Dog Poet Transmitting.......
A person could write more books than any sane person could imagine to be possible, like Flaubert, for instance. One could write the most convoluted and intricate works on philosophy, like Emanuel Kant. You could write exhaustive and pointless fiction like James Joyce and wind up being celebrated by poseur, pseudo-intellectuals, for... possibly... hundreds of years but... like the other two... you've been dead a long time now. No telling who you are at present. Did any of it help anyone... at all? Did it? Certainly it accounted, in the tale of Joyce, for the years of pain experienced by his secretary, Samuel Beckett, who insisted on wearing the same size shoes as his hero, even though they were of a smaller size. He should have written, “Waiting for the Podiatrist”, or better yet, “Waiting for the Psychiatrist”, instead of “Waiting for Godot”
Then there are the world reavers, the Khans and Tamerlanes, Attilas and all the rest. There have been high and mightys and low and dull and sometimes drunk and disorderlies. There has been a considerably larger amount of the latter than of the former. The amount of pimps, punters and performers that have come and gone here is staggering. Most of them are repeat business, over and over and over. Most of them haven't learned much and they aren't looking to either. The facts are that people come here for different reasons and if they get a taste for something, they tend to go to the well again and again.
I have read where illumined souls have said that hardly one in a million is motivated to the true search. It could be what the writer(s) meant was that scarcely one in a million perseveres to the goal. When I saw that number I was stunned. I thought; 'surely there are more?' As the Steven Crane poem states about the road to truth, being composed of sharp knives, disguised as blades of grass, “Doubtless there is an easier way.” There is no easier way.
All these people who have come and gone. Where are they now? Who were they then? They are forgotten. The people who remembered them are forgotten. They lived lives of trembling pleasure and heart-stopping pain... all forgotten. Their parents are forgotten. Their children are forgotten. They are forgotten. Of all the forgotten lives they lived, which of these was real? In which life were they authentically expressed? Rolodexing personalities, striving in contention, with millions of others of their kind, all forgotten. The kaleidoscope turns and the colors and shapes blend and go and come back again. What is the mystery of the colors, when only the screen upon which they were projected is real? Are we really colorless, odorless, invisible in our essence? What are we? I dreamed I was a man dreaming I was a dolphin that dreamed I was a man.
Entire civilizations have come and gone, all forgotten. Surely they are recorded in the Akashic Records but... who can read them? These cultures... some of them were advanced beyond anything we know today but which... perhaps we shall know tomorrow, if we survive. These civilizations had their Mozarts and Rembrandts. They had their Buddhas and Christs. Where are they now? Who remembers them? Forgotten. All forgotten. The entirety of existence can be described thusly; an incomprehensible, indefinable and immeasurable being desired to know itself, so... it expressed outward into space an environment of interplaying opposites and then shattered its essential being into countless mirroring parts, in order to generate a quest, a pursuit through Time, Space and Causation.
It manifested a game of Hide and Seek so that it might discover itself. It is the spirit in search of experience. It generated the atmosphere of a dream and created Desire as the Agent of its Will. It created an endless series of objects and states, in a dance of electromagnetics and concealed itself within the separated minds of the particles it generated to search for itself. The ultimate joy and the reason for the construction entire, was to be found in the experience of Self Realization; the universe when it knows itself as God.
The solitary seeker exists in a wasteland of unexamined lives and must, as was once urged by a great teacher, 'be as wise as a serpent and as harmless as a dove.' The sincere seeker is the Ugly Duckling. The sincere seeker must 'walk in all ways contrary to the world', without calling undue attention to itself. The self that is being sought is the self that is found in that place where one's heart and treasure is. The Ugly Duckling is always in danger of being pecked to death. The duckling is not a duck, it is the Paramahansa.
Life has only one objective and that is FREEDOM and FREEDOM is found in Self Realization and no other place. (Self Realization is a ticking time bomb BUT... you can turn the clock ahead.) Everything else is forgotten. The pain of separation and the hunger of longing both end, when one finds what is missing and that which is missing, is what propels them in the pursuit of it. God's not dead, he's merely hiding. You can see him in the morning when The Sun is Rising.
All that meaningless pain, torment and struggle for a handful of sand, running through the fingers. The epic sorrow that is contained in this... ah... it is past expressing. This is the nature and origin of True Art and the reason why the agents of the enemy have been at such an effort to suppress and hinder true artistic expression in these times. Man created a bogeyman mask, composed of impure and toxic desire, which overlays the face of the angel. Angels are the manifest expression of God's will, personalized to the tasks he completes through them. Devils are the face of our Fears and Hungers. They are our appetites personified. Indeed, you will find this to be so in their job description.
Angels are God in Action. Angels become devils in the mind of the profane. Angel or Devil, they both (intentionally and unintentionally) urge us to FREEDOM and God feeds them both. It is God's ceaseless meditation upon existence, which holds the universe entire in place, for the Purpose of Demonstration. Were he to stop for an instant, it would all disappear. That is how close God is to every one of us. It is God that holds us in place and God that is THE ACTUAL LIFE IN US. Celebrate the Presence. That is all you have to do. Everything else will take care of itself. What is it that hinders us in this?
Angels and Devils both, serve God. God is beyond Good and Evil and weaves them both into the endlessly unfurling Grand Tapestry of Life.
In times of Apocalypse, the dream fabric frays. The light begins to seep through the openings. This infuriates the agents of darkness, who run about sticking their fingers into The Dyke of Darkness but they soon run out of fingers. Oh how they scurry and scramble now. THE LIGHT IS COMING!!! THE LIGHT IS COMING!!! It is this light that is the force which exposes what has been hidden. It is the light that reveals! It is the light that uncovers! It is the light that awakens! It is a conscious light. It is an awareness and we ALL HAVE ACCESS TO IT!!!
A Golden Age is coming. Once the wreckage is cleared away and the collective mind set right, or recycled, it will appear in the Event Horizon. There has NEVER been a time so critical for one to work upon themselves. It is a simple matter actually. You don't do anything at all but surrender and become contrite. You become like the dirty child who fell into the mud and scraped his knee. You cry out for The Mother and she will come and clean you up and heal your wounds. It was your idea to go out into the world and dance in the mosh pits of depravity, It was your idea to force your will upon the world, along with the billions of others, to no enduring reward other than experience. It was all your idea. What was your mother to do? She loves you so much she had to let you go. And, like everyone else, you made a mess of it but all is not lost. She will take you back into her arms with nary a thought of your behavior. It is you who must forgive yourself. God has already forgiven you. Jesus Christ went out of his way to make the greatest statement ever made.
The love of God is a consuming fire. Let it consume you! Let the Telesma... the Quintessence, the Spiritual Fire, awaken in you and purify you completely. Of course this is not the labor of an afternoon but The Lord sees the Prodigal Son coming from far off. Can you feel the joy of The Father at your return? Breathe in the pranic component of cleansing and let it radiate throughout your being. Court the Telesma. Court the Quintessence. Court the Spiritual Fire. Be the eager suitor, consumed with the single divine passion for union with the one and your sincerity will act like such a powerful magnet that no angel, nor deity can resist the attraction. God is a slave to Love.
End Transmission.......
Today's Rendering is, “In Search of Rest”
“What's he got in his Pocketzies? Golum golum (sound made in throat). That thief Baggins!!!” And then there was Pocketnet.
