Mom Sent a Buddha

Mom Sent A Buddha

She was a force to be reckoned with. She was educated, strong willed, properly attired at all times and presented impeccable manners. My sisters and I were often

Mom's Tennyson Birthday Book

amused by her "regal" pronouncements stemming from a proper British upbringing. Her favorite phrase to correct any of our misdemeanors was "Ladies Don't!" I told her I was going to put it on her tombstone. I didn't.

We telephoned every Saturday morning. Though we lived in separate states, the miles disappeared as she chronicled the lives of our far-flung relatives. She knew all their birthdays, who had married, who just had a child or a grand-child. After she died I found all those facts with notations recorded in a little black book called Alfred Lord Tennyson's Birthday Book. He was her favorite poet. As a child she read me Tennyson's magical stories. Through her eyes and words I grew to love knights saving the world, The Lady of Shalott, Sir Richard Grenville, and the glories of the British Empire.

I knew something was wrong when I saw her that January. I hoped she was just getting old. But in February she was diagnosed . By the end of September she was gone. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. The doctors said "It doesn't have to be a death sentence." But in her case it was, though she endured treatmentsgallantly for seven months.

In those seven months I learned more about her than I had in her previous 82 years. As though she knew her time was limited she unburied the long held family secrets. She told me about the guy from Ohio she should have married. She asked about heaven and did they have food there. She felt she'd be bored playing a harp all day long. She used to paint landscapes so we talked about art. She asked about the mandalas that I painted and what they meant. When I explained that painting mandalas was like a meditation, her questions grew deeper. I realized my answers were taking her beyond the strict Catholic shroud she'd worn since her childhood. My diversion away from Catholicism had been an issue, so when she asked questions, I answered carefully. I knew she was opening to whatever was to come after death.

At her death relatives came from distant countries to pay their respects. As she taught us, we held it together with a British "upper lip" while hosting the family. We remembered what ladies do and don't do! When lots of people are around, it's hard to grieve but once the hubbub dies down reality sets in. But all too soon everyone returned to their regular lives. After two weeks it was also my time to return to Sarasota.

For the first time since her death I was alone, driving down a backwater two-lane highway in Florida. Memories of mom mixed with overwhelming grief. Tears fell so hard I couldn't see to drive. At the first chance, I pulled into a seemingly abandoned old motel on the side of the road. Weeds were knee-high in the cracks of the decaying asphalt. Had I been in a normal state of mind there's no way I would have done this. But I drove into the motel and sat in my car in front of an unpainted door falling off its hinges. There was a weather beaten chair propped outside the door.

For about ten minutes I sat there, tears falling. Then quite mysteriously the door opened and a tall ragged man came out and sat on the chair. I should have put the car in reverse and hastily exited the area. Instead, I sat there frozen, watching him. For some reason I was unafraid. The man saw me and nodded his head. Then he pulled out of his dirty pants pocket a long brown mala with a brown tassel. I watched as his gnarled fingers slowly moved over the beads and his mouth mumbled the words of some prayer.

In a flash I remembered my very Catholic mother asking me about the mala I often carried. When I explained it was like her rosary, our conversation traveled from Catholic Rome to Buddhist Tibet and the similarities of religions. This was an enormous leap of faith for her to even discuss another religion. But she was dying at the time so perhaps she'd thrown caution to the winds.

As the memories of that conversation played out, I looked up and found the man I would later call "The Buddha on Highway 301," smiling at me. It was as though he'd been summoned out of time to this abandoned motel, on the side of a barely traveled highway, to pray silently while I cried my eyes out over the death of my mother. I smiled back in gratitude for his presence. I bowed my head to him with respect for the sign he represented. Then I dried my tears. For I remembered what mom had promised me during her illness. "If I can, I'll send you a sign!" She did. Mom sent a Buddha! 

