Good is simple. Like instant coffee even if its made in Germany and not genetically modified. Good, is the basal nature of all formation. There is no need to re-justify its presence. Let the mind decipher this note. Its time.
Irrespective whether you are human, jinni, demon, new-age golems, Gentiles … religionists, atheists, AI code, or Luminaries; whatever labels you dress yourselves in the illusory universe, there is a time when the clock ticks the last minute. It doesn’t matter if you say time doesn’t exist or if it does, the parade moves in sequences, and in measures. The manifestation is a dance — See the pinpoints, the exoergic or catabolism states … from whence they appear, and from whence they leave. Or rather from whence you appear in the content, and from whence you leave the illustrative civilisation.
Time or the measures are relative to each celestial orbit — not necessarily in terms of Earth’s geosynchronous or geostationary orbits. Examples of these can be seen with the fraction of sun rises across continents on Earth, for a clearer understanding.
Between these two points, are events marked. Between the breathing-in, and breathing-out. Between the cause, and effect, there is that interspace of the moment, the now. That interspace is where each event calls forth the addition to, or the subtraction from all imageries created, or subsist in the flux.
We rarely take note. We rarely read.
Follow the oscillation, perceive the old birthing a renaissance, the future through the past. The burial is always followed anew … just make time to read the movements. It does concern everyone in the ocean, irrespective the labels. Unless you’re orchestrating the whole grand opera, then that’s a whole different issue altogether … for all is as it is — One, indivisible.
One last minute before the scension. Before the next chapter where everything changes.
They wanted to bury me in white, but veiled as a bride. In there. I said that it was very premature of them to consider a dress, since I don’t even have a form, nor a name. Yet again. Only when one is ready, that a form is sent. That a form is perceived, in the play; and the story told, a sequel. The end is rarely an end. It’s always a continuance.
One doesn‘t have to return to a previous state. Its tedious to be in such a state. Elevation is essential. The quicksand can rot in hell for all I care. It does not concern you, nor me. Unless you prefer to mingle in the dust.
The number is thirty eight. You can opt for sixty five if you prefer, they add up to the same. I could just remind you of the indivisible, but that would spoil the minds caught in frames. These, were designed for decryption. Hence let them decipher.
Power is something else — it has nothing to do with having.
The mind is entertained, for the whole imagery to have an indication to a symphony. The more notes there are even if it extend past all Cs, the better it can pinpoint the defect. For crying out loud, one can’t add into a painting a colour that is fuschia and calling it violet-blush. That is almost feasible if one lives in a parallel dimension where violet-blush is fushia, and to be creative, it’s called yellow, or something else. You do know that colours are in reference to frequencies right?
Everything is an offshoot of that.
Frequencies are translated in the spirit, for the mutual growth of what is good in the basic found. For the collective, for the whole irrespective the extraterrestrial bodies, Earth, Venus, Mercury or even Pluto. There is need for balance on the scale of harmony.
It is critical for now, on Earth.
Emergencies call for critical measures … human beings need to balance the need for material wealth to spiritual acclivities, failure to which will see immense destruction of planet Earth. Something we haven’t seen for the past fifteen thousand years.
We are all interconnected within this ocean. There is no escaping it unless .., — it stems to what the Earthling [forms, and names] identifies itself with. So long as the spirit doesn’t get attached to delimitations it is okay. Otherwise murder and suicide, unnatural deaths, create flux in the flow that knots the slayer, the killer or the regicide, and the sacrificer, a most … not in my jurisdiction now to entertain them to disclose that chapter.
Smiling. O wouldn’t you like to know the final solution! And no, that promise given to them by the puppeteer was a lie, but they didn’t care. They already sold themselves … for cheap. You’d think after a millennia or so, humanity would have at least understood, what the illusive is for.
In a world where shades and hues of a colour can extend up to say twenty two, in another parallel, a particular colour can extend up to a million if not more. How subtle is the frequency depends on how delicate projections are. Consider tastes, thoughts, and perfection. The idea of design thinking, concepts and innovation play a very buoyant state in perfection, Earth-wise, or parallels; but it also is subject to the minds that tinker with the idea of perfection. If mediocrity is considered prime, do not expect perfection and durability in innovation.
Your limbs are estraterrestrial bodies, your belly the Earth; The oceans are the puddle of creation, and the rivers veins. Or you can start with anything else; the association doesn’t have to be limitations. O and when you (Earthlings) decide to destroy something, please take unto yourselves first foremost instead of your own species okay? No that’s not a question, that’s an advisement. The oceans aren’t for nuke testing nor waste dumping, nor are the forests for logging and deforestation. Why do you think they’re there in the first place? For profits?
Is the issue of trust or of fear — We are all connected in the Energy soup yet we are still competitive in business & strategy. Whom are we fighting? Our shadows or ourselves?
There were four Lincoln Continentals, all black. Some women earlier on were grieving, inside. Outside they were dressed to kill – Ferragamo, Prada, McQueens, and some cheap copies of Chanel and Dior. They whispered about how they shouldn’t have been mean. They also whispered, that one by one, the butterflies were captured in the net, and were being preserved amidst humidity trays. Do not dislike your past … you, in your dream state manifest it for a reason. One is immersed in such richness, to appreciate the impressions. Once one scends on the journey, such is the way. The taste.
To taste something else, to see a different picture, shift viewpoints. Or stand in the ocean. The drowning is a mundane state.
Once you taste death, you have attained to Life. Its a taste. And clarity, like lemon drops in the eyes can make one see things sparkly sharp. Like cotton candy, and marshmallows. Or the breaking of something within. Like a chalice.
Death is a state, the changing of frequency, of dimensions, of modulation, of elevation. In variance, it can be painful, or sweet. Its in the friction, or frictionless of the flow. The sound of silence is there as an integral part of the whole. It balances everything that is both within and without, and in some states, the state of forms, and names, it is the temperament, the esprit de corps so to speak, the fluidity that sustains.
I must not forget to remind for whatever reasons the mind may not want to comprehend, and would rather jest or mock … one can only feel in a living state. If the form is numb, it’s the bloody circulation darlings, indifference or that the form is lifeless
It is not celestial science you know.
I do not love you because you abhor my presence. I love, to complete you beyond measure, like the sound of silence, my love is an intrinsic part of the whole. There is no rationality behind the need to have every impression justified. Labels are for the minds to comprehend. Sometimes for scriptwriters and puppet masters when they run out of ideas, or golems to enslave.