Thursday, August 22, 2019
Thursday, August 24, 2017
Action
::This is a meditation on the nature of self and of happiness written in the early hours of a late summer day in 2017::
It is not that there is a better me waiting to be attained through action; but instead, there is a being whom I have chosen to be in coherence with our seemingly instinctual, primal urge to act; as a means to provide ourselves with experiencing the natural most joyful and best state you can be whilst maintaining that lesser self.
If I am to teach, I would desire only to serve as a conducive, flexible, and fluid resistance against the dominant parts of the student. I would wish to evoke a pressure to redirect your heart and mind to the center that is you- inward, that is you.
Everything about this world that you wish to attach to, or as we see it, add to the repertoire of our personality- It is that very thing which pushed us away from that center, from our innermost and best selves.
But it is a consuming spiral; the image most appropriate and remarkable, our own galaxy- its extremities are spiraling into the center of it all. This vacuum resistance propelling us, curving us from being straight and outward in our direction, in our purpose, in our imagination, and now changing that direction back inward for the purpose to fulfill the need to know the self, to find and be the self, the ultimate self you aspire to be.
The smallest bits of us that surrender into the self, into the center, spiraling across the edge and slowly devoured into nothingness. A tunnel of fictitious waste disintegrating an immeasurable mass at each moment.
The smallest stars, smaller than our own, as forgotten dreams. Waiting and wasted of its power, for a yet brighter star, a yet bigger, to believe that there is a greater life to be achieved by a larger source of the same light. The smaller ones are filled with pressure and tension and gravity and its all so very uncomfortable to imply you could survive on such fanatical ideas. So the bigger stars, they're easy to see, they cover more ground, leaving you enough room for safety. Enough of a guarantee that you won't tend to anything less, and it becomes dust all the same and all instantaneously as the power of love is removed from it.
These bigger notions, on the farthest reaches of the universe, as a firework bursting in the air and light is rocketing out in all directions, straight and outward, filled with pride and vigor. But a fire that burns for an eternity, that expands constantly, that becomes more and more endlessly. This fire containing all that is suddenly realizes that in order to be more of itself, it must be less. Lighten the load. Let some of the debris settle off and its ember be snuffed out by the vacuum of space. Then comes the curve, the realizing of self, the realizing of truth, the becoming of self. Curves and curves until its pointing inward and realizing that it was always what it wanted to be. There was nothing ever to achieve.
The liberty conceived of such imaginings of how it is, makes for an almost tribal beckoning to detach from the world. It is not a notion or practice of a better person. It is not the outcome of long term dedication. It is not even something one can hold with them as an ideology if they are to detach from this world; the ideology that our truest selves are not of this physical dimension.
So to imagine that the best part of you, who is waiting for you to realize itself, cannot be achieved by acting in this world. Many lesser and functional and successful versions can arise as mediators for bringing the higher self into the environment of the lesser self. And it can very well seem as though you have made out with everything you wanted, yet it remains still that you are maintaining a lesser self whose disguise physically mimics that intangible ideology of the highest self.
Knowing this, I have considered that only non-physical experiences can come close to the truth of a self that is non-physical; whether next best or the best. Emotions are largely non-physical, the small fraction of its physicality is portrayed through expressions of those emotions like crying or yelling. So that larger, non-physical part, is what I'll focus on, as opposed to feeling justified in any spontaneous expression of those sudden emotions.
Much like in my tendency to give 100% attention to the expression of the emotion, rather then the emotion itself, I am always shy of the win. Nevertheless, I try and try again, reaching to enrich my life endlessly, by hoping to achieve an emotional and mental balance through physical means.
In other words; when I want a fuller and richer experience, I am sure that my then established state of mind and emotion are the result of and the goal of the preceding action, when in fact they are operate and essential systems in producing the end result.
To say differently, you cannot involve yourself in a situation without including your emotional and mental states AS PLAYING FACTORS in the outcome of your actions. You cannot exclude your state of mind and emotion from contributing tremendously to the result of your decisions.
So with this in mind; the fact that my emotions and my mental state is readily and tremendously involved in the outcome of my actions, of my decisions- what shall I do next? Will the next decision I make come from a state of need, of lack, saying 'I don't feel well so, I'll go and get some ice cream and I'll feel a little better, a little uplifted'? or will we align our emotions and thoughts differently and say, from a state of preemptive joy 'today has been a great day, let's top it off with some ice cream'?
This fundamental understanding will facilitate, will breed, will exude well being for you in your life.
When I begin to apply my emotion and mental state into my decision making, I will find my own logic cannot convince me to make a decision that I don't feel good about making. I find that my own, possibly strict, set of values and beliefs will somehow have some wiggle room to make for an easier process in producing outcomes. The experience comes of feeling good before making a decision.
It is in this way, we can achieve a state that is more natural and therefore more joyful, and so liberated, simply by willing ourselves into a higher emotional state, as opposed to a higher physical accomplishment.
It is then that our actions are not made to gain anything from their playing out. There is simply an expression of your natural self into the physical world. There is no emotional dependence on those physical accomplishments, be in the form of a important title or a home with a family. Yet at the same time, those dreams we once attached to will play themselves out in our lives. We will get to experience those dreams unhindered from the state of our natural selves.
The action of experiencing your dreams, the action of what it takes to play your part, comes as a result, an effortless result, of aligning with your higher self through higher states of emotion.
That which you will not affirm as true of yourself can never be realized by you for that attitude alone is the necessary condition by which you realize your goal.
- Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness
It is not that there is a better me waiting to be attained through action; but instead, there is a being whom I have chosen to be in coherence with our seemingly instinctual, primal urge to act; as a means to provide ourselves with experiencing the natural most joyful and best state you can be whilst maintaining that lesser self.
If I am to teach, I would desire only to serve as a conducive, flexible, and fluid resistance against the dominant parts of the student. I would wish to evoke a pressure to redirect your heart and mind to the center that is you- inward, that is you.
Everything about this world that you wish to attach to, or as we see it, add to the repertoire of our personality- It is that very thing which pushed us away from that center, from our innermost and best selves.
But it is a consuming spiral; the image most appropriate and remarkable, our own galaxy- its extremities are spiraling into the center of it all. This vacuum resistance propelling us, curving us from being straight and outward in our direction, in our purpose, in our imagination, and now changing that direction back inward for the purpose to fulfill the need to know the self, to find and be the self, the ultimate self you aspire to be.
The smallest bits of us that surrender into the self, into the center, spiraling across the edge and slowly devoured into nothingness. A tunnel of fictitious waste disintegrating an immeasurable mass at each moment.
