The Elephant In The Room

It did occur to me however, that it might become too dangerous to continue this contemplative experiment of giving myself fully to this wild.

In a stream behind my eyelids was a long procession of the suffering, the sick screaming from their beds of torment, the homeless and starving stranded, the blasphemous drunks, all the failures with their heartbreaking cries, the dying drenched in the sweat of agony. 

I could hear them clamoring from inside of my own walls, so I let go of my power over them and allowed tenderness to take me over in successive waves.  

It was no longer only my weeping soul that left me surprised, it was all of humanity showing up in my thoughts, as the dazed and confused, “woe is me” multitude within myself disappeared into thin air.  

In this immense valley, all I could see was a chalice overflowing with mist and sunlight. The high desert sagebrush whispered in harmony with the babbling bliss of the stream surrounding me. Spring bloomed everywhere with its little bouquets of love scattered all about, and off in the distance roamed the elephant in the room.

Now that I better understood the unique aspects of each and every being, their hidden and opened wounds, how each one, in the end deserves more commiseration than blame, I began to better understand myself.

Over the course of my visits to this stream in the past few days, I have been discovering with each visit that my actions, more than words, were teaching me how the bottomless pit of human suffering deserved compassion more than indifference. 

My socially distant happy place.

I understood that one must be equally patient with everyone, including themselves, knowing that everything that had been heard—thoughts, opinions, projections, feelings—was inevitably subject to change, that brutality concealed fear, just as being aggressive covered up any weakness, and that for all of these thoughts, my own inherent contradictions had slipped out one by one, until finally making their way to the surface upon this stream of conscious.

From this height, it was no longer possible to be angry with those who took to being nasty: their nastiness was the cause and effect of their suffering.  And it is on this level I stand, not just perched upon a chair with a pen in hand, as this has always been the vision He had hoped for humanity.  

Every simple creation was moaning and this moaning was a warning to me: bliss would not be allowed as long as one human being was suffering in this life.

Sitting with my legs criss crossed under a weeping willow, I began to breathe even slower, calming myself into an even more contemplative state.  

I had barely succeeded through trial and error: some parasitical thought always managed to cross my mind at the worst possible moment, as a biting horsefly buzzed its wings about my ears.  I had to surprise the transformation of unexpected ideas, forgotten faces, and landscapes appearing from the deviations of old memories.  

Fortunately by way of consolation, I thought of a lesson Christ once taught to the disciples:  “If you practice just one-twelfth of what I have taught you, your salvation is guaranteed.”—although I had no clue as to what this one-twelfth of a fraction should be, although I have a pretty good feeling. 

Perhaps, it could be a simple dedication to the imagery of these snowy Sierra Nevada mountains, the purple hue of sage and Spring grazing upon the valley floor.  Or perhaps it is in remembering a quote that I hadn’t thought of in forever, “It is in You, You friend of the humble, that I find my only refuge.”

A CREATIVE REFUGE

But I had to escape physical refuge for the time being and so I gave up on time altogether.  At exactly high noon, the sun passed through the summit, the valley suspended in darkness: it was night in the middle of day.  The hours grew listless in this idleness.  Sparing any and all effort, every gesture stood out in the social distancing of space with the same sharpness of budding foliage against the skies of tomorrow.  Another quality of time such as this had emerged from the glaring absence of a schedule.  

With my breathing as slow as the hours and days passing on end, I slipped into the universe, repeating in mini stature, the phases of expansion and retention.  From the massive breath of silence I loomed over the futility of words.

A subtle modifying of my consciousness was taking place, the first signs of which appeared in my handwriting—I was keeping tabs on this journey—which suddenly, in itself, seemed so miniscule.

Without any resistance, I gave into myself as the angles of my personality began to round themselves out.  No longer regarding me as an intruder, the wild beast within me understood that I was no more a threat, but a confidante. 

A few grouse settled in the brush beside me, without any hesitation as to making their presence known.  And while I had yielded completely to contemplation, a family of whistle pigs dutifully whistled my direction, as the elephant roamed even closer.

