Author Archive | Mary Reed

True Truth

True Truth

Just over seventeen years ago, I was sitting in a white room filled with dozens of light beings receiving a profound mystical teaching on the conflict nature of our world. A spectacularly luminous god-like being was holding my head and pouring unfathomable wisdom into me, and the last thing He said was, “What people turned to to justify their anger they didn’t know was wrong. They just didn’t know.” Then He said, “True truth rather than false truth. Bring these words and the angels home with you.”

Today what I see before me in the world reveals evermore of what these words mean. And it is words themselves that can help others see the lesson of truth from my vantage point.

In this era of owning our authentic truth, the words we choose can help us discover what we are really being true to. If we know ourselves to be Love, words like ‘hate’ and ‘enemy’ are understood to be not only untrue, but impossible. Who can Love ever hate? Who is ever Love’s enemy?

When our individual and collective pain holds up its mirror, we have a choice. We can respond to the reflection we see, which literally requires both the perspective and language of the opposite of truth. Or we can respond to the pain that is holding up the mirror, which literally requires the perspective and language of Source.

The truth of our BEing is calling us to shift both our perspective and language from WHAT we see before us to WHY we are seeing what is before us. When we authentically intend to make that shift, we’re on our way to discovering our true truths, and the words of false truths become impossible to speak.


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A Christmas Story

A Christmas Story

Throughout my childhood and well into my adult years, at bedtime I used to say that famous prayer, “Here I lay me down to sleep, I pray thee lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray thee lord my soul to take.”

handAs I did this, I would envision Jesus on my right side, holding my hand. In my other hand I sometimes held my dog. In his other hand he sometimes held the hand of my partner. Together we would walk towards a bright light as I recited the prayer.

That prayer always comforted me. Sometimes I still say it and envision the same scene just because I like how it feels. But now I greet Jesus first and hold his cheeks adoringly as I smile into his eyes, squish my nose up playfully, and then take his hand. I don’t know why I do this; it just feels good to love Jesus right in the eyes.

As the celebration of Jesus’s birth is upon us, I think about the Christ that he was here to illuminate in all of us: that exquisitely perfect love that courses through every being, through all of life, through these very words.

By holy grace I know Jesus and the presence of Christ very well. It is surely this that now makes me want to put my hands adoringly on the cheeks of everyone far and wide, squish my nose up playfully, then take their hands and go for a walk towards the bright light.

Alas, the best I can do is offer this holiday post to joyfully love each of you right in the eyes.

As this incredible year draws to a close I thank you all for the gift of your company, and for your continued love and support. I look forward to seeing what life has in store for us in 2018.

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas, happy all-holidays and a healthy, happy, harmonious New Year!

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Simplest Thing

Simplest Thing

the simplest thing is this:
we are love exploring love

is it like this? yes
is it like that? yes

how do we know?
because there is experience of
this and that

are we not billions of prisms angling
against the same light?

in any string of words
passionate opinion, neutral pass
elegant perspective, careless blurt
wise teaching, clever lie
inspiring reason, trite drivel
there is love exploring love

in any act of man and nature
compassionate, beastly
artistic, clumsy
mighty, meek
giver, thief
there is love exploring love

do we not experience all of these?

we explore oceans
without demanding that all must be like this
must behave like that
we explore to discover
in their thises and thats
and bow in awe to such treasure

are we willing to explore humans
with such reverence?

mind has explored
concept of right
concept of wrong
based on
concept of good
concept of bad
trying every way possible to make
one concept control another concept
or better yet make
one concept master
so “I”
can finally be satisfied

heart explores differently
in wonder
in receipt
in humility
in embrace
in joy, joy, joy
celebrating, oh celebrating
love’s ability to explore itself

now mind
exhausted from its feats
is ready to yield
and heart is willing
for the simplest thing

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Amp It Up!

Amp It Up!

Imagine if your every thought was said out loud. What we would hear would be the truth of where you are placing your attention. We would know exactly which energy you are plugging into to charge you up. You would become radically transparent.

If you are not comfortable with what we would see, then can you see how you are silently living in self rejection? This truth of rejection is what you will project onto the world, rejecting others.

Do you see why self love is so important?