The smallest stars, smaller than our own, as forgotten dreams. Waiting and wasted of its power, for a yet brighter star, a yet bigger, to believe that there is a greater life to be achieved by a larger source of the same light. The smaller ones are filled with pressure and tension and gravity and its all so very uncomfortable to imply you could survive on such fanatical ideas. So the bigger stars, they're easy to see, they cover more ground, leaving you enough room for safety. Enough of a guarantee that you won't tend to anything less, and it becomes dust all the same and all instantaneously as the power of love is removed from it.
These bigger notions, on the farthest reaches of the universe, as a firework bursting in the air and light is rocketing out in all directions, straight and outward, filled with pride and vigor. But a fire that burns for an eternity, that expands constantly, that becomes more and more endlessly. This fire containing all that is suddenly realizes that in order to be more of itself, it must be less. Lighten the load. Let some of the debris settle off and its ember be snuffed out by the vacuum of space. Then comes the curve, the realizing of self, the realizing of truth, the becoming of self. Curves and curves until its pointing inward and realizing that it was always what it wanted to be. There was nothing ever to achieve.
The liberty conceived of such imaginings of how it is, makes for an almost tribal beckoning to detach from the world. It is not a notion or practice of a better person. It is not the outcome of long term dedication. It is not even something one can hold with them as an ideology if they are to detach from this world; the ideology that our truest selves are not of this physical dimension.
So to imagine that the best part of you, who is waiting for you to realize itself, cannot be achieved by acting in this world. Many lesser and functional and successful versions can arise as mediators for bringing the higher self into the environment of the lesser self. And it can very well seem as though you have made out with everything you wanted, yet it remains still that you are maintaining a lesser self whose disguise physically mimics that intangible ideology of the highest self.
Knowing this, I have considered that only non-physical experiences can come close to the truth of a self that is non-physical; whether next best or the best. Emotions are largely non-physical, the small fraction of its physicality is portrayed through expressions of those emotions like crying or yelling. So that larger, non-physical part, is what I'll focus on, as opposed to feeling justified in any spontaneous expression of those sudden emotions.
Much like in my tendency to give 100% attention to the expression of the emotion, rather then the emotion itself, I am always shy of the win. Nevertheless, I try and try again, reaching to enrich my life endlessly, by hoping to achieve an emotional and mental balance through physical means.
In other words; when I want a fuller and richer experience, I am sure that my then established state of mind and emotion are the result of and the goal of the preceding action, when in fact they are operate and essential systems in producing the end result.
To say differently, you cannot involve yourself in a situation without including your emotional and mental states AS PLAYING FACTORS in the outcome of your actions. You cannot exclude your state of mind and emotion from contributing tremendously to the result of your decisions.
So with this in mind; the fact that my emotions and my mental state is readily and tremendously involved in the outcome of my actions, of my decisions- what shall I do next? Will the next decision I make come from a state of need, of lack, saying 'I don't feel well so, I'll go and get some ice cream and I'll feel a little better, a little uplifted'? or will we align our emotions and thoughts differently and say, from a state of preemptive joy 'today has been a great day, let's top it off with some ice cream'?
This fundamental understanding will facilitate, will breed, will exude well being for you in your life.
When I begin to apply my emotion and mental state into my decision making, I will find my own logic cannot convince me to make a decision that I don't feel good about making. I find that my own, possibly strict, set of values and beliefs will somehow have some wiggle room to make for an easier process in producing outcomes. The experience comes of feeling good before making a decision.
It is in this way, we can achieve a state that is more natural and therefore more joyful, and so liberated, simply by willing ourselves into a higher emotional state, as opposed to a higher physical accomplishment.
It is then that our actions are not made to gain anything from their playing out. There is simply an expression of your natural self into the physical world. There is no emotional dependence on those physical accomplishments, be in the form of a important title or a home with a family. Yet at the same time, those dreams we once attached to will play themselves out in our lives. We will get to experience those dreams unhindered from the state of our natural selves.
The action of experiencing your dreams, the action of what it takes to play your part, comes as a result, an effortless result, of aligning with your higher self through higher states of emotion.
That which you will not affirm as true of yourself can never be realized by you for that attitude alone is the necessary condition by which you realize your goal.
- Neville Goddard, The Power of Awareness
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
The Pain and Pleasure of Love
This is me, now.
I'm writing this in the early morning of January 17th of the year 2017.
There is little I could explain at the moment with proper language, but my hope, albeit detrimental, is to lose myself in the typing and somehow formulate the correct variation of words amounting to something of comprehensible diction. This isn't written for the purpose of leaving impressions or provoking thought, which are synonymous to the more common agenda of these readings; no, this, as formerly mentioned, is me. The me which, after revising these words and as you read them, will be something entirely different, yet tires still from remaining reticent.
For as long as I can recall, it has been of urgent importance to protect my true self. The self, which I know very well, but remains hidden to each and all persons I have ever come in proximity to, save the corners of my own mind, and the bathroom mirror. This self, which I know very well, but have little understanding of. The self, lingering, docile, so as to not disturb the lower being which I identify with and carry forth into the interaction with and the experience for others. This self, which reveals the truth of all things before me, until the lower being in my ownership dampens the astonishment of, with a severe level of denial in order to keep on it's own game.
The game of life, of survival, of success, of failure. The constant battle between myself and this lowest form of forms - the doing, the building, the creating, the destroying, the falling, the scraping of knees, the stubbing of toes, the inevitable rising, the growing, the grace, the despair, the loneliness, the drowning, the flying, the solitude, the halfheartedness, the yearning, the necessities, the nonchalance, the anxiety, the infatuations, the orgasms, the consumption, the wastefulness, the mercy, the morals, the vices, the unending boredom, the intolerable stupidity, the unlimited variance of distraction, the readied cannons of opinion firing at whim, the overwhelming lack of consideration, the complete eradication of compassion, the trembling wake of human indecency, the absolute, the ultimate, the love for every bit of it.
Love and all it's curves and facets and corners and scars.
Love and all it's hate and glory and pride and envy.
Love and all it's birth and death.
This is me, and my lowest self called Love. Here and now, I await your arrival, in patient regard for the distance of our very hearts to lessen. Not in the diluted sense of distance apart from one another, but the difference in volume measured between the particles of air and matter. As the distance lessens, you, my love, become greater, in all sense of the word. As the distance lessens, you may consider the experience quite expansive, and yet becoming rapidly less of yourself. This is not losing yourself, it is not losing me, love. It is becoming. Becoming in such a fashion that you are broken, shattered, defiled, punctured, sunken, exiled, marred, worn, abandoned, utterly destroyed a billion times over and eternally still, all in the name of yourself, love.
For here I stand, on a floor which isn't there, waiting in a place with no time, thinking of you without a mind, craving your touch without a body, hungering for your taste without a tongue. I wish to sing for you, yet I have no voice. I wish to dance with you, yet have no feet. I wish to give you everything you've ever wanted, yet have nothing to consider giving. There is nothing I can give; at least nothing you could hold in your hands, and it breaks my heart, though there is no heart for this body, and no body in my possession.