At the end of the intensity of these past few weeks, I began to savor a special quality of things that signal the emergence of another recipe for reality, of a transparency, the gustation of a serenity where the soul wanders wild and endlessly. 

And in these weeks gone by, in the hazy hours where the foghorn of discouragement could have bellowed, everyday I find more comfort and renewed faith in the thoughts of the boundless inner wealth of each and every being.

It did occur to me however, that it might become too dangerous to continue this contemplative experiment of giving myself fully to this wild. My imagination, of course, made the first few attempts, risking its suggestions. Then I had to move around the over-processed feelings that someone had snuck into my isolation, and was prowling about my freedom.

It was then the mountains before me creaked and cracked, shaking the earth below my feet. I feared that a landslide of unforeseen circumstance would come hurtling down upon my state of mind.

Then came the stirring of soon-to-be insomnia, as I snacked on the last of my cookies, I wondered how I would fare—isolated in this valley so full of shadows—if ever I should have some sort of medical emergency arise.

I had drawn the story out in my head repetitively in short time, like caricatures of some spiritual conquest; the rising altitudes of the absolute replaced by the endless abyss, the raptures of bliss, of nocturnal terrors, mystical madness and mental illness, they all wrapped around me with the unraveling fabric of fear. 

Strangely enough, and yet not soon enough, the fragrance of sage and Spring refilled the emptiness of my senses.  And it seems as though through divine timing, my thoughts had refined themselves with finality.

THE SPOKEN TRUTH

In learning solitude, I have been in isolation for a long time. But to become fulfilled, man needs his creative purpose; it’s only later in life that he can withdraw to isolation, when he has the right to do so and his vocation has found solidarity.

In being taught that “nothing will come to pass until the right moment comes,” such solitary foolhardiness proves to be premature, exposing one to an upside-down life full of expectations, and for a long time I didn’t want to venture any further into my own depths for expected closure, but I had no choice in the matter.

I had, for too long, allowed my blossoming mentality to repeatedly follow the cycles of the seasons. It hasn’t been just a matter of a few years of precocious blossoming, with mentally sound flowers that blossom in the Spring, then wilted in the Fall, only to reopen the following Spring, but through the whole of my entire existence, for reasons I have yet to fathom.

However, the difference between the mind and a flower is that one starts over again from the same stem and repeats the same cycle, whereas the other, each time, departs from a rich understanding of past experience and sees that each new path is marked with the progress that came from the paths before.

But before I could truly sacrifice my ego, I had to acquire a new one, to construct and create it. I was at that creative crisis-ridden age that needed it for commencement and maybe it was the purpose of something rekindling my imaginative fire some time ago. It is why I believe I started writing again, because this commencement of change would lead to the cessation of who I was by entailing the shape and maturity of the man I am to become.

But before dying myself, I had to live in the throes of my childish self and my own creative stubbornness. I had to find a different kind of freedom. I had to see the city from a different angle, survey the landscape of life, blend in with everyone, as to eventually confront myself. Yes I did, I had to suffer and love, and just as much as to why I must, finally see this damn elephant out of the room.

—BeLove

Somewhere To Be

And so it is now, this now is all there is, for in the moment is the only place we are truly meant to live.

Here I am, a sum of the parts of the man I once was, and the man I am to be. In this moment of truth, in these fragments that fall creative and free, I am still somewhat me. Though these words, sometimes construed, they are true, and they do carry me down this delightful path farther into the depths of me.

I’ve been thinking lately about the relationships that have grown on me, the ones I’ve yet to know, and those that have fallen away with time, with distance, and some with the misunderstanding of youthful exuberance, but most importantly the misunderstood parts of me. All of these relationships have played an imperative role in my life, like water saturating the roots of a tree.

I try not to confuse happiness with sadness, nor with regret. As this only confuses the issue even more. After it is all said and done, whether in his shoes, or her shoes, we all have our issues.

It is not the easiest thing to do at times, to not add to the confusion of the issues at hand. I’ll admit it. Though, I do not hold any regret that the uncertainty of things happened the way that they did, because it is the way things were meant to be.

