Tuesday, 12 September 2017
The Cross of Ages
The truth of creation, as much as it can be put into words, is that spirits are using images and thoughts to either uplift or suppress other spirits. Concealing the divine fire that generates this imagery behind the images and thoughts themselves. Or revealing it, in the name of love and truth in every language. In my own personal Gnosis this fire is the true God and self and spirit. Ennoia, Logos, the Word. Thoughts and images are the dreams of that holy, radiant fire. So we find ourselves in a situation where the lowest individuations of God - the demonic archons as Gnosticsm calls them - are trying to pull the middling individuations towards themselves always, like the ravenous gravity of a black hole. But all is dreamtime, all is chorus and choir. The divine spark isn't absent from the heart of a vampire. The vampire merely wishes desperately that it was - in a futile and extended attempt at spiritual suicide. This can lead to monstrous imaginings; experiences, actions and hellscapes of all kinds. But the vampiric entity cannot sever itself from its own source. There is nowhere that is not here, not centre, not infinite. I tell you now in all seriousness this is a truth that drives demons mad, for they know the Creator hasn't forsaken them. For they are the unknowing Creator. As are we all.
All murder is suicide. Now and evermore. How many masks do you suppose an infinite being might adopt, having an eternity to imagine? So, you see, Samael is not God, but God is Samael. The devil and all his fallen angels are utterly blind, debased imaginings orbiting the dim but eternal star of Christos within them. We who are kind and good rage against the dying of the light whilst those who are full of evil rage against its quickening and rebirth. They cannot remove the crossing, all they can do is ignore it or weaponize it. Attempt to turn it into a tool of slavery and torture rather than the aperture of emancipation. The cross is the eye and mind and word of the true God, greater than all our dreams and stories of him, or her. It is that which imagines, and feels, and loves. One cannot become a monster without weaponising it. An act of self-blinding. There is no place that spirit is not. Therefore, there is nowhere to hide. There is no imagined place that Spirit and spirits do not reside. A void or absence is dangerous and real however, because all images are real. A story within the dreaming of holy fire. There is no discontinuity in the flame. Dreams are literally real, but as we know they are also fictions. Know this and you can know all things. Know this to your very depths and you will love your brothers and sisters fiercely. Know this and you will dedicate your life to protecting them, to liberating them from the labyrinth of false imaginings imposed upon them by other spirits. The truth is that You and the Other both exist. You are both real. But you are both dreaming each other, in the heart of the fire. This is not to say that these dreams are not often incredibly intricate and horrifying and painful and seemingly mechanical, because they are. As I said, they are real. Dreams of universes, multiverses, worlds within worlds. Hierarchies are dreams too, but unseen spirits often employ them within their greater dreamtimes for social cohesion, just as we do here.
We the human race are not God. Not quite yet. We do not Know him well enough yet. But God is us, living and loving and laughing with us. Weeping for our hideous cruelties and all we have forgotten. God is an interventionist. Terrible things happen because he values our freedom and our ability to choose even if we do not. Every day he dies for us. He protects our sovereignty and the thrill of discovery at all costs. But he is always intervening. In a smile, a kind word, a caress, a work of art, an inspiration. In this sense God is never distant. He and she is the most human of humans. Good-natured, a little saddened perhaps, but desperate to love and be loved. Brothers and sisters, go to your mirrors. Look deeply at your reflections and you will find him and her there. Battle-scarred, weary, mysterious, but still kind. Still playful.