Every morning he would set the breakfast table for his wife. With all the sanctity and precision of a priest setting out the chalices and cloths, he would arrange her coffee cup, spoon, and napkin. Then he would brew the coffee and carefully pour milk into the little cream dispenser, and take out the sugar and some extra spoons. When the coffee was finished brewing he would pour some into her cup and cover it with a little lid to keep it warm until she woke. To complete this little ritual he would remove her favorite sections of the newspaper (the crossword puzzles) from the bundle and set them by her place. He did this every morning for the nearly fifty years they were married.
Once there was a young man who went around saying, “sorry” all the time. He said it for practically everything he said or did, even good things. He said “sorry” so much that he would joke with those around him by saying “sorry” for saying “sorry.” It became such an ingrained thing that he would even find himself saying “sorry” when it didn’t make sense in a conversation. And of course, he said, “sorry” when he didn’t mean it. In his efforts to live out this false humility, he annoyed many people, and he became truly sorry when one by one those people stopped hanging around him. One day, alone, looking in the mirror, he said, “sorry,” and realized he hated who he was, both on the inside and the outside. “What would happen,” his reflection said, much to his surprise, “if you loved yourself?” And then the mirror shattered, sending shards of glass whirling around the room. He tried to duck and shield his face. He fell to the ground. When he heard the last of the glass raining down around him, he got up and looked into the mirror again. The mirror was completely intact. And the image he saw was an angel. He wept, and from that day forward, only said “sorry” when he really needed to.
One day I found God sitting on a park bench in Flourtown, Pennsylvania. He looked depressed as he tossed bread crumbs to the pigeons. Taking a deep breath, I sat down next to him. He barely looked up as he moved his bag of bread over to make room for me. We sat in silence a long time. I wondered what to say to him. He looked so sad. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke first.
“Nice weather, eh?”
“Yes, you made a pretty sky,” I said.
“Me? I didn’t make the sky look pretty.”
“You didn’t? I thought you made everything.”
“That’s a myth…Well, no, let me use a different word: “lie.” “That is a lie.”
“Lie?” I said surprised, “What do you mean?”
“Why do my children so willingly give their power away? This sky,” He said, gesturing towards the late afternoon autumn sky, “the people of this town made it. They’re collectively in a good mood; they’re living right, so the sky is clear, sunlit, full of fluffy white clouds.”
“Wait, wait,” I said, “You’re not suggesting that the collective moods of the citizens effect the weather?”
“We make the weather?”
“So what do you make?”
“Oh, I make the raw ingredients for the weather. I make you. I make a lot of things.”
“Listen God, You’re telling me some pretty outrageous stuff here. It’s not that easy for my finite mind to grasp all this.”
“You’re the infinite one. We’re the finite ones.”
“You did, didn’t you? In the bible someplace?”
“OK, so now you’re suggesting I have an infinite mind, like yours.”
“Not suggesting. Telling. I gave each of my children a spark of my own mind. That makes your mind infinite.”
“Yes, but where did I get the idea that my mind was limited and yours unlimited?”
“The people who write that sort of thing are scared of their own divinity. They can’t handle the responsibility. Even worse, many can’t handle the joy, the sheer joy of being unlimited.”
“So they put words in your mouth and say you say things that you didn’t just to justify their own beliefs?”
“More or less, yes. People are always giving me credit for things I didn’t do and devaluing themselves. They do something great and say, “Wow, look what God did!” But I didn’t do it. They did. They blame me for disasters, wars, abuse, everything—good or bad. I didn’t create victims. I created princes and princesses.”
“Is that why you look so sad?”
I looked out over the growing flock of pigeons as his bag of bread crumbs was never ending. He handed me a piece of bread to throw to them.
“Is there anything else you need to talk about?” I asked, chucking the bread into the sea of coo’s and glimmering feathers.
“I’m tired,” said God, “tired of people using my most common name, and twisting it to mean such horrible things. I created people not so they would believe in me, but in themselves. The sad truth is most people do not truly believe in me. If they did, they would lead wonderful, unlimited, joyous, creative, compassionate lives. If they only for a few seconds everyday took the time to remember how powerful they are, how I just want them happy, how I don’t need their praise, how they have it within themselves and the people around them to have everything they ever needed to be happy.”