I am more than aware and fully understand that I did have a choice in all of the matters that make up the landscape of me with these trials and tribulations so true. So I chose what I felt was needed to be felt, and I feel as though I acted as I should have acted in those moments that make up me.

And yes maybe I believe in fate a little too much. Perhaps I put too much pressure on the future, while still grasping at the purpose of my past.

It is more than likely not, or still even so, but insofar as I can tell there have been actions as small as the slightest glance of an unknown smile, the delicate laugh of an upset child, or a fleeting thought upon such an event as monumental as my very own death, they have pushed me in different directions oh so intricately. But you must see, all of these instances have placed me perfectly right here, right now, in the awareness of my very own clarity.

There was no other way to get here. This meandering, erratic, and crooked path of creativity has actually been the straightest of lines through my own mind, as I took the plunge into the creative core of me.

Take away these thousands upon thousands of somewhat organized words, thoughts I once thought of as direction, written with mistakes, sometimes poetic, even those with regret, and suddenly I am a different person with a different history, an entirely different future.

Yet to think like this takes away from said clarity. So I would have to hold it steady with the heavy load of regret because it would take away from where I am to be, that being here, in the now, and in the key of me. So instead let us not think of such things.

Still here I still stand, so very thankful for the joys and sorrows of life, because without them, it is here I might not be.

I am just as well blessed to know all of those I’ve known, and was honored to meet, some were mere acquaintances, some just passing by, and some still the best of friends, and for those I’ve yet to meet, I believe it’ll be so very sweet…

Yes it’s true, we never know what joy awaits us unless we believe that it does indeed wait for us somewhere upon shores of believing in yourself wholeheartedly. But we are only human and the sorrows of our past sometimes get the best of us all, and it becomes that much easier for us to fall. Still one must remember to smile when rising back up to stand oh so tall.

THE TAKEOUT

A man who might be full of sadness and regret, who might not give a damn, or who might, just might, remember that the future is inevitable and the past is gone. It is to realize this, wherein waits the joy that comes with not knowing what tomorrow may bring. But tomorrow does not belong anywhere if I’m not here, in this moment as we speak.

This is the meaning of my free. The freedom I have found in the creative waves of my own deep blue sea. The freedom to feel what I feel when I feel it, and to write it down on paper. To be real and stand up somewhat haphazardly yet with stability in a world where the illusion of normalcy is more often than not—awfully foggy.

Still it is my pleasure to share with you what I believe, whether or not, it’s with me you might agree, nor what you might think of me. I am me and that’s all I can be. You are free to see me however it is you please.

And now I see that every experience whether good or bad, has led me, or will lead me to where I need to be—at the very least eventually. Every single victory, every little losing streak and the simplest of mistaken identities have all led me right here to the creative edge of me.

So let us not be afraid to shake things up. And just as well, maybe jump, knowing we should not expect success, and the awakening of our wildest dreams to come to reality overnight. What is meant to be will come when the moment is right. It always does.

For the best things in life only happen when we least expect them. The universe has her ways. And everything you could ever want, or have prayed for, will come to parade before you, if you would only allow it to, without expecting it to.

So go on ahead, get lost, and maybe get lost again. Harness the wild within, and find yourself again, then again and again. Work hard, hustle harder, and don’t quit until you make yourself present with life and proud of who you are, in this now and all the more presently, where life is forever beckoning, and all the while Heaven waits patiently.

And so it is now, this now is all there is, for in the moment is the only place we are truly meant to live.

But for now if you would please excuse me, I have somewhere to be…

—BeLove

Soul Education

Could there be a greater miracle than for all of us to look through with consistency, the eyes of all others?

Life resides in learning to live on one’s own, spontaneous and footloose. To do this one must recognize what is one’s own—to be familiar and at home with oneself. This means basically learning who one is, and learning what one has to contribute to the growth of this fashionable world, and then learning how to make that contribution valid.

The purpose of creating is to show us how to define ourselves with authentic spontaneity in relation to the world around us. Though it is no longer authentic if one tries to impose a prefabricated definition of the world, as anything less than the capricious definition of the individual themselves.

The world is filled up with folks who are fully alive in it: that is, of the people who can be fully themselves in it and can enter into a living and cultivating relationship with each other in it.

