WRITE TO CHANGE!
I love you! Love me back?
CONVERSE DIALOGUES WITH GOD
My experiences in meditation, transposed into my written gift to the readers.
Chapter I:
A real struggle
I wrote until the dawn of self-destruction...
I wrote until I could think no more. Word after word had been chasing one another on white, digital, nonexistent pages, in stories of places that nobody wished to know existed.
Reality was cruel, and occasionally whispered about my speech. The human whisperer was changing to indoctrinated fanatic. But I was the human whisperer and so was reality, and I was sick.
Ashamed and tormented, I strayed from my own path... I opted for oblivion. I gave up. I was done for, both physically and mentally.
Not anymore...
I've always thought that, at the end of the path, there must be at least one spark - the spark that must be seized in advance by securing one's own existence.
Life is painful, and pain is lively. But I have seen... and if I write, I write about what I know, and what I know is that the struggle is everlasting. There are no people reduced to the size of letter-chains, and what I know is that purpose must enfold actions.
To fear split tongues is merely the aim of the weak. And hereby I desecrate my weakness by allowing the world to judge. I am not Jesus, and I do not believe in man’s kindness. You can’t hang by my words without reneging your fears.
I can’t not believe! And I believe in the science of turning the bad into good. But that is no science. That is God.
For, once upon a time, I prayed: "God, tell me of all they wish to know, for look!, my people are starving!
And God said unto me, "Behold!"
Chapter III:
Many nights alone
It was at unwelcome times that depression seized me, and then I sought escape in the universal vibrations.
My first meditation was a peculiarly frightening experience, for from the darkness of my chamber, from the sorrow of my soul, in a coldness beyond comparison, I was questioned by an entity that refused to cease its horrid screaming.
‘What are you doing?’
“Trying to achieve knowledge of a myriad things, of course...”
The screaming increased. I was scared. I began to pray.
‘Trying to achieve knowledge, you say... Then, tell me this: what God are you praying to?’
I knew not.
‘Christian?’ I whispered. ‘Allah? All gods?’
I was speechless.
‘What God are you praying to?’ this entity repeated.
I knew not.
When I fell asleep, I was gone from this world for hours.
When I woke up, I was still gone.
My entire life had taken a sudden turn. I knew I had to go back, but I was mortified. It crossed my mind that things lay beyond this palpable world that people knew not. That their explanations of things beyond their grasp are somewhat lacunary, in that they contain pieces of truth mingled among waves of ideational errors. But I knew this not, so how did I know it?
Years later, I wished to know the unknown.
I allowed my mind to return to that place, but I feared my own imagination.
‘You’ll know when you learn to let go...’ the entity said then. ‘What can you do with this handful of dust?’
My eyes were chasing dancing colors, and soon I found myself waltzing along. They mesmerized me, they entrapped me, for there was choking darkness, and every here and there, there was a speck of dust that reflected a color, then another, and my dress spiraled as they spun me in the air.
I knew not what to do with that handful of dust.
Then, another night, when distant music charmed my awakening senses, I thought I heard the voice whispering. ‘Blow.’ And it was so that I blew life into the body of a heavenly butterfly.
‘One must repeat until repetition becomes redundant.’
‘Is that you, Satan?’ I asked.
My lifelong ambition had been to prove that the existence of an alleged devil is nowhere near as evil as the notion itself. Nevertheless, a fear of traditional backgrounds possessed me, for tradition instills nightmares by the power of its unwritten word.
‘It depends on where you stand...’
It baffled me to find such an intricate philosophical piece in what I then thought a figment of my imagination.
‘You see... where I am, evil pertains to existence in that destruction creates. But where you are, evil pertains to choice: people have the right and responsibility to make decisions. Therefore, your question is irrelevant.’
I watched my own creation - the butterfly - as it graciously fluttered its wings before my eyes.
‘And that is because...?’ I inquired, fascinated by the lively, white, yet colorful small creature.
‘Because it is only the doer who embodies the guilt. It is only the human who suffers the consequences. It is only among people that an evil of this nature pervades the air.’
I hesitated.
‘So... Why does it depend on where I stand?’
‘People instinctually perceive danger. But people have become so frightened that they see adversaries in their fellow beings. I may be your enemy, if your mind allows it. Or I may be your counselor, if your soul accepts it.’
Then, there was darkness and silence.
Chapter V:
The first time
Do you know that feeling when you think that maybe, just maybe you have completely misunderstood the world, because few others seem able to see what you see?
Then, you stand before yourself with a bitter heart, and think of the vortex of unsuccessful situations that have led you into perdition.