Go ahead, amp up that self love! Amp. It. Up!

love yourself

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Coming Home to True Love

Coming Home to True Love

VV chapelWhen I first arrived back in America this year for my annual summer visit, having just spent four months primarily isolated in a remote Christian ashram in southern India (with a cool rock cave chapel), I felt like I had returned to an entire nation in a state of PTSD.

Or maybe a better way to say it is that everyone seemed to be in an endless earthquake. Every day I watched some bit of news knock people off kilter again and again and again.

It took me quite a while to find my own footing here. I didn’t know how to talk with people, as most were either keeping their eyes trained on what was rocking their world or they were retreating within and detaching themselves altogether from social engagement. I saw communities and families deeply fractured. I saw spiritual leaders deeply fatigued. I saw walls up and emotions up, and any sense of trust and openness very, very down.

Mary at UCSG1What truly helpful things can one say in this environment?

As I sought Divine guidance about what, if anything, to say publicly, I came to see that my work wasn’t to try to lift people out of the truth of what they were feeling. It was to support people in feeling all of their truth. Because owning our deepest truths is the reason for everything that’s happening around and within us today.

All I can ever offer to others is the wisdom that comes from the truths of my mystical experiences, and everything I’ve been shown tells me that our truths are the very means to finding not just steady ground now, but higher ground.

And we’re barreling straight for that higher ground with ever-accelerating speed. From that vantage point we’re in for inspiring views, infinitely clear paths, and deep appreciation for all the exploring we’ve been doing along the way.

You can glimpse some of those inspiring views in my latest video, Coming Home to True Love.

I’ve decided to stay in America for the time being, as in 2018 I will enjoy inspiring an increasing number of communities that are ready to hear my unique perspectives on these wildly transformative times. If you’d like me to share with your community in person, shoot me a message and let’s make some exciting things happen on this fun path together. Let’s look forward to it!

Big happy love to all…

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Wake Up: Enough of “Them”

Wake Up: Enough of “Them”

Warning: You may feel like this while watching…

wait what.jpg

…but hang in there for the deep questions you’ll want to answer at the end.

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Quiet Joy

Quiet Joy

Mary at TajAfter celebrating my birthday at the Taj Mahal, I returned this week to the charming, remote, extremely quiet Christian ashram in southern India where I have been staying for the past 2.5 months. On this dusty nine-acre hill are twenty-five scattered rooms, only two of which, including my own, have been occupied regularly in the entire time I have been here.

The ashram is overseen by a lovely soft-spoken priest, Anil, who is assisted by Joby, a jovial pot-bellied man in his first few months of priest training, and Beni, a bright 27-year-old tribal woman who does all the (amazing) cooking and has never met a chili pepper she didn’t like.

The trees here are overseen by small monkeys, who steal fruit as well as drying laundry with backward glances like naughty children checking to see if they’ve been caught. There are six wild turkeys who think they live here and two large dogs who actually do, Jimmy and Julie; and Jimmy is as naughty as the monkeys. Every afternoon like clockwork between 5:15 and 5:30 he can be seen running around with one of Beni’s pink flip-flops in his mouth while she’s inside the kitchen getting his dinner ready. She eventually comes out carrying a large bowl and walks one-shoed about 50 yards to his room where he’s waiting to trade her flip flop for his dinner.


Life in this southern ashram is very different than the nunneries in the north. There are no ornate temples here, but the chapel is a large, very cool rock cave. (LOVE the chapel.) There are no mountains but there are tall, shady mahogany trees and breezy palm trees and myriad fruits and flowers hanging from more than a hundred other trees. There are no villages to walk to. I’m not with friends or community. I’m alone with only the truth of myself, comfortably, and the routine of breakfast at 8, lemonade at 11, lunch at 1, tea at 4.

As for slightly less comforts, I bathe from a bucket every other day. I wash my clothes by hand twice a week. The ceiling fan in my room is my only relief from the 95+ degree heat — during the 75% of time the electricity is working.

The requisite job for all guests is daily gardening, and “my” spot is a large four-tiered brick triangular area with small white lilies and carnation-sized fuchsia and pink flowers that open almost exactly at 10AM and close by 4PM. In the simplicity of life here it brings me joy to get up every day and take care of these new colorful parts of life.