The world is, therefore, more genuine in proportion as the people in it are able to be more humane and alive; that is to say, better able to make a lucid and conscious decision of what freedom truly is. This freedom must first of all coexist with the capacity to choose our own lives, by finding ourselves on the deepest possible level.

It is a superficial freedom to wander aimlessly here or there, to get a taste of this or that, to make the choice of certain distractions. This two-dimensional freedom is simply a sham.

It all claims to be a freedom of “choice” when in fact it evades the basic task of discovering who it is that chooses. It is not freedom because it is unwilling to run the risk of facing self-discovery.

The function of creating is, then, first of all to help the individual to educate and discover themselves: to recognize themselves, and to identify with whom it is that they choose.

This descriptive aspect of creativity will at once be seen as unconventional and, in fact, simple to most of society. To go further past the terms of outrageous, the function of creating is to help one’s own, as well as, maybe help other men and women save their souls and, and in so doing, maybe save something of society from itself.

From what you may ask? From the hell of meaningless arguments, of obsession, of complex artifice, of systematic lying, of criminal evasions and neglects, of self-destructive futilities.

It is now my hope that it is evident, to you the reader, that from my context above, I mean the following:

That the business of “saving” one’s soul means more than saving that of an imaginary object; and entrusting it to some institutional bank for deposit until we recover it with interest in Heaven. 

And that in speaking on the terms of a somewhat Christian existentialist, I mean by “soul” not as simply as the overthought Greek essential form but the mature personal identity, the creative fruit of an authentic, organic, and lucid discovery, the “self” that is found after other partial and exterior selves have finally been discarded as metaphoric masks.

This metaphor must not mislead: this inner identity is not “found” as an object, but is the very self that finds. It is lost when it forgets to find, when it does not know how to seek. Or when one seeks his soul as a material object. (Such a search via external avenues is futile and self-contradictory.)

Hence the paradox that we find when we stop seeking: and this is the point of creating. It is that when one learns to let his mind sit still and be what one has become, which is one that one does not know and never will he need to know.

This is when the miracle happens, when the paradox of life has reached maturity, we understand that to love is nothing more than a simple gesture of compassionate communication. Could there be a greater miracle than for all of us to look through with consistency, the eyes of all others?

It is when the imaginary “debts” are paid, one no longer seeks something else. One no longer looks to be told by another who one is. One no longer demands validation. One just does what they do and smiles at everything they love. After all, man is but a byproduct of everything he’s ever loved.

But there is the whole and infinite depth of what is remaining soon to be revealed. And it is not revealed to those who seek it from others. It is only revealed in the truth via self-discovery.

BeLove

For What It’s Worth

A warrior does not give up what he loves, he finds love in what he does.

The warrior stands rebellious, graphite sword in hand, contemplating over a cosmic plain.  Below him or her is a spinning sphere full of trials, tribulations, threatening adversaries, and tempting shortcuts.  Across the plain rises a mountain called mentality, full of promise but harboring a myriad of challenges.  On the other side of the mountain awaits something of which they are not exactly sure.  Could it be valor, transcendence, illumination, possibly enlightenment?  Or perhaps something more sinister hides behind the mountain in the shallow shadowed valleys below.     

All he or she knows is that they must carve a chivalrous path through life’s uneven landscape and scale the mountain, leading the way for those who seek something better on the other side.  They must guide with empathy and compassion through the shades of peril that lay ahead.  They know that death is an option from which they cannot opt out of.  They are very aware that survival could escape them, but they are prepared and are capable of leading those they love to safety regardless of their own well-being.  But they are also confident and their spirits can barely contain themselves.

Follow Your Heart

The warrior wears their heart as a shield, protecting what they love from the evil that lurks in the dusk of fear.  They defy the nightmares of deceit, false belief, and the judgments that create suffering and false happiness.  It is a war that once was waged within their own hearts and minds.  They stare fear in the eye with an awareness that the inner conflict of adversity has already taught them.  They know that truth, divinity, and unconditional love are what lie ahead on the other side of fear.  They know what is at stake and it is more important than anything else to them.  It is Freedom.  Or call it cerebral liberty if you will.