I had finished the Pendulum, and I was wondering about life and people. I had asked some what they thought of Lucifer, and they said “don’t even utter his name, may God have mercy on you!”.
“Why do you believe in this nonsense?” I had asked.
“Because the priest says so, and so does the Holy Book, that the devil wants to conquer your soul! Don’t you believe in the devil?”
And I said:
“No. My devil is different from yours. My devil are people. It depends on where people stand...”
I was quoting the voice, and I knew I was right, but, when you are so crossly contradicted by a number of people, you might just lose yourself in their mist.
“Could I ever convince you otherwise?”
And they said:
“The devil has already taken possession of your soul!”
Then, later that night, I strolled about the darkness, and, when I got home, I continued to stroll about the Universe.
Meditation is a wonderful friend.
I saw then a bridge, one that I had seen before, but, unlike any other time, there sat God, and I finally saw His face. I was shattered. I had been confronting destructive depression, and the devil discussion had impacted on me ever so much that I wanted to scream.
And, there sat God, in a white throne, and His hair was shorter than I had described. He wore a beard. Otherwise, He was God the Being entirely, and I fell to my knees, because I had been running across the bridge, even though, in truth, I had dragged my feet there.
He stood up and walked towards me. I remember...
His hand was raised in the air, and I closed my eyes fast. I was convinced that He would slap me. People had said so.
He didn’t. Instead, he caressed my cheek.
“I thought you’d hit me...” I said then, and God said nothing. “They kind of gave me this impression, Papa... I’m not looking to blame them, but I believed I could... Fix the world...”
I sunk my forehead in His chest. I didn’t even care whether I was crossing the line. It felt warm.
I kept thinking, ‘I thought He would hit me!’
“Never...” I heard, as if the wind was whispering in my ears.
Then He kissed my forehead.
“Do you think I’ve made a mistake? I didn’t describe you properly, either... You’re a bit different...”
I must confess He scared me. I had painted a picture in words, and, but the hair, everything was the same, but, to see those eyes, that immaculately white face, the sheer wonder that was His aura... I wondered whether I was imagining it... Then, everything dissipated.
As always, every connection to reality I could have made booted me out of that state of exhilaration.
Chapter II:
A meaningful night
Crush the caterpillar not, child!, for behold!, its life is the divine miracle. Similarly, from what disgusts you and causes self-abhorrence, you deliver hatred for the world, and the world deserves hatred for crushing the caterpillar.
Stop dreaming of catching the thread in a nebula of tar! Your both hands may not grasp what floats among pieces of broken wings, therefore the thread shines perfidiously at the top of the dark pit, light and fastuous, as do all meaningless hopes.
Don’t rip the wings of a night butterfly! Don’t kill the spider, for God has woven the Universe as a cobweb. Thus, you spared the cockroach in your hand, beheld its antennae, then whispered ‘so are you a part of me, as God is part of us,’ and God brushed your hair with a holy caress.
“My child,” He whispered. “My child! Don’t crush me! Don’t kill yourself by killing my creation...”
And so I ran to His arms, for all thoughts belong to Him, as do all the spoken and unspoken things and beings. And so I ran to His arms, and hid my forehead against His chest, and He was white, and held me tighter.
“My Father! My Father! I thought You’d never again come, but... here You are again, God...”
He squeezed my hand in His... For years, He had been the only one. And if I ever raised my hand upon you, it was solely divine pain of worldly hatred.
Man! Woman!
There’s blood in the air and you can’t feel its stench!
“Why are people... so... Father?” I asked when my account of the steps in the youthly grass was interrupted by the sound of the bell.
“You know.”
But I don’t. Or I can’t yet tell you. He did not speak of you, when his eyes shone like two stars hollowed by the fury of stray pulsars. His eyelashes hid liquid stardust, in a bright light, beyond time, where the Universe trembles.
A river chased its own stillness there, in a Divine painting of God. Then He... He plunged in that stillborn, blue patch of earthly sky, because I was not drowning, but I was seeking.
He took my hand, and tears of the forgotten flowed down from His white hair when we came out.
“Will you take me to the darkness...” I thought, then. “Where the stars and dust are?”
“Not today...”
Have I just answered myself?
“No,” He whispered, although He seldom ever talks.
I knew He wouldn’t do it. Darkness was my cradle, and darkness was my arch-nemesis. I was too comfortable there, yet I dreaded its cold, apparent hollowness.
“Do you see this garden?”
I used to, Father.
“Not anymore...”
...At day time, my soul wanders about the galactic walls... Then, sometimes, at night, I glance above this pit of doom, for there is darkness and dust, and lamps hang from the sky... and I so miss the cosmos!