As He spoke, great tears formed in his eyes and trickled down his face and into his beard of stars and snow.
I put my hand on his. He broke down completely, sobbing like a baby.
I held him in my arms for hours; so long the pigeons began landing on us. He cried all night, and I held him all night, wondering at the mystery of it all.
“Whoever you are, your true place is calling, calling, and, because you really are a spark of the Divine, you will never be content until you answer.” –Emmet Fox
“Following Your Heart’s Desire…provides a wonderful opening to something better…Anthony shows us how to create a life worth living.”–Brad Yates, author of “The Wizard’s Wish,” co-author of “Freedom at Your Fingertips.”
If you’d prefer to pay by check, please make it payable to
Joseph Rogers-Petro for $15.95, and mail it to
PO Box 1302 Roslyn, PA 19001
Excerpt from the book, “Following Your Heart’s Desire,” by Joseph Anthony
Do you want to live the life you’ve always dreamed of?
Do you, once and for all, want to know what God’s plan is for you?
Do want a life of unlimited abundance and true prosperity?
Do you want to do work that is truly healing for yourself
and the world?
Do you want to live the adventure of a lifetime?
Does your life feel empty? Unfulfilled? Discontented?
Have you lost your passion for life?
Do you have dreams but don’t know where to begin?
Do you have talents and gifts that you are afraid to use?
Does fear and self-doubt hold you back
from living the life you’ve always dreamed of?
If you answered “Yes” to any of these questions then you are reading the right book, and I am truly glad you’re here. For you about to discover
Your Heart’s Desire
You were born, as the great poet William Wordsworth tells us, “trailing clouds of glory.” How could it be otherwise? You are a child of God. What that means is you have powers inside of you that are truly super powers, utterly miraculous, and utterly endless. They are God given powers–to create and to manifest, to imagine and to build. You were born with a purpose–hand-picked by the Infinite Source of Supply. It is a purpose you are free to follow or not. If you choose to follow it you will live in heaven right here on earth. You will shine like the sun and help the world to shine more brightly. You were born to shine.
And there’s more.
The talents and gifts you possess are woven together with your dreams. One could say they are your dreams. Your talents and gifts can lead you to discover your dreams and your dreams can help you discover your talents and gifts. You were born to express and to share these gifts and talents with the world, and nobody else can do that for you. I’ll say it again: You were born to shine.
So stop a moment, wherever you are, and stand up. Say these words out loud. Rise up and claim them as your own:
I am a child of God. I have a song in my heart that is mine and mine alone, and I will not let it die within me unsung. I am worthy of all abundance and prosperity, for I am an heir to the Kingdom of God. I am ready to sing. I am ready to claim my dreams. I am ready to live my Heart’s Desire.
How exactly do you reclaim your dreams? The rest of this book will go into the details of the process that I have developed to live my dreams. It will explain precisely how you can discover and achieve your own Heart’s Desire.
Here is the Table of Contents:
One: Divine Discontent
Two: Finding Your True Place in Life
Three: Discovering the Blocks
Four: Finding a Mentor
Five: Disciplining Your Thinking
Six: Dealing With Difficult Emotions
Seven: Forgiveness and Restitution
Nine: Shining Your Light
Ten: Inspiration for the Journey
Appendix One: Affirmations
Appendix Two: Resources
“Joseph Anthony is a Spirit Warrior…“Following Your Heart’s Desire” is his blessing to us: a validation of our sacred worth and a practical, yet beautifully poetic guide to discovering it for ourselves.” Jean Raffa, Ed.D. Author of THE BRIDGE TO WHOLENESS, DREAM THEATRES OF THE SOUL, and HEALING THE SACRED DIVIDE. Blogger at www.jeanraffa.wordpress.com
Purchase “Following Your Heart’s Desire” today for $12.95 +$3.00 shipping, and get started living the life you’ve always wanted. Read the book by yourself or study it with a group of like-minded friends (a mastermind group). It also makes a great gift for someone you love.