The warrior breathes benevolence for what they wish to protect, in this case, the reverence of love, and freedom of the mind.  Their tears are hidden behind their eyes, for it is love, not hate, which motivates.  They acknowledge that bravery comes in the presence of fear and not in its absence. Afraid or not, they keep emotional arousal at bay and instead use its energy to finish the task at hand.  They are confident in their skills of struggle and that conceit is an exploitable weakness.  They feel everything that everyone does, but answer otherwise.  Their commitment to peace and harmony is deeper than any river they have ever crossed.  It is what they live, love, fight, die, and write for. 

The warrior knows that in order to win the war against fear, they require awareness, valor, discipline, and promise in order to transform the emotional body of the whole.  They know their inner strength is a weapon but how it is used depends on their hearts and minds, and of course their soul. 

Be Aware

Awareness is the most vital tool of a warrior.  We often think we are aware but to be purely aware does not involve thinking whatsoever.  Awareness is unpolluted because there is no interpretation to the thinking process.  To be aware means that we perceive with clarity the truth of what is happening in the present without opinion.  In a moment of pure awareness the dialogue in our mind stops.  We see from a point of view separate from the scrutiny of our mind.  It is in the awareness of an epiphany that balance finds its way beneath the warrior’s footing, balance being extremely important, as we will discuss later on as we stumble down this road. 

Awareness is essential because it is a state of consciousness that allows us to discern between the facts and the truth, and between the story and the lies in our mind.  Our mind is filled with false perceptions and false beliefs.  The mind is crafty, but it is also full of assumptions and limited patterns of perception, it is easily fed with distraction. 

Self-awareness is the clarity to know who and what you are, and not become so entangled in the image of yourself.  Your self-image that is your utmost distraction will often misrepresent the sense of who you really are.  False internal images can lead you to lower self-esteem and self-confidence, or they can lead to being self-centered. 

Mind Your Head

If you have an idea of who you are, then contemplate that you are not that idea in your mind.  You are the one creating and discerning it.  When you become aware that the images of self that you hold in your mind are nothing but illusion, you recognize the essence of freeing yourself from self-importance.

The warrior has the courage to question his or her own beliefs.  By challenging our own beliefs, we begin to recognize the lies that cause our own suffering.  To challenge our own beliefs requires courage because it is a means to the end of the illusion of safety.  A warrior learns not to defend what we believe, but to challenge those very beliefs ourselves.  It is in this way that we are able to sort the truth from illusion.

Discipline is of the utmost importance in the spirit of a warrior.  Discipline is stringent upon staying the course when faced with the inward challenges of the mind.  A warrior must have the discipline to continue to practice against his or her own mind, without any outside motivation.  They must exercise their own free will at the command of their heart without outward representation.  This often means going against the fearful opinions in our minds that allure us with patterned illusions of both punishment and reward.  They must also carry close the discipline to follow their heart when tempted by judgment.

Love Yourself

The warrior must commit to self-love.  They can then extend that love amongst others, as well as humanity.  Self-commitment is required because along the journey we are certain to fall many times.  It is with strong commitment that the warrior gets back up again.  It is common to fall upon the fleeting judgment of others.  It is easy to love some people, particularly those who treat us with mutual respect.  However, it requires an incredible commitment to love in the face of those who reject us.  This commitment will challenge us.  It will challenge our beliefs about our own judgments, while teaching us that pure compassion is the only defense required. 

The warrior is committed to love beyond their own self-serving interests and what it will bring them.  This is how we become happy past our own paradigm of longing.  Over time, we become committed to love for the sheer enjoyment of expressing love.  This is what the spirit of a warrior lives for, to love.  They nourish themselves with the love they express.  A warrior will always express their love, even when challenged. 

The warrior always expects the best from themselves.  They may not always overcome everything they are faced with, but it is with certainty that they will give it their all to rise above failure.  They will make the best of every situation and seek to unleash their greatest potential even if they do have to dip into the madness of their own mind.  They expect to set the example of what it takes to lead and inspire others, no matter how close to the edge they take themselves.  Therefore, they must be ready, willing, and able to carry the burden, even when lost in the arid desert of their mind.   

