And the wise men of science, from reality tell us, that our destiny as “life” is to disappear; that, from the beginning, is a disappearance, an extinction.
It is worth asking -under that same prism- what sense has the impulse of living, if its destiny is to die, become extinct, disappear... They do not even offer the possibility of transforming, converting, developing on another plane, in another... dimension. It would be a great leap forward. Science is not there for that much.
It is rooted in the tangible, in what it can control and dominate. Beyond that, there is not “something”. There is Nothing. And this Nothing is too big for it.
Throughout stories –stories, yes, it depends on who tells them- we see a consciousness that changes, that now supports the yellow, other times the white, other times it applauds the right, other times it applauds the left… It is malleable, manageable, manipulable.
Maybe... maybe because it is evolving, because it is transiting in different rhythms, moments and pauses, like a newly born baby would, and we see it change for day to day.
Here, for generations we see it change, but it takes time, if we compare it with the individual.
There have been, there are and there will be messages of different dimensions; from the one that was expressed at the beginning – that our destiny was extinction – to those that take us to the depths of hell or to the sublime whims of heavens, where delicacies and… await us...
There are also in-betweens, that combine pain and hope...; of course, there also those who turn us into clouds, scorpions, plants... or return again as us, improved. There is everything in the market of life.
And everything, individually, seems true and fantastic. And everything has, individually, its followers and its believers. But the Universe, the universes, are too far away.
The cycles of consciousness cling to inclinations that generate potency, arrogance and power... to control dominate and subdue.
But visionary perceptions are far from our presence in the Universe, about which our Prayer Call emphasizes with insistent continuity.
The everyday life feels safer with names and surnames of philosophies, religions, spiritualties... But, when it comes to the Creative Mystery, without names or surnames, without... –oh- without birth, without curriculum vitae resume to draw from, but which appears as a sample...
And, like “samples”, it is expressed in the universal.
And the Universe has no name or surname. And the Creative Mystery, as close expression, even less so. Thus our “prayerful calls” are not meant to create addiction, supports or followers; they are inspired messages in each moment. They do not depend on a pattern or an ancient, revealed scripture or papyrus.
And of course, without curriculum, without invoices, without rules, without norms, without repetitions, always different, they do not take root in the daily consciousness, which seeks to retain, to have, to possess, to dominate, to control, to assure...
The libertarian, liberating offer has no special attraction, since it does not cost, it does not quote. It does not cost or quote, nor can it be bought or sold. It doesn't have a license... or laws.
It doesn't ask. It calls us... for those who want to listen.
And in this transit of species, the being, in its slow evolution, listens to itself and, obviously, listens to the powerful, to the famous, to those who are in charge. Or it sets itself up as protagonist -each and every one in its position-, always looking for allies to become a winner.
The Prayer Call alerts us to that defeatist consciousness... that takes advantage of fainting for control; that assures, with “science” –the new religion- that our eagerness is to die and that our vital impulse is destined to do so.
That's not what the stars show us.
Their eternal flickers are hidden in a whirlwind and disappear, but... they are neither born nor die. They are transfigured. And we stop seeing what we saw, or we see what it was. Because Creation is an unfathomable vertigo, “without destiny”. Only what ends has a destiny. Unless we see “the bull’s-eye” of destiny with infinite precision.
Yes. It is so precise that it is almost impossible to perceive. "Almost".
But the Creative Mystery shows itself in such a way... that it leaves notches for us to follow the trace.
Notches of surprise, notches of elusive adventures, notches of possibilities.
Yes. It seems elusive to us and... it disappears and appears.
And generations have written about it and have established rules, laws...; even levels of stays. Yes; just as the pieces of land that remained emerging were mapped, eternal life was mapped.
And thus, the being could advance and arrive, when its vital impulse inevitably led it to the scaffold of death.
We are not destiny. We are neither beginning nor end. We are pilgrims who are led towards endless consciousness. And with that perspective, if we incorporate it into our being, our coexistence... the configuration of what happens, the transfiguration of what occurs will allow us to see in another way.
A being without organized dependence: that which imposes and obliges; and, rather, being before discovering the demand for what is needed, and thus give oneself to a passionate dedication: that which does not demand privileges; the one that, like a flower, is exposed to the fragile subtlety of beauty and the perfume of its illusions.
Under this transfigured perspective –“under this transfigured perspective”- no precise obstacles appear, since they are fixed. And the transfigured becomes transcendent and present at the same time; it leaves and stays, simultaneously.
Therefore, there is no fear. There is balance, there is caution, and there is care.
There is an illusion of creative positions; of those that lead us –for example- to other dimensions. Yes. Far from what is known. Skip that precept that “the bad things known are better than the good things yet to be known”.Just like “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”.
Let them fly! I don't want any birds in my hand. That, if the bad things known are there, I aspire to the good ones to be known, without knowing! Because it is presented to me, because it is offered to me, because... it crashes with the established, with what is usual.
And as the saying went: “The habit does not make the monk”. And protected by the usual, the being wanders in contradictions, in misfortunes and... joys, the least.
It is spoken and said with established patterns, with known reactions, with established responses. And, indeed, contemplating that trajectory generates sadness and apathy... since it calls out, from the stars, an anxious liberation that transfigures us into presence and action.
It is true that there is no need to rush.
It is true that we must know how to keep... the intimacy of hope.
And, with the quietness of calm, knowing that the dawn is certain... just as it is that “love”, that love that is born every moment of light. But it was born because it was already there. It does not begin. It transits.
Established vulgarity must be left behind; that which penalizes, that punishes, that imposes. The one that becomes law and that passes through time.
If we seek to be legitimate and authentic, we have to look to the stars. It can be very poetic, and consequently useless.
But the sigh was, with its breath, before the words.
But the sigh was, with its breath, “before” the words.
If we assume consciousness of transiting, without beginning or end; if we are ready to transfigure ourselves, as transit already does... with the counting of time; if one is willing to be what the Creative Mystery gestated... from an incomprehensible Nothingness, willing to be led by the events of consciousness, we will certainly enter into other perspectives; without ignoring those that dominate, without ignoring those that control and those that apparently encourage.
Thus, other possibilities arise. Those that are infinite, those that do not run out, those that are always a remedy.
Our humble presence, our ignorant attitude, our curious innocence is awaited..., so that our consciousness reaches a transfigured presence that takes us towards the eternities, without ambition, with the impulse that the dark winter nights bring...
Those that only guard an Eternal Spring.