Creator, Judge or Architect? There Is a Sanity Clause!

 

Creator, Judge or Architect?

There Is a Sanity Clause!

 
“So tell me,” O’Grady asks with a glint in his eye, “do you believe in God?” The black snake venom is coursing through my bloodstream and organs and his eyes are glowing in the semi-darkness.

He swirls in my blurring vision as the reply rises full-blown from my heart without pause for censorship or amendment; “When most people ask that question, I get the impression they don’t mean ‘is there a creator?’ – they really mean ‘is there a Judge?’.” He meets my gaze levelly. “That’s a very penetrating insight,” he says, “very Jesuitical.” My heart doesn’t pause to bask in the glow of flattered pride but continues to pour out of my mouth; “The question has more than one answer, depending on what you really mean. I don’t believe that you mean ‘is there a Judge?’ – but let me answer that one first anyway.” We’re both sitting cross-legged and I shift around to face him more directly.


  “There’s only one judge that counts, and at the moment of your death your eyes are riveted open to every act and deed you’ve ever done, stripped bare before the completely aware gaze of a conscience that’s more penetrating and aware than you could believe. You are your own worst and best judge, stripping yourself to the core.

“But at the same timeless time you’re also suffused with the very spirit of parental compassion, so your judgment of yourself is an admixture of Severity and Mercy, if you like.” I touch my left shoulder with my thumb held between my first two fingers and draw a line across to my right. “Those are the names of these two Sephiras of the Tree of Life, by the by, translated from ancient Hebrew – I prefer ‘Clarity and Compassion’ myself…” O’Grady nods slowly, trailing afterimages in the gloom while my mouth continues moving and my voicebox keeps vibrating as the venom flares in my foot and spreads into my brain.

“So you are the judge, the best you could ever hope for – who knows thee more intimately than thine own conscience? And from that immortal perspective beyond time – beyond matter and space you’re beyond time as well, beyond time’s well…” The memory of my deaths return in full-blown Technicolor and quintaphonic Dolby; “…you decide whether you’ve created a perfect pattern or not – one that satisfies your expanded esthetic and ethical senses, the heart that balances the feather of truth.” Psychedelic images begin feathering inward from the periphery of my vision and it becomes increasingly difficult to focus. I concentrate on deepening my breath and slowing my pulse as my voice goes on and on;

“But more than that – from the true perspective of immortal Justice, the obvious macrocosmic truth is revealed – the secret of all enlightenment – that everyone is everyone and everything you do to anyone is something literally done to yourself. In that moment of crystal-clear awareness karma is something obvious and ever-present, and the only important thing – the only thing relevant to your blown open mind – is the impressions you’ve made on other beings, the links you have to others.

“And you decide whether you’ve lived life as best you could, or fallen short of your own abilities. You keep coming back until you’ve done it – I don’t want to use the word ‘right’, because of all the polarised connotations, and ‘correct’ is no better – but you decide to return to the Wheel until you’ve done it right by yourself, and all your selves. Then you have a further choice to explore something else entirely, or not.

“You may even decide to come back here again anyway, to help out.

“But if you want the short version,” I ramble on, “you are the Judge, Jury, Prosecutor, Defender, Executioner and Redeemer. Don’t accept any substitutes.” I need water to dilute and process the foreign proteins spilling through my blood, but the oxygen-rich air of the rainforest does nicely at present.

O’Grady nods and strokes his emerging beard, smiling into my blur. He’s a Saracen and a Viking, a Highlander and a Persian. “All right then,” he nods, “do you believe there’s a Creator?” 


My hallucinating mind reviews the massed ranks of distant primate people who will cast me into imaginary hellfire or oblivion if my answer is negative – but this translucent vision doesn’t slow my open heart. A deep breath fills my lungs.

“On the one hand I side with the Gnostics – before they were all slaughtered and burned at the stake they insisted that those who purport to be the Creator – like Jehovah, for instance, or Jupiter – are actually demons masquerading as the One True God. But it gets complex – the ancients viewed the planets as gods and goddesses, remember, and many deeds and attributes ascribed to them are referents to planetary events, changes and catastrophes. Incidentally, ‘god’ is a pretty horrendous word for what we’re talking about, don’t you think?”

“I’ve always thought it pretty odd,” he agrees.