A warrior understands that they only have one life, so they treat it with reverence and fill it with those peculiar moments that make life worth living and with those they find meaningful.  Sometimes a warrior must walk away from everything he was to find out where he truly belongs.

The Takeout

But what do I know? I am not necessarily a warrior, I am just some guy who likes to write, but I believe in something much more greater and graceful than the good we are promised.  I have a vision and I believe in it with such passion, I will seek it out until the day I die.  The funny thing is that it’s right here within me.  It always has been, somewhere deep, and probably pretty damn dark.  But it is true; there is a light of faith that will always shine through.

It is in these moments when I write that I find meaning.  The means of myself seem to meet with pen and paper.  For some odd reason, I associate words with leaving a mark on the world.  I’m not sure why. I do know it is borderline brutal to be an open book in a world that barely reads anymore.  But writing allows my soul to saunter with creative experience and not wither away to the misuse of boredom’s mediocrity.  I guess it allows my mind its daily serenity and by treating every minute as a gift—with a gift—is a great way to align my life the way that I see fit. 

So, let us stop wasting these precious minutes, and start running towards those dreams.  Starting with today, go get whatever it is you wish to deserve from this life.  Or you could just continue to put it off until tomorrow, but eventually, you will have to either walk away from what it is the spiritual path demands or stare it down and give everything that you have got to get to the results that Heaven and the One Upstairs desire. 

And for what it’s worth, the warrior knows that he doesn’t have a lot to offer, but what he truly believes in is worth something, as long as he can manage to stay out of his own damn way.

–BeLove

Plain As Hell

One little spark can set a whole wilderness on fire. Just a spark.

Let the wolf delight, to howl and to bite. For God has made him so.

—BeLove

If energy is delight and enthusiasm is beauty, the wild depressive knows more about delight and beauty than anyone else.  Who else has so much energy and exuberance?  I believe the psyche fleeces a certain strategy to increase depression. Isn’t it Freud who said, that happiness is nothing but the remission of pain? The more pain—the more intense the happiness that follows.  But there is a prior origin to this, and the psyche—it does create hell on purpose.

On Purpose

All life is, is pondering between then and now, between birth and death, seeking answers to the most influential questions.  Such brooding doesn’t always make us any saner, and some may sink into drink, when the answers they seek drive them a little too wild.  It has always been me versus madness in my life, and madness has proven much stronger over salvation.  But not this time around and I will tell you why.

All this thinking, writing, with it’s feeling sometimes seems to count for nothing. It’s naught but an attack behind the allied lines of my mind—seeking the beauty of my thoughts—and as of late the only effect is except it has worn me out.   The noble idea of being a poet or a writer has made me feel at times like a clown or a fool. Maybe humanity no longer needs art and inner miracles.  It already has so many outer ones.  

So before I can carry on with the green and lovely shades of this wilderness within, I must venture into the darkest and most arid corner of my mind.  This is the only way that I feel like I am being genuine with you all. It is true that the only way out is through.  

Sure I could fake it and pretend that all I saw was graced with gloriousness, but over the past week it hasn’t been that way for me.  I hold close with confidence that by getting this off my chest, the path will clear itself of my well-worn mind’s debris.  It is time we talk about hell.  

Horrors Of Hell

Hell is the state of the soul powerless to come out of it’s prideful self; it is absolute self-centeredness, dark and evil isolation, and the final incapacity to love.  It means to be engulfed in an agonizing moment, which yawns with the abyss of infinity, so that the pain plays repetitively in the mind, while stabbing sharp through the heart.  Hell creates and organizes the separation of the soul from God. 

Hell is not God’s action upon the soul, retributive and punitive as that action may be—it is the absence of any action of God upon the soul, the soul’s incapacity to open itself up to God’s influence and its complete severance from God.  

God’s Mercy

The horror of hell is not something inspired by thoughts that God’s judgment will be severe and merciless.  God is love and mercy, and to give one’s fate to Him means to overcome this horror. In reality the horror is to have our own fates left in our own hands.  It is not what God will do to us, but what we will do to ourselves.  Hell means that we don’t fall into the Hand of God but instead we abandon ourselves to our own devices.