But as I uttered my last word, He was asleep, for we had journeyed far, far away, and had sat ourselves under the crown of the Holy Tree. My steps had echoed, crushing grass blades that were instantly revived. I had run to catch up with Him, for He strode unintentionally, yet He was tall, supple, and light, and His very essence allowed transgression of timely and spacial barriers.
So I beheld His porcelain-white, divine face, all purity surrendered to dreams.
“Lamps hang from the sky...” He whispered.
And I was content, for He had long before said: ‘The Universe is limitless. A mistake you make is imagining impossibility. Nothing is impossible, although it is impossible here. But wish not, child, wish not that you were someplace else. Some other place will find you, when you are ready.’
My Father put the Universe in my hand. He is tired...
Angels had come, when I wished to gaze upon the flaming horizon. Open wings covered open wings, for they had encircled us.
Then one took my hand.
“Come.”
“But God came for me...” I protested.
“You know all you need to know.”
“I know that He is tired, but here I wish to stay.”
“And you know that, when the Universe spasms, the spheres sing the loudest. And you know that when Father talks, all angels hear Him.”
I looked back only to see them guarding the Divine Being. Then... I don’t remember. The room was dark, and the music had faded.
Chapter IV:
Pain, spirit and flesh
The pain of the spirit does not equal the pain of the flesh, and although I knew this, He insisted on reassuring me.
“You, people, are mortals, and in the pain of the flesh you shall eventually find death, a blessing rather than a curse. Think not that then you will be spared!”
And I asked:
“Does the punishment serve the purpose of a lesson? And does the lesson punish us to relive our mistakes so as to test us?”
“The pain of the flesh comes from the pain of the spirit, and that is cruel enough. But when you live to die, and die to live, what you retain must be reprogrammed.”
I gazed upon a blue horizon. Sea waves glided slowly across the surface of the abysmal spot of Earth. I thought then that I was poor, but there were poorer beings. I asked then about injustice, and He said:
“The universe is rich, therefore all planets are rich. The Earth is rich, therefore all people are rich. After welcoming you into my Kingdom, you know that my original sons, the angels, are rich in inspiration, that they are rich in love, that they can share without scorn and help as if they help themselves. After walking the Earth for so many years, you know that people don’t live in peace. That they share in exchange, that they help in exchange, and that, in order to survive, you need their coin, which is gold but is not.”
Birds journeyed across the patches of clouding sky.
“Do you love people?” I asked.
“I don’t love the unjust, I don’t love the cruel, but I do love the honest, and as long as my sphere, their home, allows their presence, they have the chance to care for it and clean their souls of hatred.”
“Did you not love your son after he fell?”
And He said.
“My son rose like the sun does every Earthly morning, and I loved him dearly, for otherwise we would not have this conversation.”
“I doubted You, You know?”
Rain rippled suddenly all over the calm waves.
“There comes a time to doubt, and there comes a time to trust.” And then He asked: “What would you tell people, if you had the chance?”
I said:
“When you say that money is the eye of the devil, know that there is no devil! There is no need to try and justify your grotesque lies in front of the all-knowing Father. For when you aim at wealth and crave it from the depths of your being, you will acquire it, and then will know not what purpose you should serve. You will fall ill, and no money will ever bring relief from the pain of the flesh, for the pain of the flesh comes from the pain of the spirit.”
God smiled.
“The chance is yours,” He whispered in my ear, for I had not yet seen Him, although we spoke for half an hour, and when I remembered that time was running past me, the sea washed my being away into earthly perception. I could feel my body again, and my soul was somewhere within it, just as I had felt my soul while with Him, and my body within it.
And then I wrote down: “When death claims you, you will deem your existence a vain void. You will find that, in the world of souls, there is no currency but the primary need of perfecting yourself.”
Therefore, do not let the flesh corrupt your spirit! What you acquire in this world of flesh is worthless in the world of the soul.
The more often you're back and allow the flesh to corrupt your spirit, the more corrupted your spirit shall be. Forget not that the spirit is holy! Therefore, there is no greater pain but that of the soul sentenced by its righteous owner.
The spirit will fall ill, and whoever the next bearer shall be, he will be consumed right from within.
Think not that you live with no responsibility, for you are wrong! Think not that the next bearer of your soul will have to deal with the pain you will have had inflicted. For I must tell you: you shall be the next bearer of your soul. You will fail to remember... And in your cries for absolution not only once will you turn to my Father and ask what it is that you have done to deserve it. You will become even more bitter with the disgust of a painful existence; you will hate the world around for no reason, for it will not be them who will have made you sick within, but yourself.
Don't chase after worldly possessions for your own good. As God meant words to be transcribed, so did He utter them: Think big, perfect yourself, and give!