Nothingness Door Ways To Nomadic Journeys
What is Myth But Constraint?
His music led me into fantasy of who I was whilst catching a glimpse of whom he sought. He cast a glamour over mundane life; a shivering and burning fantasy that was like a sticky web to get caught up in. I crossed over the line into myth-filled proportions or was swept there for God's reasons, not for my own willingness, for I'd known misgivings about this life from the first descent into flesh. The ego doesn’t like seeing that there is less to its self in it’s being, than it would like to suppose and be building. Yet judge not. The ego is never wrong nor is it right. It was given free will to be, to become, or not to become. To God, it made no difference what we did or didn’t do with our free will, except that we could not die, even when we wished for death.
Yet it could be seen that there were unjust ways to die, but all it really meant was one door slamming and the soul thrust through a new door; perhaps just to hone the battle skills once more, in learning how to avoid death or how to die with dignity.
This was to be a journey into humanity and humility with only one swift taste of ego grandeur before that too would travel back to it’s origin in God, the only grandness is in God. You can look and take pictures even, you can peer into every crevice and leave no stone unturned, you will never find God in inequity. Inequity is for the use of the ego. The ego is for the use of God.
To awaken thus to my eventual nothingness would propel me into ascension areas and a re-emergence with God while yet I still carried around a dense and material body which was slow to do my bidding.
a No-Thing Points to All-Thing
To think that from childhood on, the human is impressionable and creates it’s own reality this way is to stupefy the ego’s reliability on the psychic senses and cast it into subservience before God. God is evermore merciful and if we must be slave, better to be slave to a merciful king than not.
The ego becomes like a paper doll with or without a little platform to stand on. It has no movement of it’s own and is just to play with, to look at, to put paper clothes on it, to exercise the imagination, that it might be learning creativity in the world, this then was to be outgrown eventually, then tenderly put away; these toys of childhood, grateful we managed to survive the childhood at all.
The ego once impressed with it’s shallowness in comparison with God’s depth, once impressed with it’s nothingness becomes frightened with the inference that it is nothing. Yet the fright is not long suffered even though it’s touch burns away earthly goals and aging desires.
No longer does the unit of consciousness shine a light on its self, for there is nothing to shine a light upon that has true substance and eternal value.
The ego, not entirely cast into oblivion, has now become in obeisance to God thought, where divine bread is broken, so to speak between whatever is left of the ego and God ItSelf.
And I wondered why a man would revere human mythology, riding it, as upon a crested wave, never sinking below the water where the depths of God were to be found.
Who Among You Is Not A Nomad?
He truly could walk on water to my imagination, in one sense, a mini God operating in the world perhaps. Yet the jewels, the gold, the aged wine he offered, nothing could compare with this astounding emergence into the Light of God which I had found nearly by accident it seemed, in this place I came to find everything I would need in the now or in the future, and I was made to see even my unbearable life had been a gift from God, but only in the return to God..that was where true joy and bliss would be found, where all needs both great and small would be satisfied, as there was no need or want when enjoined with God.
In God’s presence the mind of the ego could not form a thought of it’s own, that could be considered original, for all thought was of God, and originated from and to God. Even in death you could not escape God thought, for you were but a cell in God’s body. You always were but a thought of God.
God was a joker. The court jester was close to God. You could kill yourself thinking to escape pain, thinking to escape struggle to live, to be free of toil. God would come along in some form or another and declare great truth such as “ah, there you are; pretending to be dead again I see.” Arise my son or daughter, whichever may be the case, and walk; truly it can get better!”
And I walked into the fog not caring what was hidden there, just knowing there were some things I had not seen yet and so I had better go and look, and to see whether the fog should clear then. I had outgrown the mythology of my lover, he whom I’d loved in error, yet had a perfect right to love despite the errors of us both. We were now free from one another, or so it seemed. He had one last thing to name me by, that of the Nomad. It suited me well as it suited him also, even better.
We would travel the earth separately as Nomads despite our thoughts were bound together for an unfathomable reason. We would be on occasion bewailing that our separate myths were unsuitable attire for the likes of an alien refugee. These thoughts also, were not without a sense of great adventure in the eternal Nomad soul returning to it’s origin point, a little less encumbered then when it started out.