I might also mention that sometimes naughty Jimmy is out on a walk when I’m watering in the afternoon and delights in running full speed through the muddy garden bed to tell me hello. This too brings me joy, though I would also be joyful if he would learn to skirt the edges.

mary john

(Tour host and friend, John Smallman)

Today in my quietude I reflect on the fact that it was a year ago this month that the metaphysical event that became the basis of my 2016 tour took place. With the exception of my interviews and the three talks I did with my former therapists Margery Silverton and Rudy Bauer, I spoke exclusively about this event in which I was shown that the paradigm of our world is a perpetual cycle of self rejection that keeps us unaware of our connection to God. I was shown that all the systems of our world foster our living and relishing the good trumps bad story without anyone realizing this is what makes us deny our own and each other’s Divine nature.

This is why love has never been able to make our suffering go away, and why religions and political policies and economic strategies and world leaders have never led us to peace. We’ve been using all of these things just to try harder to make one part of us (good) make another part of us (bad) go away. When in fact, there is no good or bad. There is only love and the cry for love. And since we like to label our cries for love “bad”, that is what we inherently reject. Instead of rejecting our own or others’ pain — which is born of the Separation mindset and then perpetuated in the same way — we can answer its cry with the intention to honor it as an equal part of us, not to make it go away.

YogavilleThere was a woman in one my talks who asked me during Q&A, “Is it okay that I feel a righteous anger at all the people who support Trump?” I said, “You already feel that righteous anger, so why reject it? It’s not that you don’t want to feel it, it’s that you don’t want to own that you feel it. So you try to reject that feeling out of guilt, but then you judge yourself for actually feeling it, and then you judge yourself for judging yourself. You see the cycle? When we own what we authentically feel we give power to our truth, not to our rejection. The trick, however, is just to let our truth be after we own it.

This last part is what people seem to struggle with most. We humans either attach ourselves to myriad “bad” feelings while denying their real source, or we attach ourselves to denial of both our “bad” feelings and their real source. Either way, we’re not allowing our authentic truth to just be.

In the movie Wild, there’s a great line that’s quoted from some writer that says, “Denying her wounds came from the same source as her power.” This is it, exactly. In my metaphysical event I saw Separation and Cry For Union as the same thing, all within the Source of real love.

In my 2016 holiday message video, my suggestion for the way ahead was to, “Feel what you feel authentically, then go be and do that which brings the greatest joy to your heart.” That’s what I’m doing here in this ashram. Feeling all of my truth, authentically. This, along with my writing, prayer, meditation and contemplation allow the joy in my hearTaj2t all the space it needs.

Whether you are living simply or grandly, alone or among the masses, I hope you are allowing yourself to feel your own truth, and letting it be, graciously, as you do what brings the greatest joy to your heart. If you need some inspiration, you might consider a little jaunt to the Taj Mahal. There’s a LOT of joy there.

Much love to one and all. (P.S. – Click on the Videos tab to watch my new video on mysticism, God and love!)

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The Way Ahead

The Way Ahead

mary-and-lambHappy holidays friends!

I hope this festive season you had much to be grateful for and look forward to.

Given the significance of 2016, I’ve had several requests to offer my thoughts on the way ahead, so I am pleased to offer this special holiday message. May you find it helpful and inspiring. Please share in your communities as you like.

Mary’s Holiday Message.

Peace on Earth, bountiful best wishes, and Love, Love, Love to all.

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We Need to Talk

We Need to Talk

As I do every year, I will soon leave India at the start of monsoon. Usually this means going to the U.S. to visit a few communities to give talks based on my book, spirituality, mysticism and other topics of interest in our awakening world.Mary and Mac

This year I’m going to do something a little different: with few exceptions, I’m going to talk about only one thing. Because it is the most important thing the world needs to hear right now.

Using the unique lens of mysticism through which I view both Divine and earthly realms, I’m going to reveal what love really is. And it is not what what most people think.

I’m going to talk about why humans can’t get out of bed every morning and just blissfully love themselves.

I’m going to talk about why love hasn’t been able to make suffering go away.

I’m going to talk about how the human experience has been about relishing deeply that which is not love while simultaneously yearning deeply for love.

I’m going to talk about how rejecting pain and fear and judgment is not an act of love.

I’m going to talk about free will. And sorrow. And loneliness. And compassion. And forgiveness.

In other words, I’m going to talk about separation from God.