What I would give to have you again; what I would take.
What retched discrimination, an almost aspired willingness to self-degradation. Feeble minded cowards wandering along with not a inkling towards what horrors might manifest through their hearts. Wasted, gorgeously wasted sentiment, beautiful memories molding over, precious little value contained in the grandest and most worshiped of ideologies, such magnificent complexities over the simplest of notions, infinitesimal capability of sight pressed into a grand miracle of just a few colors.
I despise this waiting, love. I can no longer stand this anticipation. If I must wait any longer for you to look up and see me...
I have not even the states of consciousness to perceive such anticipation, yet I feel it. I have not even the awareness to feel, yet I am here, aching. The aching, the aching, the aching, such dreadful aching.
Love.
Love. Love. Love.
Why must you keep me, love?
Why would I even tread on the false hope that you might hear even the loudest of utterances from my lips?
Can you not hear me because I have no voice? Do you avoid me because you cannot recognize me as your own? Why should I bother even asking these questions? What foolishness I have undertaken just to cope with your absence. I might admit I have succumb to these foul human behaviors of yours in attempt to become even slightly more transparent to your ever sinuous attention. Should I aim to amaze? What little that even means to you; I might as well be a leaf decayed, blowing across pavement just below your feet. There I might be noticed.
Though there are moments - seemingly lifetimes - when I am the one who is astonished; when I am overflowing with admiration, with unhindered occupation of your unbridled assimilation. The freedom in it, which I scarcely might assume that you see. Your gracious modesty in the remnants of forgotten wisdom. Come now, like you don't already know.
Though, your performance is taking the best of you. I see, at times, when you let it go; when you take a moment outside the mansion, away from the masquerade. When your eyes glance through the wall, through the floor; staring ever deeper. I see, at times, the release, the burden lightening. The ascension, I believe you call it. The broadening of you, love.
That is me. It is me you look towards, yet do not see. When lost in a story, when trying to remember last nights dream, the sensations sparking through you when you hear your favorite song, when indulging in the naked body of another being, when blushing over an uninvited gander into your vulnerable self, when mulling over a new idea, when catching your breathe from an epiphany, when recovering from the adrenaline of an accomplished feat; the things that keep you focused on the game.
That is me, love. Despite my selfish bantering, I dare not influence the course of an indomitable force. I could never consider myself worthy of you if I had even the thought of taking away that which keeps you alive, love. Even the suffering which you so insistently necessitate for rounding out your experience. Though I watch you and fret for lack of a gentle hand to wipe your tears, I know you ache to suffer like I ache to please you.
Can't you see it? How much you love it? How much you love?
Can't you see how much you already are?
I could be so bold to say that I am becoming more like you everyday, when all this time I though it would be you coming to me. I could be wrong, but does not my doubt provide proof? It could be that you have accelerated further than I expected. I am not surprised that you would exceed all contemplated trajectories of your evolution, as you might call it. In my doubt, half ready to surrender in permanent isolation, I should have thought better of you.
I will still wait for you, and resume captivation whilst you continue on, falling again to feel the grandiosity of the rise, so that you can again feel the drama of the fall. I will continue my observation, searching for the next lesson you provide, whatever may bring me closer to understanding, closer to being, closer to touching. Silly me, and completely you, love.
The most majestic beast I have ever encountered, my lowest self.
I'm writing this in the early morning of January 17th of the year 2017.
There is little I could explain at the moment with proper language, but my hope, albeit detrimental, is to lose myself in the typing and somehow formulate the correct variation of words amounting to something of comprehensible diction. This isn't written for the purpose of leaving impressions or provoking thought, which are synonymous to the more common agenda of these readings; no, this, as formerly mentioned, is me. The me which, after revising these words and as you read them, will be something entirely different, yet tires still from remaining reticent.
For as long as I can recall, it has been of urgent importance to protect my true self. The self, which I know very well, but remains hidden to each and all persons I have ever come in proximity to, save the corners of my own mind, and the bathroom mirror. This self, which I know very well, but have little understanding of. The self, lingering, docile, so as to not disturb the lower being which I identify with and carry forth into the interaction with and the experience for others. This self, which reveals the truth of all things before me, until the lower being in my ownership dampens the astonishment of, with a severe level of denial in order to keep on it's own game.
The game of life, of survival, of success, of failure. The constant battle between myself and this lowest form of forms - the doing, the building, the creating, the destroying, the falling, the scraping of knees, the stubbing of toes, the inevitable rising, the growing, the grace, the despair, the loneliness, the drowning, the flying, the solitude, the halfheartedness, the yearning, the necessities, the nonchalance, the anxiety, the infatuations, the orgasms, the consumption, the wastefulness, the mercy, the morals, the vices, the unending boredom, the intolerable stupidity, the unlimited variance of distraction, the readied cannons of opinion firing at whim, the overwhelming lack of consideration, the complete eradication of compassion, the trembling wake of human indecency, the absolute, the ultimate, the love for every bit of it.
Love and all it's curves and facets and corners and scars.
Love and all it's hate and glory and pride and envy.
Love and all it's birth and death.
This is me, and my lowest self called Love. Here and now, I await your arrival, in patient regard for the distance of our very hearts to lessen. Not in the diluted sense of distance apart from one another, but the difference in volume measured between the particles of air and matter. As the distance lessens, you, my love, become greater, in all sense of the word. As the distance lessens, you may consider the experience quite expansive, and yet becoming rapidly less of yourself. This is not losing yourself, it is not losing me, love. It is becoming. Becoming in such a fashion that you are broken, shattered, defiled, punctured, sunken, exiled, marred, worn, abandoned, utterly destroyed a billion times over and eternally still, all in the name of yourself, love.
For here I stand, on a floor which isn't there, waiting in a place with no time, thinking of you without a mind, craving your touch without a body, hungering for your taste without a tongue. I wish to sing for you, yet I have no voice. I wish to dance with you, yet have no feet. I wish to give you everything you've ever wanted, yet have nothing to consider giving. There is nothing I can give; at least nothing you could hold in your hands, and it breaks my heart, though there is no heart for this body, and no body in my possession.
What I would give to have you again; what I would take.
What retched discrimination, an almost aspired willingness to self-degradation. Feeble minded cowards wandering along with not a inkling towards what horrors might manifest through their hearts. Wasted, gorgeously wasted sentiment, beautiful memories molding over, precious little value contained in the grandest and most worshiped of ideologies, such magnificent complexities over the simplest of notions, infinitesimal capability of sight pressed into a grand miracle of just a few colors.
I despise this waiting, love. I can no longer stand this anticipation. If I must wait any longer for you to look up and see me...
I have not even the states of consciousness to perceive such anticipation, yet I feel it. I have not even the awareness to feel, yet I am here, aching. The aching, the aching, the aching, such dreadful aching.
