Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Who Is Raging Against What?


In my childhood, I strongly intuited, without being able to articulate it, that that was what we were living under.

A deep wrongness that had infiltrated every aspect of our life on every level.

As I approach my thirty-second Solar Return, I am far better equipped with knowledge of the who, what, how and why of our predicament, both exoterically and esoterically. What I still lack, however, is the sense that this horror show is in any way finished. I have had many small victories, yet the big one still eludes. For each victory, I take another fall. I receive enlightening downloads both beautiful and terrible, but fail to translate them into the consistent success I yearn for.

I know, on a core level—when I stop to let the gravity and buoyancy of my heart take over—that there is no battle, that it’s all a holographic show put on by infinite consciousness for its own purposes.

The sense of personal doership, to borrow Sri Ramana’s phrase, will have no truck with this. It is invested in the show. Outcomes matter! There’s so much to be concerned about! How the fuck is this going to work out? So much is at stake. So much to be won and lost. Such impossible odds. And I, so small and inadequate, must face them. The fear and uncertainty are a palpable veil, a Shelob’s web that entangles me the more with each effort to oppose them. All while the reek of death fills my nostrils and the dread of my impending doom grows.

This is the battle: to muster the wisdom, the strength, the will, the faith to overcome all shadows. There are those who have passed through this no-man’s-land and shine like beacons. I see them and I envy them. Yet not I, but the demons: they who will never inherit glory, who insinuate their thoughts into my mind, whose currency is counterfeit and whose most fearsome weapons can never extinguish the Light of Eärendil.

The demons’ power depends on my not recognizing their deceptions. On my acting out their commands unawares. On my inability to distinguish my own self from their intrusions. On my lack of alertness to how I feel inside.

I know true peace. I have foretasted it. I can use that experience as the standard, the homing signal. Whatever is not of peace is of foreign nature. I can test every thought: “Who goes there? Show yourself!” To all who are not emissaries of peace, I can say confidently, “I see who you are. You are a figment of my imagination. You have no dominion here. Get behind me.” With love and compassion, I release each part of my beloved Self that was held hostage behind a monster’s mask. One agent at a time, I can transform the treacherous, sneaking creatures into a unified force under one command.

This work is a long, difficult, and dangerous undertaking. So says the Lord of Time. He is my ultimate foe, chief among the gods. Outside his realm, I have defeated him already. Not with anything of my own as a small, separate being, but by virtue of my connection with where I came from, beyond the borders of this demonocracy, where my eternal Self abides. I can go there at any time and know that I am free of his chains. They, too, are a figment of my imagination. So it is against nothing that I rage, and all that rages is the one who believes a lie.

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