Jo Mooy - May 2015   

Seeing the Soul

There's a traditional view of reincarnation that most of us subscribe to.  We're born as a baby, go through life, get old and then die.  Then after death we're told our soul goes somewhere.  The "somewhere" depends on the religion or belief system we were born into.  After a period of time, we come back or reincarnate into another body and do the same thing all over again.

But what exactly comes back into incarnation each time?  That question was the focus of  my esoteric studies for many years.  Reincarnation is a key tenet in many Eastern religions.  The Gnostic scrolls, unearthed in the last 60 years, point to the unmistakable teachings of reincarnation that were taught by Jesus.  It's clear in the scrolls that one's fate is determined by one's current life.  But what about the soul?  Where does it go?  What does it look like?  Does it come back?

Reincarnation has become part of the mass consciousness in the last 50 years.  Highly regarded researchers like Dr. Ian Stevenson of the University of Virginia used scientific protocols to exhaustively research over 3,000 cases of children worldwide who claim to have reincarnated.  But another phenomenon causing scientific interest is called Near-Death Experiences or NDEs.

Dr. Kenneth Ring is Professor Emeritus at the University of Connecticut and one of the leading scholars on NDEs.  In one of his documented cases a girl who nearly drowned at the age of 7 reported seeing two adults "waiting to be born."  In another case, an individual stated she got information from a group milling around as "they were all waiting for reincarnation."  Again the questions came - who or what was waiting to be born.

My own research took me to the most ancient religious writings of India.  The Hindu Vedas said the soul reincarnated.  The Yoga Sutras say the same thing.  The Buddhist teachings state the "soul is reborn."  That sounded good enough.  The NDEs said people were waiting to be born, but what did the soul look like?

I turned again to the individual stories of those who had Near-Death Experiences.  One said, "I became a ball of light."  Another said, "spiritual beings were observing me inside a crystal sphere."  A young man described "A shimmering, luminescent sphere enveloped me, making me feel as if I had stepped into a crystal globe."  And in a well documented case, a young woman said, "I was there with this glowing orb."

Looking to back up the NDEs with the teachings of the mystics, I went to the Eastern texts.  The Hindu Vedas describe the soul as a "gossamer light" and more telling,  "a bubble of light."  The Sufi mystic teacher Inayat Khan said the soul was "a sphere of light."  With those definitions, the connection was instantaneous.  Orbs are images of the soul or spirits.

With the advent of digital photography a phenomenon called Orbs began to appear in photographs.  Orbs are spherical and transparent bodies of light that superimpose themselves in the photo.  Orbs appear most frequently in nature photos or during highly charged emotional events like parties, funerals, or children playing.  Sometimes the Orbs are stationary, other times they're in motion, leaving a trail of light behind them like a comet. 

Some claim that orbs are simply dust, pollen, or atmospheric conditions that occur due to the reflection of light in the camera.  Others dispute that theory as do I.  Why?  Because, though I've seen Orbs in my photographs since 2003, I've also seen Orbs without a camera and witnessed them "powering up" when spoken to.  The most remarkable occurrence was two days after the death of my neighbor.  The lights in my house began to flicker on and off.  When I ventured into the living room I saw two very large Orbs near the ceiling.  Realizing Kathy had just passed I asked, "Is that you, Kathy?"  At that moment, one of the Orbs powered up brightly and stayed that way for about ten seconds.  Knowing Kathy wanted to be with her mother who had previously passed over, I asked "Is that your mother with you?"  And the second Orb powered up.  Eventually, they both faded from view, but not before being documented by two people in the house.

The mystical interpretations offered by the Hindu Vedas, Inayat Khan, Edgar Cayce  and the many Near-Death Experiencers do point to a common definition of what the soul looks like.  The soul is an Orb or an iridescent Sphere of Light.  And now the technology is available to see the soul with our digital cameras.  And yes, we can even communicate with it.  The next time you photograph an event, look for the Orbs in the viewfinder.  If you don't see them, feel them.  If you can't feel them, speak to them and invite them to appear.  They will!  I've done it for ten years.

Jo Mooy - April 2013