Love.
Love. Love. Love.
Why must you keep me, love?
Why would I even tread on the false hope that you might hear even the loudest of utterances from my lips?
Can you not hear me because I have no voice? Do you avoid me because you cannot recognize me as your own? Why should I bother even asking these questions? What foolishness I have undertaken just to cope with your absence. I might admit I have succumb to these foul human behaviors of yours in attempt to become even slightly more transparent to your ever sinuous attention. Should I aim to amaze? What little that even means to you; I might as well be a leaf decayed, blowing across pavement just below your feet. There I might be noticed.
Though there are moments - seemingly lifetimes - when I am the one who is astonished; when I am overflowing with admiration, with unhindered occupation of your unbridled assimilation. The freedom in it, which I scarcely might assume that you see. Your gracious modesty in the remnants of forgotten wisdom. Come now, like you don't already know.
Though, your performance is taking the best of you. I see, at times, when you let it go; when you take a moment outside the mansion, away from the masquerade. When your eyes glance through the wall, through the floor; staring ever deeper. I see, at times, the release, the burden lightening. The ascension, I believe you call it. The broadening of you, love.
That is me. It is me you look towards, yet do not see. When lost in a story, when trying to remember last nights dream, the sensations sparking through you when you hear your favorite song, when indulging in the naked body of another being, when blushing over an uninvited gander into your vulnerable self, when mulling over a new idea, when catching your breathe from an epiphany, when recovering from the adrenaline of an accomplished feat; the things that keep you focused on the game.
That is me, love. Despite my selfish bantering, I dare not influence the course of an indomitable force. I could never consider myself worthy of you if I had even the thought of taking away that which keeps you alive, love. Even the suffering which you so insistently necessitate for rounding out your experience. Though I watch you and fret for lack of a gentle hand to wipe your tears, I know you ache to suffer like I ache to please you.
Can't you see it? How much you love it? How much you love?
Can't you see how much you already are?
I could be so bold to say that I am becoming more like you everyday, when all this time I though it would be you coming to me. I could be wrong, but does not my doubt provide proof? It could be that you have accelerated further than I expected. I am not surprised that you would exceed all contemplated trajectories of your evolution, as you might call it. In my doubt, half ready to surrender in permanent isolation, I should have thought better of you.
I will still wait for you, and resume captivation whilst you continue on, falling again to feel the grandiosity of the rise, so that you can again feel the drama of the fall. I will continue my observation, searching for the next lesson you provide, whatever may bring me closer to understanding, closer to being, closer to touching. Silly me, and completely you, love.
The most majestic beast I have ever encountered, my lowest self.
Tuesday, September 27, 2016
For a Friend
::This is a Letter written in fall of 2016::
Dear _______,
Fear not, O Savior of Light, for as certain as the suns rays reach our windows on its rising, so too shall your greatest asset to mankind rise above your obstacles and hindrances; and though it may fall, you can have faith it will rise again.
Dread not, O Bearer of Seasons, for as surely as the trees shed in the fall, so do your greatest fears fall from you; and surely as the trees bud in the spring, so will you fulfill your greatest desires.
Delay not, O Pauper of Time, for as doubtful as the brook might be, it always finds its way to the ocean.
Tremble not, O Sanctum of Love, though dust and debris may turn your waters grey and dark, you're stillness begets allowance for what is restless to rest.
Flee not, O Triumph of Kings, for as surely as the stem spirals upward so that its flower can meet the sun, so too shall you meet again that which frightens you to your depths.
Forget not, O Mansion of Arts, lest remembrance fill your heart with sorrow, for the delightful fly finds it's filth quite becoming.
Hope not, O Masquerade of Life, for darkness could not be seen save amidst the light.
Fear not, Old Friend, for these things I say unto you as a favor you once asked of me.
Sincerely,
Yours
Dear _______,
Fear not, O Savior of Light, for as certain as the suns rays reach our windows on its rising, so too shall your greatest asset to mankind rise above your obstacles and hindrances; and though it may fall, you can have faith it will rise again.
Dread not, O Bearer of Seasons, for as surely as the trees shed in the fall, so do your greatest fears fall from you; and surely as the trees bud in the spring, so will you fulfill your greatest desires.
Delay not, O Pauper of Time, for as doubtful as the brook might be, it always finds its way to the ocean.
Tremble not, O Sanctum of Love, though dust and debris may turn your waters grey and dark, you're stillness begets allowance for what is restless to rest.
Flee not, O Triumph of Kings, for as surely as the stem spirals upward so that its flower can meet the sun, so too shall you meet again that which frightens you to your depths.
Forget not, O Mansion of Arts, lest remembrance fill your heart with sorrow, for the delightful fly finds it's filth quite becoming.
Hope not, O Masquerade of Life, for darkness could not be seen save amidst the light.
Fear not, Old Friend, for these things I say unto you as a favor you once asked of me.
Sincerely,
Yours
Sunday, August 21, 2016
Imagine That
::This is a theory written in the winter of 2015, edited and revised in the late summer of 2016::
The big bang never happened, but rather, a single particle in the vast emptiness of space simply took an inward look at itself, and discovered the universe. No explosions, no expanding mosaic of burning debris, no eventual reversion into the void.
Lets take a step back here and clear up a few things that make this seem too far-fetched.
This theory is posed with the understanding - or belief if you choose to see it that way - that there is a collective conscious, an absolute awareness that resides within all things, animate or inanimate, with sensation or without, with sentience or without. This consciousness cannot be destroyed, nor created. It cannot die, nor can it be born. It has no form, and at the same time, it is all forms.
The smallest perceivable particle has within it the same infinitesimal magnitude of what we consider to be the universe, including the absolute awareness that is within all things.
This absolute awareness, for the sake of measure, is all knowing and all powerful.
With all of this in mind, allow me to paint a picture; an impractically practical moving picture at that:
Take a particle of dust, give it the ability to see, and place it billions of light years out beyond our perceivable universe. If you were looking, through the eyes of this particle, towards the center of our universe, about all you would see is a solitary beautifully vibrant star. You wouldn't know of the goings on until you got up close. So there would be a great magnification, almost a penetration, as opposed to an exploding expansion of the universe.
In contrast to common understanding, this one curious little particle has no bounds, and no limitations. It has none because it knows nothing more than to be itself. Unbounded, in what would seem like instantaneous, this particle has found himself among an immeasurable amount of particles just like it, all taking shapes and putting on acts together.
I would imagine that this particle had no inclination to think of how far away that star was, or how long it would take to get there. Despite being billions of light years out from the edges of the known universe, its voyage lasted no more than a hundredth of a second. Is velocity is so grand that it would seem as if an explosion had occurred, and countless galaxies were spread all around it. Its speed is so grand that the sound of taking such an action could very well be considered an explosion, or an enormous clap of thunder.