And then I’m going to talk about reuniting with God.

And I’m going to talk about genuine awakening.

And remembering.

And rising up.

And resurrecting.

And being real love.

Our understandings of love can go far beyond feel good memes and random mushy moments. We’re capable of MUCH more than that, and it is time to get serious about realizing our individual and collective potential for a greater world. If you’re ready to be inspired to incite real love, invite me to your community. We’ve got a lot to talk about.

I will be in the following general areas during summer and fall 2016:

U.S. West Coast region in July/August
U.S. southern and central region in August/September
U.S. East Coast region September/October
Europe and ?? starting in November

Invite me to share in your group, home, church, community center, retreat, webcast, radio or television show, or publication. This is an important time for us to gather together, and I look forward to doing so with all of you.

Abundant love (the real thing) to all.

P.S. My recent Buddha at the Gas Pump interview has now been viewed more than 13,000 times and has prompted numerous substantive conversations in diverse online and live communities. Please feel free to share this and my award-winning book, Unwitting Mystic, with your friends, loved ones and communities if you feel it could be of benefit.

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The Circle

The Circle

[Preface: The nunnery in which I live in northern India, Thosamling, hosts residents, visitors and volunteers from around the world. India is a haven for spiritual aspirants, and spiritual work here is rarely easy, elegant or expedient. But this haven can deepen one’s connection to Divinity in even the most undignified of times when one is willing to accept it on its own terms.]
mary little

When all my dignity is gone, this child is still there, trusting.

At 10:30 Monday morning I was carried out from the nunnery on a stretcher. An Indian gardener, a French pastry chef and a French osteopath carried me ten minutes down a narrow rocky path as a Dutch carpenter walked ahead and an Indian yoga teacher walked behind.

When they laid me down on the dirt road to wait for the car to arrive, the pastry chef knelt beside me and took my hand. He began slowly tracing circles around my palm with his finger. In a quiet voice he said, “There is nothing else happening in your body right now except this circle. Just focus on this circle, okay?”

I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him but tried to give all my attention to the circle. It was at once soothing and consoling.

The Dutch abbess of the nunnery pulled up in the Thosamling van. The carpenter helped me into the back bench seat where I could lie down, and the osteopath and yoga teacher slid into the middle bench seat.

As the abbess pulled away, the osteopath turned around, leaned over the seat back, and gently took my hand. She began tracing circles around my palm with her finger, and never let go of me until we arrived at the hospital thirty minutes later.

Fourteen hours earlier a German Tibetan-language translator had heard me yell HELP from my room. I had been yelling periodically for forty minutes after sudden weakness and fever had come up and rapidly increased. Everyone was away from their rooms at that time attending prayers and a talk; during this same time I had also texted four people asking for help but everyone had left their phones in their rooms.

The translator arrived to find me flushed and with pain in my mid-back and stomach, so she went to fetch an Austrian nun who is a former nurse. In the meantime one of the people I had texted, a German nun, arrived. The nuns took my temperature while the translator went to get cold juice and ice. The nuns removed the thermometer before it beeped because it seemed to be taking too long; the reading at that point was 39.9C, or 103.9F.

The abbess soon arrived in my room, followed by the osteopath. The Austrian nun left and came back with aspirin. The Germans put ice on my head and wet towels around my legs, and helped me sip cold orange juice. The abbess called the doctor.

The aspirin and cold applications gradually began to reduce my fever, and the abbess and German nun took shifts checking on me throughout the night. I took aspirin promptly every four hours trying to keep the fever down.

Diarrhea that had slowly started hours earlier became urgent by midnight. I woke up four times in the night shitting on myself. My mid-back and stomach grew more painful.

mary little

By morning the fever started to escalate again. Someone placed the stretcher outside my door, and minutes later the transport stage of the event was underway.

The hospital lobby was extremely full; throngs of Indian families were standing or walking around either checking in, paying or waiting. Within seconds of being helped through the door a young Indian attendant appeared in front of me with a wheelchair and whisked me to a room where I could lay down on an examination table.

In less than one minute an Indian urologist with kind paternal eyes appeared beside me, asking me questions while pressing on my stomach and kidney areas. He instructed the attendant to take me directly to the emergency care ward.