Every soul is sinful and subject to darkness and cannot by its own power come into the light.   The soul will feel inclined to pass into the twilight of dreams written upon semi-existence.  Its own free efforts cannot bring it to true and being.  It is in the essence of Christianity that we see this designed by these two scriptures.

“The Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.”

Luke 9:56

“I came not to judge the world, but to save the world.”

John 3:17

The coming of Christ should be seen as not an outward threat of judgment, but an inward recognition that salvation rests within—salvation from the hell that we have so maliciously spent our entire lives preparing for ourselves.   The coming of Christ is the turning point for the soul of man, which builds up the Kingdom of God instead of digging for the depths of hell. 

 Salvation Within

Without Christ, our Savior, the Kingdom of God is unattainable for man.  Man’s moral efforts alone do not bring him to it.  If there is no Christ and no change of heart connected with Christ, hell in some shape or form is inevitable, for man cannot help but create it.  The essence of salvation is liberation from our own hell, to which all creatures naturally gravitate.  

Hell will not come into eternity, it will remain in time, and hence it cannot be eternal.  One of the voices that howls through my soul tells me that all are doomed to hell, because all more or less doom themselves to it. But this to the fullest extent is reckoning without Christ.  The other voice that speaks from the goodness of my heart, says that all must be saved, that man’s true freedom must be enlightened from within, without any violence being done to it—and that comes through Christ and is salvation.

In the midst of this spiritual awakening, I no longer think of the devil as outside the human soul, he is engrained in it and means that it is abandoned in itself.  Christ frees the soul from the devil.  Hell, without question exists, yet it is revealed to us in experience, and it may be our own lot. Hell belongs to time and is temporal. Everything that is in time is temporal. The victory of eternity over time leaves hell and its so called powers behind.

Hell’s Intimidation

The idea of hell has been turned into an instrument of intimidation, of religious and moral terrorism. Our real horror is not in the threats of a transcendental Divine judgment, but in the immanent working out of human destiny from which all Divine action has been excluded.  The most merciless committee is that of one’s own conscious; it brings with it torments of hell, division, loss of wholeness, a fragmentary existence.  The only judgment God shall enforce upon us is a downpour of grace upon the creature. His judgment establishes true realities and makes them all secondary to the heights of Heaven, not in a permissible but a metaphysical sense.  

I now see something hideous and morally revolting in the idea of eternal torments as retribution for the sins of a short moment of life.  Eternal damnation as a result of things done in such a short period of time, known as life, is one of the most disgusting manmade nightmares.  But one thing is unquestionably true:  after death the soul rich in Christ goes on to Heaven, the soul that never believed in God’s Power goes on to some other plane of being, as it lived before birth.

The Answer Is Christ

The life in our world between birth and death is merely a crumb compared to our destiny, incomprehensible when regarded by itself, apart from the eternal purpose of a man. It is Christ alone that can conquer the horror of hell as a manifestation of the creature’s freedom. This is the last and final demand that dictates the conscious—to have the conscious and the courage to direct all the power of your creative spirit through Christ to free everyone from their own hell. And the rise of hope in this belief is the only way through this wilderness within.

Author’s Note

It has been a rough couple of weeks. My depressed mind has been taken over by the grind and has been working overtime with work and all else in between. But 2019 is going to be here in the blink of an eye and I will be spending a few days in one of my favorite places in the world, Alabama Hills, just outside of Lone Pine, California.  I have to leave town with just my camera, my tent, my bible, God, and me.  Once again, I have to find myself.  I must take this beast within and seek some holy waters for the sake of baptismal purposes.

As Christ said, the seed in the ground must die.  To be a seed in the ground of one’s very life is to dissolve into that ground in order to become fruitful.  One disappears into love, in order to “be Love”

I am finally getting somewhere with the book, so with that being said, this blog will only be posting once a week on Friday’s, starting this Friday.  Hope you all had a merry everything and have a happy always. Thanks for stopping by. Til the next time.

-BeLove