Got all that?
Now, consider yourself this particle, caught in a complex array of patterned movements among hundreds of billions of other particles, suddenly realizing its individuality. Realize you are not alone in this space, although you have an experience different from the others, specifically in your origin; to which you are not entirely sure of, but nonetheless, overwhelmingly curious.
You ask another what they're doing, why they're doing it, where they came from, and you've stumped them. They haven't an answer that satisfies you, but they say "I don't know, but I know what to do, so I'm doing it."
You ask, "Well, what is it that you know, then?"
They reply, "I know I'm here, and that I just have to be here."
"So you have no recollection of where you began?" You might ask.
"No need for it," it may reply.
"...And no understanding of why you are here?" You might ask.
"No need for it." it may reply.
To your fascination, mixed with frustration, you begin to laugh. Everything around you seems to intricate and organized yet underneath it is all quite vague and aimless.
"Fair enough," you might conclude, and with curiosity still yearning to be quenched, you continue on into the pattern, and let it take you, in hopes of gaining some understanding of it through your experience.
Centuries, millenniums, eons pass and you still haven't the slightest idea why it is you do what you do, but still you find yourself doing it, and masterfully from day one. You've had conversations with many others about what it all meant, what the end game was, and everyone seemed to have vague understandings with subtle differences, but you could tell they were just as unsure of it themselves; some of them got upset with you too, and it disrupted the pattern they followed, but they eventually got back on track once left alone.
Then you come to a point where the pattern makes a drastic change. You get caught up into a whole different pattern, moving faster, taking sharper turns, and it took some getting used to, but you got the hang of it.
Then it changes again, and again, and again, and you begin to become weary, and distant, and long for what was. You wish again to experience that vastness of which you could glance over at that shimmering star that you've found animosity towards, and just admire it.
A great pressure comes over you, and you aren't sure what to do about it. But with faith, you push through. you press on because you're sure that there is a reason for it all. You have to believe in something, otherwise, everything you've done is pointless; you're whole life is meaningless. So you keep going, because you'd rather believe. It becomes a choice to believe - to have faith - because without it, you'd be just as unsure as everyone else, and that might drive you crazy. You're existence would be vague and insignificant; unsupported.
You carry on and find yourself in a conversation with what seems to be a well adjusted, relatively evolved particle.
"Do you know what it is you're doing?" You might ask.
"I suppose so," it might reply.
"Do you know why you do it? Are you aware that you are doing it, separate from everyone else?"
"Separate?"
"Yes, are you aware of that?"
"More than most, I would say," he replies, he might chuckle to himself a bit.
"How so?"
"I know the extent of my own understanding, which is short at best."
"Can you elaborate?" You might ask.
"Well, we only perceive so much of what there is without effort, that is to say, it might be possible to understand more with effort; but all I know is what I know, and that's what I do. I see no need to exert effort that's unwarranted. Unlike you, you seem to be putting in a lot of effort," it may reply.
"What more could you know that the rest of us don't? How much more do you know about the self? What can you say that we don't already know ourselves?"
"I don't believe you can be more aware of yourself, but certainly less aware. I would say that, to be self-aware would suggest that you are something other than yourself," it might reply.
You don't exactly understand it, but you take his word for it and contemplate its meaning. To be something other than me, if this is certain, certainly makes all of my efforts pointless, if they are not for my own benefit. And if not for mine, than for who's? Could I be a slave in a grander scheme, stuck in a perpetuation of energy for a purpose beyond my comprehension? Now all this will definitely make me crazy. I aught to just go with the flow here, and stop thinking so much. But...
The weight of this possibility - of snapping, of cracking up, of it all being nothing - grows heavier, and heavier. The thought of it seems to be making it worse. You begin to panic, push your way through the pattern, against the current, then with the current, against the current, with the current, and you stop.
This is it, you've finally gone mad. You've given up. You realize you are meaningless, like everyone else around you. You've accepted it. The questions and yearnings fall away from you, and you are empty. Your eyes are closed. You are still.
Then...
You feel something.
Something familiar.
A spaciousness.
A vastness.
The gravity lets up, and you are light again.
You feel weightless, and at last, you feel content; satisfied.
An elation lifts you up again, and that familiarity becomes a certainty. You are finally free from all that nonsense. You're finally back where you began. Quiet, serene, and alone.
You open your eyes, and find yourself still among the particles, whom have taken still more complicated patterns, and you're right in the thick of it, flowing along, without any resistance. You're peace doesn't waver. In fact, you're just watching it happen. You watch and you see that is all anyone is doing, is watching themselves be carried along. You're all carried together around and around, and you watch it all carry on.
You watch it all eventually slow down, the patterns become simpler, the particles begin to grow further apart. It might have been another century, another eon, it doesn't matter to you at this point, you're just along for the ride. You know just to be there, and it's OK.
You find yourself so settled, so together, that you felt it certain that you must look outward from the decaying patterns. As you look out, you happen to notice a solitary beautifully vibrant star.
How funny, you thought. You're back at the beginning. You look around you and find yourself alone. Complete darkness, absolute emptiness surrounds you, except for that star, way out there in the distance.
Then, for a moment you hesitate, and here you watch your individuality slip away from you.
'...to be self-aware, suggests that you are something other than yourself...' you recall. Could it be that all things in existence are made of of our-self?
'Treat others as you want to be treated', 'respect the beliefs and cultures of others', 'respect the material and nature', all points back to you. Most of all, 'Love Yourself'; pointing to you. All the same principle. It all points to the self, the physical being, the mental projection of the imagination of the self. Thousands of trillions of tiny particles are all around you and are you, all pressed together, patiently waiting until they can again break free; but they wont, because there is something other that your individual self that keeps it all together, that keeps it all going. Something that quietly resides within you, shining like a distant star.
You come to understand that it is not that you are an individual among others, but that you are indivisible from all others. It's not that there were others at all; there weren't any other particles in the way, hindering you, frustrating you, angering you, depressing you. There was a means to better understand yourself. There was an infinite amount of uncertainties that you needed to play out so you could be sure of who you are.
You finally come to realize that you had not found a universe out there, far far away from you, but immeasurable patterns and infinite possibilities deep deep within you. You had found yourself. There was only ever you, and you were only ever there. You understand that it is not as though you are alone, but that you are all one. You are absolute.
You always have been.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
In contrast to common understanding, this one curious little particle has no bounds, and no limitations. It has none because it knows nothing more than to be itself. Unbounded, in what would seem like instantaneous, this particle has found himself among an immeasurable amount of particles just like it, all taking shapes and putting on acts together.