If you’d prefer to pay by check, please make it payable to
Joseph Rogers-Petro for $15.95, and mail it to
PO Box 1302 Roslyn, PA 19001
“Joseph Anthony’s book is a delight for the soul. His writings touch a deep chord with those who are on the path of awakening. This Wonder Child helps us to reclaim and express our innate innocence and heart’s desire. Get ready for a heavenly ride!” Rev. Jill Sabin Carel, Agape Interfaith Ministries
Following Your Heart’s Desire is finally published!
About nine months ago I started writing a book on how to follow your dreams. With my mentor’s guidance and my wife’s tireless editing, the book is finally out. Over the next few days I will post ordering information. In fact, I will add a PayPal widget on the left here as soon as I figure out postage rates and all that. There will also an audio version available and downloadable print and audio versions soon too. Stay tuned.
What a wonderful journey writing this book was. Even now, seeing the finished product, I am reminded how much I need to keep practicing what I preach, how I need to keep doing the things that worked to get me this far.
Lefty told me the other day that the only negative thought is the one you can’t get out of your head. I am learning that it’s not just disciplining my thinking from the unhelpful messages that run through—the self-criticisms, self-doubts, fears, resentments, the shame—I need to discipline my thinking to keep my head free and clear for the inspiration of the muse, of spirit, of my dreams. That means plans for the future, what I want to write next, and so on. I need to keep learning how to slow down and be in the moment. My driven personality is all well and good, until I can’t stop. I have written hundreds of posts, dozens of stories and songs, made many videos—all in less than a year. It has been a staggering outpouring. But I need to remember to keep my thinking focused and clear, I need to remember to breath, I need to remember to stop and take it easy sometimes. I need to remember I need a mentor and friends like you. I am already on to the next projects—(a cd of my chants and a book of short stories)—and that’s OK, but I need to be here now and enjoy the success of writing and publishing a book that will help people live the life they’ve always wanted.
So the book is out and I need to read its message now more than ever.
Thank you for all of your support. Please spread the word about the book and the blog (I also have a new YouTube channel called, thewonderchildsings. You, my dear readers, are shining stars that help me make it through the dark.
Check this out: my friend Todd started a radio show a month or so ago: WEBE Radio, and not only did I get interviewed on his show (see archived blog entry Oct. 10) but I got to be the guest host. In this show, I read stories, poems, and articles. I also spin some of my favorite records. In addition, my two older sons, Sam and Ben, compose and perform the music in the background of the spoken word pieces. Enjoy, and check out WEBE Radio for other great programs. http://www.webeforem.com/
Imagine your “self” as a treasure lost in a shallow sea. It went down when your ship of dreams crashed on rocks of doubt. You didn’t have a hull fortified with the strength of persistence. Your ship was thin and unprepared for the journey. You lacked provisions and the life jackets of faith and friends. You couldn’t take the wheel and steer because you lost focus in a fog of the opinions of others. And so your dreams sank and the treasure of who you really are went with them. But you survived; determined to find a way. You screamed a prayer to the endless sky. And then a hand reached down as you floated on a piece of drift wood. It brought you on board a strange ship made of clouds, and after you were rested a Voice said, “It’s time. We must dive below and find your buried treasure.” You looked to see who was speaking, but the Light was too dazzling to get a clear vision. So you dove into the water, but you did not go alone. You had a life line and a guide. Into the dark waters that seemed to stretch forever, where it seemed nothing could be found, you dove, casting your nets. Sure enough, you found the treasure box. It was nestled in a reef surrounded by the blank-eyed sharks of shame and the many-toothed barracudas of resentment. You began pulling it towards you, and with the help of your Guide you brought the treasure box to the surface. Once safely on board, you brushed away the barnacles of self-criticism and the sea weed of lethargy, and you lifted the lid. Light poured out. Inside were your dreams, your talents, and the gifts of your spirit. Lavish and dripping with riches, your “self” shined in the sun. As you ran your hands through the gifts you have, you heard a Voice, both strange and familiar. It said: “You must go. You must find a harbor and make port. You must take these treasures and share them. A village is waiting. You must give them away or you will lose them again. And the next time the doubts come, and the fear, keep moving, let your dreams steer you. You can trust their course.” And when you looked up from your treasure box to thank the keeper of the Voice, your eyes adjusted to the light reflecting off the waves, and you saw you were surrounded by an entire crew of angels, each one waiting for your orders, for you were the Captain. The Voice had streamed into your heart the moment you prayed, and when you dove into the darkness and accepted the gifts of who you really are–Your True Voice surfaced–the Captain of your soul–the song of Your Heart’s Desire.
