The reasons for the world are numerous, beginning with the heart and hold: the essential portioned out anomaly of absence.
All is as is and all is as is naught, in so being we perceive not what we want to perceive but what we have been programmed by external thought and circumstance to accept as truth.
What you see is not what you see, and what you believe is far lesser reality than one would have you believe.
And so it goes that we inhabit a land of ghosts, wandering to and fro as lost creatures of the night blood. Howling at the moon for reprieve, or beckoning whatever entity we choose to recognize lives beyond what we see.
For what we see here, is what we see there, in turn. What we harbor within is that which we harbor elsewhere. For whatever calls you to be becomes both your namesake and your laborer. Your slave and your captive split open into the duality of the master rising.
Can you not see that you hover here in between the zone of reason and un-reason, gambling with your soul, the chips you sacrifice the blood of all? You are not what you suppose you are, and furthermore what you suppose of others be far less.
You are essential in this game that you, and you alone, have created. For without the ability to move your pawn, say your tethered-bones, no game shall exist. And still you pull, with strings to heart, the chest outstretched from the withered body, leading you towards that which is desire.
You lead with your lesser-self, the embodiment of fear and fear alone, treading where you dare not say, into the land of dreams unspun by the potentiality of loss.
All is spurned from loss, and all sacrificed for the hope of dismissal of loss. Wherein the beings of light believe they are giving and re-giving in hopes of submission of darkness, in actuality they are abstracting and retracing to abstract residue of fear, hoping to disengage from that which does not exist, wishing to detect absence of avenue so the ghost manglers will have no path on which to rise.
There is an essence created when such devil-taking is found. Wherein the all is in search of light—the light be found. Wherein the all is in search of that which cannot be found, and furthermore the dismissal of such dissolved illusion, the obstacles are made naught by imaginings created by the abstraction of fear itself.
All is motivated by fear and this feeds the darkness further in his delight-filled hour of demise. And still, we dance in this time of fueling that which cannot be named, but still exists in the twilight of mind’s shaking.
I ask you then, in the name of the light of all, to cease the search of abstraction and begin the outreach of gentle eradication of the mighty one. To reach out in the hopes of creating nothing, receiving nothing, hoping nothing, and having nothing. To eradicate further the inspiration behind the reposition you suppose as truth. To take out what is inside that terminates desire whilst inspiring servitude.
For this too, this land of sainthood shall be thy detriment. For there is no way, no alley, for the chosen to walk through in the cloak of servitude, to uncover the answer.
What is Is. And what is to come has already arrived.
It is the many who are escaping the escape that will find the essence of reprieve. To leap beyond the boundaries, so determined mind-felt and mind-seen, and clip off a portion true of that which was before, the birthing place of light.
Can you not see how you hover about as lost souls united each, a martyr upon a martyr, each greater than the good, in sorrow or circumstance, outstanding the other with degrees marked as kindness or torture?
There is not contest that has started, neither begun or existed. Only you gather as if there is a trumpeting of sorts, leading you on into the victory of ages; some unseen battle to undo the undoing and unwind the beginning to reach the doings of an ending.
It is a puzzlement that buries you again and again in the chambers of mind and keeps you outside the truth of element.
For you were not born to be what you are to become, or to search for what is truth. You are truth, undone and un-started, without remembrance of the cyclic purpose. That being to undo the thoughts of understanding and the limitation of words set upon the reasoning soul. To leap beyond reason into the land of blithe, where demons lay ripe as flowers sprung, their scent upon us ravishing the way to destitute.
We are not here as chalice-given creatures to divide the night and scope out the wretchedness. We are the very wretchedness we demise. We are what we choose to create as enemy. With each division burying ourselves further in the soil that leeches vicarious boulders of blockages.
Take not from self what is born as truth. In turn, take not from what is perceived as thy enemy as falsehood. Believe only in the undoing of self into self, and the collapse of the universe into the birthing of all.
You are not what you know yourself to be, and neither is the other, lingering on the outskirts of your perimeter. For he is no less outside of you, than you outside of he. And all together you are one, fleeing into the darkness as blind geese without sky.
Belly of a Star 