I would imagine that this particle had no inclination to think of how far away that star was, or how long it would take to get there. Despite being billions of light years out from the edges of the known universe, its voyage lasted no more than a hundredth of a second. Is velocity is so grand that it would seem as if an explosion had occurred, and countless galaxies were spread all around it. Its speed is so grand that the sound of taking such an action could very well be considered an explosion, or an enormous clap of thunder.
Got all that?
Now, consider yourself this particle, caught in a complex array of patterned movements among hundreds of billions of other particles, suddenly realizing its individuality. Realize you are not alone in this space, although you have an experience different from the others, specifically in your origin; to which you are not entirely sure of, but nonetheless, overwhelmingly curious.
You ask another what they're doing, why they're doing it, where they came from, and you've stumped them. They haven't an answer that satisfies you, but they say "I don't know, but I know what to do, so I'm doing it."
You ask, "Well, what is it that you know, then?"
They reply, "I know I'm here, and that I just have to be here."
"So you have no recollection of where you began?" You might ask.
"No need for it," it may reply.
"...And no understanding of why you are here?" You might ask.
"No need for it." it may reply.
To your fascination, mixed with frustration, you begin to laugh. Everything around you seems to intricate and organized yet underneath it is all quite vague and aimless.
"Fair enough," you might conclude, and with curiosity still yearning to be quenched, you continue on into the pattern, and let it take you, in hopes of gaining some understanding of it through your experience.
Centuries, millenniums, eons pass and you still haven't the slightest idea why it is you do what you do, but still you find yourself doing it, and masterfully from day one. You've had conversations with many others about what it all meant, what the end game was, and everyone seemed to have vague understandings with subtle differences, but you could tell they were just as unsure of it themselves; some of them got upset with you too, and it disrupted the pattern they followed, but they eventually got back on track once left alone.
Then you come to a point where the pattern makes a drastic change. You get caught up into a whole different pattern, moving faster, taking sharper turns, and it took some getting used to, but you got the hang of it.
Then it changes again, and again, and again, and you begin to become weary, and distant, and long for what was. You wish again to experience that vastness of which you could glance over at that shimmering star that you've found animosity towards, and just admire it.
A great pressure comes over you, and you aren't sure what to do about it. But with faith, you push through. you press on because you're sure that there is a reason for it all. You have to believe in something, otherwise, everything you've done is pointless; you're whole life is meaningless. So you keep going, because you'd rather believe. It becomes a choice to believe - to have faith - because without it, you'd be just as unsure as everyone else, and that might drive you crazy. You're existence would be vague and insignificant; unsupported.
You carry on and find yourself in a conversation with what seems to be a well adjusted, relatively evolved particle.
"Do you know what it is you're doing?" You might ask.
"I suppose so," it might reply.
"Do you know why you do it? Are you aware that you are doing it, separate from everyone else?"
"Separate?"
"Yes, are you aware of that?"
"More than most, I would say," he replies, he might chuckle to himself a bit.
"How so?"
"I know the extent of my own understanding, which is short at best."
"Can you elaborate?" You might ask.
"Well, we only perceive so much of what there is without effort, that is to say, it might be possible to understand more with effort; but all I know is what I know, and that's what I do. I see no need to exert effort that's unwarranted. Unlike you, you seem to be putting in a lot of effort," it may reply.
"What more could you know that the rest of us don't? How much more do you know about the self? What can you say that we don't already know ourselves?"
"I don't believe you can be more aware of yourself, but certainly less aware. I would say that, to be self-aware would suggest that you are something other than yourself," it might reply.
You don't exactly understand it, but you take his word for it and contemplate its meaning. To be something other than me, if this is certain, certainly makes all of my efforts pointless, if they are not for my own benefit. And if not for mine, than for who's? Could I be a slave in a grander scheme, stuck in a perpetuation of energy for a purpose beyond my comprehension? Now all this will definitely make me crazy. I aught to just go with the flow here, and stop thinking so much. But...
The weight of this possibility - of snapping, of cracking up, of it all being nothing - grows heavier, and heavier. The thought of it seems to be making it worse. You begin to panic, push your way through the pattern, against the current, then with the current, against the current, with the current, and you stop.
This is it, you've finally gone mad. You've given up. You realize you are meaningless, like everyone else around you. You've accepted it. The questions and yearnings fall away from you, and you are empty. Your eyes are closed. You are still.
Then...
You feel something.
Something familiar.
A spaciousness.
A vastness.
The gravity lets up, and you are light again.
You feel weightless, and at last, you feel content; satisfied.
An elation lifts you up again, and that familiarity becomes a certainty. You are finally free from all that nonsense. You're finally back where you began. Quiet, serene, and alone.
You open your eyes, and find yourself still among the particles, whom have taken still more complicated patterns, and you're right in the thick of it, flowing along, without any resistance. You're peace doesn't waver. In fact, you're just watching it happen. You watch and you see that is all anyone is doing, is watching themselves be carried along. You're all carried together around and around, and you watch it all carry on.
You watch it all eventually slow down, the patterns become simpler, the particles begin to grow further apart. It might have been another century, another eon, it doesn't matter to you at this point, you're just along for the ride. You know just to be there, and it's OK.
You find yourself so settled, so together, that you felt it certain that you must look outward from the decaying patterns. As you look out, you happen to notice a solitary beautifully vibrant star.
How funny, you thought. You're back at the beginning. You look around you and find yourself alone. Complete darkness, absolute emptiness surrounds you, except for that star, way out there in the distance.
Then, for a moment you hesitate, and here you watch your individuality slip away from you.
'...to be self-aware, suggests that you are something other than yourself...' you recall. Could it be that all things in existence are made of of our-self?
'Treat others as you want to be treated', 'respect the beliefs and cultures of others', 'respect the material and nature', all points back to you. Most of all, 'Love Yourself'; pointing to you. All the same principle. It all points to the self, the physical being, the mental projection of the imagination of the self. Thousands of trillions of tiny particles are all around you and are you, all pressed together, patiently waiting until they can again break free; but they wont, because there is something other that your individual self that keeps it all together, that keeps it all going. Something that quietly resides within you, shining like a distant star.
You come to understand that it is not that you are an individual among others, but that you are indivisible from all others. It's not that there were others at all; there weren't any other particles in the way, hindering you, frustrating you, angering you, depressing you. There was a means to better understand yourself. There was an infinite amount of uncertainties that you needed to play out so you could be sure of who you are.
You finally come to realize that you had not found a universe out there, far far away from you, but immeasurable patterns and infinite possibilities deep deep within you. You had found yourself. There was only ever you, and you were only ever there. You understand that it is not as though you are alone, but that you are all one. You are absolute.
You always have been.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
- Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Unconditional Self
:This is a personal revelation founded through years of seeking, written in late summer of 2016:
What if the mind, body, and soul are naturally unconditional? What part, if not the whole, does the ego play in our conditioning?
