I’m afraid this post is a tad long. About four thousand two hundred … words or less or eleven pages on A4. Please bookmark it to read it in its entirety — on devient prolixe dans un nouvel état, comme un enfant dans une nouvelle école, ou l’aire de jeux !
Its Tuesday, the eleventh. The bones are in the casserole. I am preparing stock. It’s the fire and the misalignment that create diseases. Consume only raw energy, like living water or raw vegetables, seeds, fruits. Fermented foods is not ideal, unless its for cleansing the stomach and colon.
The heart is barely beating – impressions of how the world is going through. Someone is beside me, a soul. His presence is felt. He has not shown himself. He is just looking at what I’m touch typing. I can feel his radiation. A new soul. He wasn’t there to witness my scension last week.
Last night there were a host, trying to catch a glimpse of me.
I feel like sleeping but I’d be arrogant that at this stage, sleep is the last thing one would want to indulge. I want, to indulge. The body starts to decay once it’s formed, as a fœtus. And once it’s being perceived into the world of forms. They create dusts, more dusts, and they go through a nerving routine … sleep, wake up, dream, eat, shatter, dream, sleep for thirty-four million hours if not less or something like that. And then they turn into dust, building, mounting the Earth, with biocatalytic wastefulness; in a new century or less, these are turned into bricks, monuments and communities where the world relish in sophistication.
All in a dreamtime. Why? For what purpose?
Surely to ingrain something, or to learn from
The journey, it seems.
There’s a delimitation. The soul is aware of such states. So does the body, and the spirit when either transmute between frequencies.
I am listening to Bach’s Concerto in D Minor. In its stillness, every strike of a note is heard. Like the voice in the wind, or the non-visible kiss; the lover’s breath, or some odour from a dispirited template on passing through the walls.
I am listening to Luigi Boccherini’s Symphony N°17, in A. Its joyful, yet somehow lacks depth. Perhaps the musicians weren’t playing from the hearts – its a recording. When sensitive enough one feels such delicateness – O dear, I’m dyspneic, at rest aren’t I? It’s not that one is void of these, its but a state of indifference, and non-interest.
For the seemingly living though not necessarily awakened – it’s such an insult, they have a need to balance between these two. I’ve conveniently forgotten that. It’s not rocket science to remember such state as one does not need conviction to belief the Sun is a reflection of the Moon vice versa.
No they aren’t Death Stars darling
What is ignorance? To have knowledge of the world without having an insightful experiential of one’s state? Or to have knowledge by-hearted from sacred books? O we have Wikipedia for that and teachers drumming school kids to become automatons, slaves, for any world. Delicious.
How different is that state? If you’ve been living from either veil, it doesn’t really matter. An enlightened being would know the state one is in, as a structural Engineer does in regards the stress levels of say, a fifty year old bridge. Birds of a feather flock together, except angels of course. If you’re C3PO you’d know I was not referring to Bella. No seriously, if one lives in the playground, one’s view of the whole is dissimilar to that of one living in say, Casablanca in the thirties. Although the whole scope is unveiled to those living in a no-mind non-thing state.
You can reach to a state of belief, when you have, assumed living from either consciousness. Otherwise it is indoctrination for toys, and you’re not a thing, or are you? What matters is in your stillness, you attain to the state where the body itself vibrates to a higher frequency and literally transmute, into its higher form. It doesn’t really matter what exactly, for it is still imagery.
Everything is imagery, even the form that believes itself human or primate.
Conscious awakening is the state of renascence. That which is as within, is as without; as above, so below. In that state, creative activity takes on a new slant. What is of matter, is of matter; of spirit is of spirit and of soul is of soul — distinctive yet dissimilar.
The conditioned uses labels and identifications, to subsists in a virtual world which it deems its reality; so long as society is confined to the conditioning, it is simple to control, and keep them subjugated. It is excellent for economics. In that context, genocide is feasible. Morally, it is inglorious. The whole fractal structure has been designed as such to keep the veiled entertained. It is the psyche that needs to be in-checked at all times for it is sustained through enslavement.
Social engineering is feasible only when the actors are asleep. It’s an excellent masterplan.
Between the non-states, the waiting is subject to the state of the form. And there are levels of reality, dimensions and frequencies. The depth-ness of a middle C is subjected to the fullness of the instrument. And age, my love has nothing to do with it.