Nestled after the “re” in “repetition,” is the word, “petition.” A petition is a prayer, and comes from the Latin, “petere,” meaning “to seek, or go forward.” Interestingly the base of the Latin word “petere,” can be traced back to the Sanskrit word, “patram,” meaning “wing or feather.” And it this definition which will inform the following story.
“Open your heart,” said the child walking alongside the old man. “How?” asked the old man. “Repetition,” said the child. “Repetition?” said the old man, “Of what?” “Your deepest love,” replied the child, “Let what you love the most be ever on your lips, ever on your heart, ever repeated, ever ruminated over, ever caressed within you. Let what you love be your prayer of the heart. Turn the name of what you love over and over in your mind, in your heart, with every step, with every breath, and soar.” The old man was silent for a long time as the two of them walked through a flock of birds that went scattering into the sky as they passed. At last he asked the child: “What do you repeat over and over?” “We all have our own loves,” said the child, “try not to get caught up in rules. Find what you love and repeat its name over and over.” “But what if I do not love anything?” “That is a lie,” said the child, “Search within yourself. What you love is there waiting for you to call its name.” “I am afraid,” said the old man. “That is why you can’t see what you love,” said the child. “What should I do?” “Should?” said the child as he turned and looked up at the old man. “What do you want?” Tears welled in the old man’s eyes and finally, voice trembling, he uttered, “Peace. I want peace.” “Then let that be your petition, your prayer,” said the child taking the old man’s hand. And as the old man began repeating the word “peace,” over and over, his heart opened, and his prayer took wing and lifted him, carried him directly to the very Heart of Peace Itself.
She fell asleep surrounded by books, writing her dreams in a journal. She awoke to water lapping at her bed. Her room now stretched around her as a dark and roiling sea. The horizon disappeared in a mist that slithered in from the descending sky. Her bed bobbed and tipped from side to side. Refusing to give up she grabbed her journal and began using it as a paddle. She rowed with the strength of her dreams unsure where she was going. Fear burned within her as she saw the water darken even more—and the darkness moved—something massive, some dark shape shimmered just below the surface. But she kept rowing. Suddenly the darkness leapt from the water—a giant manta ray. And as it rose into the sky, leaping for the moon, a white flower, limp, but radiant, washed up onto her journal and clung there. She looked down, stunned–land was near. The manta ray plunged back into the water surging her forwards. Renewed by the hope of the little flower that she delicately placed between the pages of her journal, she paddled with her dreams harder than ever. And there, up ahead, an island bloomed into view. The manta ray rose again this time lifting her and her bed clear out of the water. She screamed but then realized it was carrying her towards shore. She laughed. It carried her as if she were riding a magic carpet, right towards land. The manta ray’s wings billowed as the wind rippled through them. She rose unsteadily, and spread her arms to the sky. The wind blew back her hair and she shouted in triumph. She could see the island was a lavish, vibrant paradise of flowers and trees, of crystal pools, and shimmering streams, gardens of vegetables, and orchards of fruits, of grape vines strung across wooden trestles, of fields of golden, waving wheat, of fields of wildflowers praising the Light. She could see someone was standing waiting for her. She could see a circle of angels. And as the manta ray sank, letting her bed settle in the shallow waters, she saw who was waiting, and she stumbled, running towards shore, splashing and weeping. For there, arms open, hair woven with a garland of white flowers, face beaming like the sun, was a child. They embraced as the angels closed the protective circle around them. The manta ray leapt for sheer joy over the island. Everyone cheered. And then she walked, hand in hand with the child, followed by the angels into the gardens where they picked the freshest fruits and had a feast of sweetness, a feast of having conquered her fears, a feast of thanksgiving, a feast of being God’s Wildflowers, a feast of being truly home.