Much of our lives are conditioned. As a matter of fact, at the core of it, the entirety of our human experience is conditioned. Everything around us in some way has an effect on the way we perceive things, the way we feel about ourselves and each other, what we are afraid of or comfortable with, our environment, the people we spend time with, the things we choose to love and cherish, or the things we choose to hate or ignore.
But in my own understanding of things - what I think or feel about things, and the choices I make - are superficial in themselves. If I am to understand that my brain is limited in its capacity to understand true reality, or God’s reality if you will, then what I see and think isn’t anything close to unconditional.
Consider the idea of what life would be like if we had no language to distinguish what was around us. You could point to a tree, but you wouldn’t know to call it a tree. In this query, what then is it? What exactly is this object? It has a trunk, and branches, green leaves, but for now, we don’t have words for these parts of the whole. So we couldn’t know to consider that the leaves were, in fact, the color green, comparatively to the color red. We couldn’t know to consider the bark on the tree as rough or hard, comparatively to the smooth soft texture of its leaves. What’s more, is that we could only consider that this tree is something we could see, touch, taste, smell, even hear. And even then, we could not describe, without words, that a tree has a texture, has a sound or a vibration, has a smell - but somehow, without the necessity of describing it, we know it is there.
It still exists, physically. It is still perceptible, mentally. But is it understood?
Without the scientific explanation of photosynthesis, would we know that this object is a fountain for our body’s essential energy for living; oxygen? Would we even know we were breathing it? At a deeper level, would we even realize that we were performing the act of breathing?
So my hypothesis is that; our endless need for distinction, for labels, for explanations, for the answers to what and why, just may be the core of our conditioning - and is just as formerly ascribed; endless.
I will often gather information presented to me by various sources, and pick and choose what agrees with my current perception of reality. I will choose my own conception of what God may be, what life is all about, what my purpose is, all based on a feeling. Personally, when I write, I feel a certain way. I feel a fulfillment of myself, an inner spark which carries me to a high that I can’t get any other way. I attribute this feeling as a deeper understanding of myself and what I am meant to do with this life. With this, I consider myself a writer. I call myself a writer, among other things. I am also a musician, a vegetarian, a truth seeker, a good samaritan. As far as personality goes, I am mostly reserved, calm, and positive, but can be selfish and have high expectations of myself and others.
So, in the way we identify with ourselves - with flaws, strengths, skills, likes, and dislikes - and with the way we identify with the rest of the world - with religion, political viewpoint, race, gender, and sexual orientation - where do we find something that is static, something unchanging, something trustworthy?
Is there such a thing?
To use the tree again; when viewing it as a whole - the leaves, the branches, the bark, the trunk, the roots - it has all the qualities of being hard, soft, smooth, and coarse. As the seasons change, the colors of the leaves change. At the right time the leaves will fall to the ground, fertilizing the soil below. As the seasons cycle back again, the leaves grow back, and shine green again, and is restored to what it once was. There is the tree, lively and in the peak of its beauty; comparatively to the idea that it is deathly and ugly when bare.
Over an extended period of time, in the right conditions, the tree will continue to flourish, unharmed. On the other hand, the tree may rot out, and fall down. Yet, surrounding its trunk, there grows smaller, younger trees, miraculously if we had not known that a seed was the cause of it. It is just as well that the fallen tree is used also as nutrients for the soil, a home or food for animals and bugs. Nature lets not a bit of it go to waste.
When seeing all this as a whole - albeit redundant information - with each occurrence, each change, each part, each stimulant of this tree, all at once, without having words to describe the differences of each part or to separate the roots from the leaves, is there any point in which you would find separation from this tree and its stages? Or do the stages of change in it’s cycle hold more truth than the defining of the tree as it applies to the senses? When seeing, only for a moment, and a moment too fast to visually capture the slow but continual changes that occur in this cycle, in any cycle for that matter, is there anything actually true to the reality of this object?
At a deeper level, when even departing with the idea that the tree and its cycle are something other then everything else around it, is there anything truly separating it from the entirety of existence - aside from the defining of it by words and senses?
Is there any point that one could make that says ‘well this here has absolutely nothing to do with this’ and have it hold true to the reality of existence?
I don’t think this would happen. Without conditioning, there would be no separation of things, but an observance of a giant mechanical process; one cog spinning another, one causation putting another into effect - and that the process is being observed is still a part of that process as a whole.
In moments of misunderstanding, I often see myself as separate from this machine - as an observer, or maybe even as someone who may be delegated the duty of maintaining this machine. This too, in any distinction from what I see or hear or experience, is a part of my conditioning. When I choose to misunderstand myself as a separate entity in which I have experiences from - that ‘I see’, that ‘I taste’, that ‘I hear’, that ‘I feel’, that I am ‘here’ and not ‘there’, that I am ‘this’ and not ‘that’ - I set up a personal reality that is the basis for my living experience.
But, without using words to define myself against something else, I will occasionally find myself to be a part of it, and it a part of me. I find that it is not the ‘I’ that separates me from the rest of the world, but, as the ego would have it, how I identify with that ‘I’; how I answer the question ‘who am I?’.
For example, I will at times consider myself inadequate, unsuccessful, unintelligent, worthless, or unimpressive. This creates the belief, which creates the identification of self, that, in comparison to others, they are better than me, that I am not good enough, that others have something I don’t, that I am lacking, that the world may be better off without me. Some would agree that thinking this way is wrong, self-destructive, or unproductive - and some would agree that this thinking is good, self-motivating, or humbling.
On the other hand, I might consider myself intelligent, special, that I have great strength and courage, that I will do great things or have done great things with my life, that people admire and respect me, that I have everything I ever wanted. Some would agree that this is wrong, that I think I’m better than others, that I don’t deserve what I have, that I’m selfish, and prideful, and am only ever out for myself - and some would agree that this is good, that I am an inspiration, that I am compassionate, that I am a prime example of humanity.
Why this is relevant, is because I will sometimes value what others think, being separate from myself, more than what the truth actually is. I am conditioned to agree or disagree with others, with the way things are, to shape my life the way I would like it by choosing from the options given to me. I am conditioned to believe what others tell is right and wrong, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, what is true and what is false. This has nothing to do with actual reality, with actual truth.
But without that conditioning, I find myself, not as one part of a multitude of things within the universe, but as the universe itself - as existence in its entirety. This is the essence of the unconditional self, this is the truth. We find that what we are observing with our senses, seemingly outside of ourselves, is still ourselves. We find that there is nothing that we are not, nothing that we are separate from, nothing that is right or wrong, nothing this is ugly or beautiful. Everything simply is.
At a greater understanding of this, I often find myself looking for reasons to pull the veil back over my eyes. There is an immense gravity of guilt that comes with this understanding. Following that guilt comes a great and overwhelming compassion, both of which cause an amount of suffering that is difficult to handle. Where this guilt and compassion comes from is the death of a now irrelevant point of view, and the birth of a now completely new observance of reality.
