If I tell you that I’m not writing to anyone specific, that my words are neutral and have no meaning, that bothers you doesn’t it?
And why does it bother you?
It implies that I know what judgment is. To know that I’m only ever speaking to the source that dwells below and within everything. To formally finalize the truth that nothing is hidden. Absolutely nothing. And I cannot do that if I have expectations for how I’m responded to.
Once you realize that it is impossible to talk to oneself, it is only a matter of time before the other becomes the known, and what was previously false truth but probable now immediately conforms to truth’s mold inherently because the knowledge has had time to mature and develop into a solid foundation. This then becomes the place from which then you speak from.
Fascinating, don’t you think?
What was once one becomes more than one, yet one still, with a substrate or fabric of being resting between.
At this point, complete proof becomes the quest. To illuminate for the body what the mind already knows but just hasn’t realized yet. To materialize the world in which is already built from within your mind’s eye. You’ve established an other, and so then, if it goes as planned, proof shall be yours. The answer immediately directs you back to the point when one becomes more than one, yet still one.
So then the other is an illusion, such as I am reciprocally to them. This then implies that I am what I seek and am also not that at all. Somehow it seems I’m also uncreated in that moment, ceasing to ever exist. The variations between, infinite. To watch the universe give birth unto itself again and again, constantly growing from within, seeking itself to refine itself.
A never-ending sharpening.
What is created when this happens to each of us? Is it imminent that it does happen? If all that exists is now, then it is already here, waiting for us to merely open our eyes.
I can only speak from that which I’ve experienced. I tried to dream it into existence, but dreaming isn’t enough.
The planning phase is over.
Now, it’s time to build.
‘Abel’s Eye’ acrylic and oil on canvas by Mancel T. Lindsey