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I Need this Beautiful Blue Star-Book

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To one who has been many, the gathering of every multicolored thread of experience to make a tapestry seemed only natural. To one who had peeled layers of insight from many a spiritual onion, a bouillabaisse of many flavors was the obvious next course. To one who had wondered about a music not-quite- heard in the silence of a starry night, a universe-as-symphony seemed not only glorious but logical. I was ready for The Urantia Book to find me. It was 1968. A metaphysical bookshop in Berkeley had a copy on its top shelf, way up high. I promptly bought it, knowing nothing about it. And, despite good intentions, I read the Jesus papers and little else.

If The Urantia Book found me, did I then find it? Decidedly not. I was not ready to see the love of my life in that guise. I thought I knew how the universe worked after walking down numerous religious paths. I lumped all avatars together, including Jesus. I hated anything that seemed gender- exclusive, after a childhood oppressed by heavy patriarchal assumptions and a young adulthood rich in the finest women's educational opportunities available. Names like "Salvington" made me wince; they seemed so specifically (even suspiciously) Anglo-Saxon, when my ear delighted in the poetry of Sanskrit and in liquid Polynesian syllables.

And though I did not know it then, I had preliminary work to do before I could fully embrace The Urantia Book. I was a student of Hindu psychology at the time, learning from a beloved teacher - a non-guru guru whose message was always balance. His proclamation, in the face of an influx of orange robes, beads and sandals in the California of the '60s and '70s, was always: The only real teacher is inside oneself.

I did not, therefore, have the Eureka! experience when I first discovered The Urantia Book. I see now that I needed to continue learning from my Hindu mentor and to go to the spiritual community of Findhorn in northern Scotland in 1971 to experience a flowering within myself. I became the first person in the San Francisco area to publicize Findhorn, telling its story straightforwardly in lectures-cum-slides, illustrated with photographs I had taken there. As time went by and I was further away from it, I could no longer present a documentary narrative. Expressing essence became a necessity, and my presentations became more and more an experience of poetry, photography, and music.

To mature, my budding art form needed collaboration with other like-minded souls. It turned out that these early inspirational slide shows were the impetus which led around the spiral again into deeper experiences with The Urantia Book. I made a creative connection with some Urantia Book readers in 1976, working with them on such shows. They then brought me into their San Francisco study group.

Looking back, I can see clearly how one philosophical phase of my life had to end, and another creative phase had to come to a certain level of fruition before The Urantia Book could truly find a wholehearted welcome within my mind and my heart.

Although I began to read the book seriously in 1976, immersing myself in it over and over, ever deeper, I am not at all sure that I have begun even yet to read in earnest, with the sincerity the revelation deserves. One can thrill to its grand sweep, its overarching views, and its satisfying answers to life questions. The more I experience and the deeper I go, the less transformed and the more imperfect I see that I am and have been. I need this beautiful blue star-book as my guide. And, coming from love for the Bhagavad-Gita and the Upanishads, perhaps it has taken me all this time clearly to see Michael of Nebadon as Jesus of Nazareth, as real, as available, and as the companion of my soul.

The world needs The Urantia Book and it needs us to become dedicated "ambassadors of God," ever open to the personal transformation of living the revelations truth.