Once I had begun observing myself as one brush stroke of a complete painting, I could no longer hold on to many of the opinions I once held. I could no longer make choices I once made. When looking back at many of the choices I’ve made, I had begun to realize how much I had hurt others unintentionally, or in other words, hurt myself. While this understanding is still growing into a way of living, I often question whether or not my choice of words or actions will harm anyone or myself.
To use the tree analogy for this conclusion; we have here this life giving entity, and somewhere in history we decided to utilize this entity for something more that its original purpose. Cut it down, shape and mold it to your liking, form it to a purpose personal to your desires. Build with it, for example, a shelter which you could safely reside in, undisturbed.
This image, now in mind, is but one particular moment in the entire process. At a different angle, let’s say a timeline; eventually this tree, which has been severed from its own source of life, is going to rot away, and will need to be refurbished or replaced.
But here, knowing this truth of all things, we can consider that an entity whose purpose has been disrupted will diminish ungracefully, but left alone, unadulterated, unconditioned, it would grow and flourish continuously. More on topic, the act of destroying any part of existence for any reason, is no different that destroying the self.
With this in mind, I ask you, will you continue life cutting others down, trying to mold them to your liking, force life to work on your terms, reaping everything you can for your own benefit at the expense of others? Will you continue to treat yourself as less than, and diminish your own worth? Will you allow others to cut you down and manipulate you?
What is it you will do now?
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Two Way Letter - Lust
::This is a two way letter to and channeled by the universe, written in Early Spring of 2016. The issue is posed in writing to [a higher self or the universe, whatever you may choose], then, after a brief period of meditation, the answer comes and is responded in writing; on the same paper, with the same pen, in the same hand, but a different consciousness. For lack of a better term to refer to such a state of consciousness without creating any type of prejudice, I will, for all intents and purposes, call it God::
Dear God,
As I continue my life, day to day, I find myself acting on certain defects. At this moment, what might be the strongest is Lust. I've asked previously for you to remove this obsession with sex, for the obsession to be validated, to remove the power which bare skin has over me.
I wish not to run foolishly into another physical relationship and end up harming the other party involved. I do not want to lie and manipulate just to satisfy, be it temporarily, my sexual desires. Certainly, as far as I can understand, the libido is not to easily 'removed'. What can I do to lessen these urges? How can I ensure that I will not act on them? How do I let go of this obsession? How do I surrender to my powerlessness over women? Is it possible to grow to a point where interaction with a woman, clothed or not, does not bare the intention of sexual intercourse?
How do I only see you in them, without seeing a sexual object, or as any type of object, but as the essence of you? How do I see them as unity with you - as no different than I?
-------------------
Dear Michael,
These, of which you would call women, are your companions.
They live by your side, as a part of the human race. They too have the right to live without being subjugated, demoralized, diminished, desecrated. Rather than these things, which you and all others have once done, consecrate them.
Know that in my heart, they, too, serve a divine purpose - they play a role in manifesting heaven unto earth.
Know that within your heart, which is but within mine, lies the same love which is in theirs. The act, or thought, of cherishing anything other than that, is but cherishing a perception which sees them for less than what they are.
These, of which you would call women, are your sisters.
They are of the same blood, the same flesh and bone, the same life essence, which is of me. They are your family, which I am the totality of - the mother, and the father. It is of my flesh, bone, and blood, and of my love, in which you both live.
Know that within your heart, which is but within mine, if you argue that one of you, whether male or female, is less than another, I will be at war with myself.
Know that within my heart, which encompasses all things - which beats only itself, unto itself - that there is no true separation between you, your brothers, and your sisters.
These, of which you would call women, are but yourself in a different form.
They arise into your reality from the same foundation of truth, which is formless. There is no form, no image, no difference between you and any other, except the veils which you consciously place over your own eyes.
Know that within my heart, which is tethered to all life, and of which tethers all life to itself, when you choose to see life as different or less that yourself, then, not only do you deprive that one part of life the blood of which it thrives from - that is of my heart, my blood, my love - but you deprive yourself of the same - my heart, my blood, my love. You are a vein in which my blood flows to the next vital point, keeping the whole system alive.
Know that within your heart, which is but the whole of mine, and within their hearts, which is also the whole of mine, if you see each other as different or less than as I created you, you will be as war with yourselves.
---------------------
Dear God,
As I continue my life, day to day, I find myself acting on certain defects. At this moment, what might be the strongest is Lust. I've asked previously for you to remove this obsession with sex, for the obsession to be validated, to remove the power which bare skin has over me.
I wish not to run foolishly into another physical relationship and end up harming the other party involved. I do not want to lie and manipulate just to satisfy, be it temporarily, my sexual desires. Certainly, as far as I can understand, the libido is not to easily 'removed'. What can I do to lessen these urges? How can I ensure that I will not act on them? How do I let go of this obsession? How do I surrender to my powerlessness over women? Is it possible to grow to a point where interaction with a woman, clothed or not, does not bare the intention of sexual intercourse?
How do I only see you in them, without seeing a sexual object, or as any type of object, but as the essence of you? How do I see them as unity with you - as no different than I?
-------------------
Dear Michael,
These, of which you would call women, are your companions.
They live by your side, as a part of the human race. They too have the right to live without being subjugated, demoralized, diminished, desecrated. Rather than these things, which you and all others have once done, consecrate them.
Know that in my heart, they, too, serve a divine purpose - they play a role in manifesting heaven unto earth.
Know that within your heart, which is but within mine, lies the same love which is in theirs. The act, or thought, of cherishing anything other than that, is but cherishing a perception which sees them for less than what they are.
These, of which you would call women, are your sisters.
They are of the same blood, the same flesh and bone, the same life essence, which is of me. They are your family, which I am the totality of - the mother, and the father. It is of my flesh, bone, and blood, and of my love, in which you both live.
Know that within your heart, which is but within mine, if you argue that one of you, whether male or female, is less than another, I will be at war with myself.
Know that within my heart, which encompasses all things - which beats only itself, unto itself - that there is no true separation between you, your brothers, and your sisters.
These, of which you would call women, are but yourself in a different form.
They arise into your reality from the same foundation of truth, which is formless. There is no form, no image, no difference between you and any other, except the veils which you consciously place over your own eyes.
Know that within my heart, which is tethered to all life, and of which tethers all life to itself, when you choose to see life as different or less that yourself, then, not only do you deprive that one part of life the blood of which it thrives from - that is of my heart, my blood, my love - but you deprive yourself of the same - my heart, my blood, my love. You are a vein in which my blood flows to the next vital point, keeping the whole system alive.
Know that within your heart, which is but the whole of mine, and within their hearts, which is also the whole of mine, if you see each other as different or less than as I created you, you will be as war with yourselves.
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