My body was in hypotensive shock so my blood pressure and pulse were very low. It took the apologetic Nepalese nurse three tries to get the IV needle in and two tries to get blood to flow into tubes. IV fluids. IV antibiotics. Pain med injections. Ultrasound.

Just after 3pm two Indian attendants, one of whom had a pronounced limp, wheeled me up six long, crumbling concrete ramps to room 419.

The abbess paid all the bills in advance on my behalf — medicines, tests, doctors fees and room charges. Before she left she knelt beside my bed, put her hand on my arm, and looked at me tenderly with her brilliant blue eyes. “It’s going to be okay, yes?” she said, patting my arm twice firmly. “I will be back in the morning and maybe take you home, or just check on you.”

The osteopath slept that night on the bench eighteen inches opposite my bed. The yoga teacher slept on a narrow stretch of the floor at the end of the bench. Eight times in as many hours the osteopath leapt up to help me to the bathroom as the urgency of diarrhea hit. Two of those times I again shit on myself before I could make it to the toilet.

When the attending Indian gastroenterologist came to see me around at 10:30am he had already prescribed six more bottles of fluids and three more bottles of antibiotics. This, following ten bags of fluids and three bottles of antibiotics I had already received.

“I want to go home,” I told the doctor.

mary little

He frowned disapprovingly and shook his head. “I cannot advise that. You are still very sick.”

“But my fever is gone and I can take the fluids and medications orally now. And I can rest in my own bed.”

He laughed lightly. “But you are still very sick and it is much better and faster to take these things by fluids and we can monitor you.”

I looked at him with every bit of persuasive strength I could muster. “I know. But to be honest I’m just really worried about the money.”

Compassion immediately sparked across his face. This is India, after all; they know all about the balancing act between money and self care. The doctor bobbled his head and thought for a moment. Finally he said, “Okay, it is not good, but I understand. I will talk with the other doctors and we will see.”

Three hours later I walked gingerly through the gates of Thosamling. I was immediately greeted by a Polish student, an American student, a Scottish nanny, and a Russian massage therapist, all of whom I had been taking on morning hikes. The Polish student said, “We were just writing notes to you!” Everyone hugged me and walked me to my room; one held me by my arm, another carried a saucer of rice and bread, another carried my bag of medicines and reports, and another carried my small backpack. On my windowsill was an apple left by an American nun and a fresh sprig of jasmine left by an Israeli volunteer.

Throughout the day a parade of people came bearing fruit, juice, water and hugs. That night a British social worker took turns with the German translator checking on me every three hours.

Wednesday morning as I lie in my bed looking out my window the pastry chef passed by and happened to glance my way; he immediately smiled brightly. He gave me two thumbs up as he raised his eyebrows, silently asking, “Better, yes?” I smiled weakly and nodded, and he walked away cheerfully.

mary little

That’s when the tears finally hit.

In my body, which by now I had learned was housing more than a dozen repulsive, large parasites, I could suddenly feel something other than the swell of pain and the saturation of medicine and the staunch rebellion of alien life. In this moment I could feel an immense web of compassion coursing through a circular field, intersecting from all directions through one central hub: my body.

My body, while in the extremely undignified state of being shit on, blazed, pricked, and grotesquely invaded, had become a common circulation point for compassion shared instinctively and generously by a German translator, an Austrian nun, a Dutch abbess, a French osteopath, a German nun, an Indian gardener, a French pastry chef, an Indian yoga teacher, a Dutch carpenter, three Indian attendants, an Indian urologist, a Nepalese nurse, an Indian gastroenterologist, a Polish student, an American student, a Scottish nanny, a Russian massage therapist, an Israeli volunteer, an American nun, and a British social worker.

Many vessels, one enormously bountiful circle of compassion.

As I lie here in my bed now still recovering, I think about the pastry chef smiling brightly with his two thumbs up, and I consider his words: “There is nothing else happening in your body except this circle. Just focus on this circle, okay?”

Yes. Yes, I will do just that, Pierre. Because the swirling, sweet, multicultural circle of compassion circulating all around and within me is a tremendously healing salve. It is Love’s elegant response to a foul moment of vulnerability in a body that is constantly seeking to radiate God’s presence in a world that believes it is separate from God. I see The Circle radiating God back to me, and I have no trouble at all focusing on that. For that is all that is happening in my body.

Mary great hike

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