was extraordinarily ornate, beautiful beyond description.

It seemed that I had barged into a very important affair. I couldn't make out the faces of those present, except for one person to my right who seemed to be ordinary. She was a woman I didn't recognize. She looked at me and nodded.

Suddenly, one of the beings of light came to me and said rather matter-of-factly, “Welcome…We've been waiting for you.”

“You've been waiting for me? Why would you be doing that?”

“Because what you're doing is very important to us.”

“Well, you know…I would really like to stay with you and discuss this whole thing…but…ummm…I really want to see the city!” Once again, I rushed outside to take in what I feared might be my last view of the most wonderful thing I had ever seen.

THE REVELATION OF REVELATION

In the twenty-first chapter of Revelation, there is a description of an awe-inspiring city:

And in the spirit, he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. It has the glory of God, and a radiance like a very rare jewel, like jasper, clear as crystal…. The wall is built of jasper, while the city is pure gold, clear as glass. The foundations of the wall of the city are adorned with every jewel…and the city had no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light.⁹⁹

Apart from the magnificence of the vision, one thing that is striking about the description is that although John is telling the story in the past tense, when it comes to the city, he suddenly shifts to the present tense. He doesn't say, “The city was…,” but rather, “The city is…” or “It has…” In John's mind, what he saw wasn't something reserved for the future, nor was it something that could only be recalled from past experience. It is, in fact, a present and enduring reality.

Was it his city that I stumbled into? I have no idea. Many of the details don't match up with his descriptions.

What is most vital to me, however, is the notion that such an image as the New Jerusalem may have some solid basis outside of human longing or imagination. I had always thought that John was speaking in very clever, metaphorical language in order to get his message across. That his description might actually have begun with a direct perception gives it new meaning and life.

TAKING ALONG A HITCHHIKER

Far too quickly, we were called back to normal waking consciousness from Focus 21. When it was time to go down to the conference room to share our journeys, I had a hard time sitting still. Before I had a chance to tell my story, another woman spoke first.

“You're not going to believe this, but I went to a city of light! All the buildings were glowing and…” She went on to describe virtually everything I had seen! Now I was really curious. I waited to see if anyone else had seen the city. No one mentioned it.

Finally, unable to contain myself anymore, I raised my hand to speak. “I saw the city of light too.”

The woman who had first spoken turned to me and said, “I know. I saw you there.”

Chills went up and down my spine. There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt.

I began to wonder if these visions of the city of light might in fact have an objective quality. Was it really possible for two separate people to move into a nonphysical realm and come away with a similar experience?

There was no time to muse on the notion. The next tape was already being introduced. As we were breaking up, another woman in the group came up to me and, half jokingly, whined, “I wanna go to the city of light too!”

To this day, I have no idea why I said it, or where the confidence came from, but I immediately shot back at her, “OK. I'll take you there.”

“Great!” she responded, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

As we moved through the next tape, I became engrossed in what I was doing. Actually, I forgot all about my promise. The images floating by in Focus 10 were quite fascinating.

That's why it caught me off guard when this woman's face appeared suddenly in front of me. “Oh! That's right! I was supposed to take you to the city of light! Let's go!”

Like Tinker Bell escorting Wendy, I grabbed her hand and shot off into the upper regions. The next thing I knew, we were flying over the same city that had so awed me the last time. Not wanting to be hindered in my explorations, I announced, “OK. You're here! You're on your own now. I want to explore.”

Flushed with excitement, I continued my tour and never saw her again. When we returned to debrief the experience, I spotted the hitchhiker I'd picked up.

“Well, I took you to the city!”

“Yeah, I know!” she replied. “You practically tore my arm offl”

“When we arrived, I let you go.”

“I know. There were some things I wanted to do.” My sense exactly.

IS IT JUST IMAGINATION?

One of the most difficult issues, when proceeding into ethereal realms, is the struggle with the mind. The temptation to chalk it all up to imagination is very strong.

“Oh, I'm just making this all up,” is the usual response. So we discount what has been given to us, unwilling to take the risk of believing, lest we be sorely disappointed to find out that it was all an illusion.

I suffer from this tendency as much as anyone else. Over time, I have found that there are several aspects to these experiences that tend to make me trust the perceptions.

The first is the clarity of what comes. It's distinctly different from daydreaming, as I've said before.

I normally have a high ability to visualize things in my mind. While working on a construction project, I can actually build it first mentally, seeing with surprising precision how the pieces fit together and what the sequence of construction will be.

When I'm doing this type of visualizing, apparently my eyes start to flutter, which is a dead giveaway to Jacquie that my mind is elsewhere. To me, she has an unfair advantage, because at the very moment when I'm trying to foster the illusion that I'm present for her, she can look at me and say, “All right, what are you thinking about now?”

But even when I'm picturing things in that way, what I see doesn't have the depth, clarity, or vibrancy of the scenes that appeared at The Monroe Institute.

This in itself doesn't mean that my perceptions are true. It's merely to note that they're of a different order from mental processes I've honed through the years. It could very well be maintained that I'm simply accessing a different part of my brain, and it's this part that allows me to see more vividly.

But even if the images are coming from another part of my brain, then to me it's still good news. The idea that there is a part of me that is so intensely creative is an exciting thought. If I'm making these things up, then what is this part that holds such creative wonder? How do I get to know it? How do I access it?

It suggests that there is much more to us than we normally admit. The quest to uncover our natural wonder is filled with immense possibilities and is worthy of a study in and of itself.

So the vividness of the explorations may not lead to any objective proof that this is anything other than imagination. But getting in touch with our imagination alone can be endlessly fruitful.

There's a second element that impacts the way we view these experiences. While going through a program, we're encouraged to keep a careful journal of everything that happens, even the things that appear to be the most insignificant.

Over the years, it's been noted that isolated snippets are seldom random. In fact, if one is paying attention, it becomes evident over time that there is something trying to communicate with us.

Miraculously, the most trivial details will often be interwoven with later perceptions to form a tapestry of communication. When this happens persistently, it becomes evident that there is a genius at work.

The question is still open as to whether this genius is of our own making or if it's something outside us. I would like to suggest that, either way, the process is still immensely fascinating.

Again, it's our bias to want to discover something other than our own imagination as the source. But if it is us making it all happen, then we're wondrous creatures indeed. And if not, then we live in a universe that is endlessly interesting. We win either way.

A COMMON VISION

A third form of evidence that the mystical realm is genuine comes from the writings of mystics themselves. It has often been remarked that if a Hindu, a Muslim, a Jew, and a Christian could get together, they would argue endlessly about the truth of their respective traditions.

But if a Hindu mystic, a Muslim mystic, a Jewish mystic, and a Christian mystic were to converse, they would all find agreement. The reason is that they all perceive the same reality. This is why the mystical tradition is so important. For if there is ever going to be peace in this world, it will only be when we let go of the illusions of our separation. When we fail to understand the immense role that the mystical encounter has played in shaping the Christian tradition, we're blinded to an entire body of information held in common with other faiths. Whole cultures have been brought to the edge of extermination because of the refusal to see what we hold in common.

A fourth reason these visions may have some objective reality is really an extension of the third. It happens when we compare our personal experience with that of another.

Our experiences will seldom, if ever, be identical, because we all process our impressions differently. Two people sharing lunch, for instance, will recall distinctly different details, though their overall impressions may be similar.

Mystical realms seem to be especially prone to manipulation by our thoughts. So caution in making overly bold pronouncements is in order. It's all too easy to reshape impressions to fit with another person's report.

Yet having mentioned this caveat, the similarities, at times, can be stunning.