Door #3 : Reconciliation

stained glass

The Woman is with you again, and you feel the warmth of her robes.   Somehow, her light—which you realize is not just around her head but throughout her body—infuses you.  If spirit bodies have cells, yours are changing, enlarging as though the light were feeding them.


“I will accompany you now,” The Woman says.


The doors are made entirely of stained glass and you become aware that every inch of the glass tells a human story—including yours.  They open, and like prisms direct dancing beads of all colors everywhere.  It is like you are inside of a chandelier.


You see your opponent in multi-faceted glory.


The most famous story of the Reconciliation Room involves a female former slave and her former master.  The master had abused her in many ways, feeling justified by scriptures about servants obeying their masters, mingled with traditions of tribalism–in this case, descendants of Africans and descendants of the Anglo Saxons.  She and her two sisters had run away from him and she had called him a “horror among men.”  The insult—from a slave –had goaded him on to seek her punishment.  He kept hearing her accusation and kept answering it in his mind not just with words but with lashes or even with a noose.


He never saw her on earth again, but at last (after years in the Recycle Room), he finally saw her in this room. He saw that she was divine, a greater being than he w.  He saw the ways she had cared for fellow slaves on the ship from Africa, and how she had protected her sisters at the auction.  She had held their hands and had stood on the block with them, though she was told to move, and had insisted that the three must go together.  A guard was ready to whip her from the block, when the master purchased all three.


In the Reconciliation Room, the master approached her slowly, then fell to his knees and wept.  As he touched her feet with his lips, he suddenly felt her whole life’s journey filling his cells just as The Woman’s light had.   He looked up at this black woman whom he had once claimed as his property.  She was regal, and she extended her hand to him.  “Arise,” she said. “We are all a part of one experience.”

The next thought she communicated was not verbal.  She touched his eye lids and his ear lobes, and he heard in a way he had never heard anything:

Mortality was never yours alone, but always shared in a community.  We are part of one another, our experiences completed through another’s life. The cycles of slavery, war, duels, marriages, reunions, funerals—these were our plot points, fully realized only in connection with others.  Here, in this room, you may find your ancestors.  If you touch their hands, you feel your own inheritance–burdens and gifts, talents and temptations.  You see as you are seen.  Touch a former enemy and you feel how closely your lives are bound.  Touch my hand and know that I am your sister.



You find the Woman moving past you to another room, just beyond a veil.  You see what appears to be her throne, and two other thrones.  You are invited in, though you must leave every unkind edge, every uncharitable thought, every demeaning word behind.  They are too large and solid to pass through the delicate veil.

“Did you see the glory?” she asks.

You nod.

“Come in,” she says as the veil parts for her.



Do you accept the invitation?







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