“Ugly,” I aver. “The Gnostics pointed out that no compassionate creator would ever do the things described in the old babbling books, and that any entity that did, was an ego-driven demon who should be ignored and driven out at all costs. The Gnostics went a little too far for my taste, claiming the universe itself was an evil cage – I understand their erroneous point of view, but in the long run they were a bit too nihilistic for their own good.” The Ark of the Covenant rears before my inner eye, resplendent and glowing with a blue aura of electrical charge. Before my mouth can wander in that direction my interlocutor intervenes, sparing us both a long digression. “Ah, yes, but – do you believe there’s a Creator?” O’Grady laughs.

 

“On the other hand,” I begin, “we’re talking about something not constrained by our primate templates of authority and awareness – and if it comes down to a choice between the archetypes of Sky Father and Earth Mother, these days I have to come down on the side of the Mother…” O’Grady laughs again. “I’m with you there, bro. It’s ‘Nungeena’ around here, right?”

“Great memory,” I congratulate him. “You got it the first time.”

“It’s just that where I first became exposed to this stuff, Her name was ‘Pacha Mama’.”

“Of course,” I smile.

“Nungeena,” he repeats as I nod. “But on the third hand,” I say, miming the emergence of another arm from my shoulder, “if you want to know what I really believe…” He leans forward as my voice drops. “How much do you know about, uh dimensional theory? Have you ever seen a hypercube?” O’Grady nods emphatically. “No,” I change my mind, “let’s start at the other end – it’s easier from down there.”

“Okay.” “You know there are an infinite number of points in any line?” I mime the action and a fluorescing trail of dot patterns laces the ground in the darkness while he nods. “And there are an infinite number of lines in any given plane, right?” I inscribe long lines at various angles on a scroll of parchment that appears in the nocturnal air.

The serpent poison is coming on strong and my foot is throbbing, swollen and red, but my monolog keeps me loosely bound to the world; I’m grateful to have an audience in this remote Paradise – and haven’t been condemned to merely sitting here alone and dealing with the poison while listening to all this stuff going around inside my head. I haven’t told him about the black snake yet – don’t want to worry him unduly. She will bruise thy heel…

“Well there are also an infinite number of planes in any solid, right?” I chop paths through an imaginary sphere from various angles, as it hovers between us like a small planetoid. O’Grady agrees. “And there are an infinite number of three-dimensional solids in hyperspace,” I conclude my series, sweeping my arms outward to indicate all the other spheres hovering in an immeasurable array that spreads away from us in all directions. “Virtual worlds from this point perspective, just as our universe is an illusion when viewed from theirs.”

For a moment I glimpse the view from hyperspace, from the fugue-riding perspective of the Crown Chakra, and all the spheres interpenetrate each other at various angles and progressions of mutual absorption – and then my mouth keeps working around the cud of my words.

“So from that heightened perspective, from the view of a consciousness dwelling in hyperspace – not beyond or apart from this world but implicately involved in everything here, as intrinsic as space or time – you could be aware of every sparrow that falls, every leaf on every tree and every thought in every being simultaneously. You could be aware of the flux of all the alternative timelines from a sufficient remove…

“It’s like this,” I continue as I see him attempt to imagine that view. I draw a circle on the ground between us. “From up here you can see everything inside that flat circle simultaneously, right? It’s all visible at once.”

“I see,” he says, and he does.

“Now, on the second last and penultimate hand in this trick deck, there’s another point or two I must make if you want a near-complete answer. There are those who draw a distinction between not only Judge and Creator, but also include an Architect in their triune pantheon…”

“Like the Egyptians with that dwarf character – what was his name?” He hands me a smoke.

“Ptah. Ta, thanks. That’s the one. “Around here he’s known as ‘Puntjal’ – pretty similar, considering. Here we have Nungeena (or Mother Nature, the Holy Spirit, the Holy Breath, the Nephesh) as well as Puntjal, the Architect of the Universe – and there’s also the indwelling Creator who dwells at the crown of your head, whose arms extend down through ours from the Dreaming, the Al Chera, Hyperspace, from the Crown of Creation, to work within the world and worlds. But I won’t speak his name here and now…”

“Fair enough. The Architect – ‘Puntjal’?”

“Perfect.” “So the geometric certainty of an interpenetrating series of interdimensional realities – not just some mathematical theory, but an infinitude of multiverses and a vast range of nesting dimensions – informs us that there must be, at very least, the likelihood of a Witness – a consciousness that is aware of everything in our little circle. Infinity is a pretty big place – infinity implies that anything we can imagine must actually exist somehow, somewhere, somewhen, on every scale…”

“So we have a Judge, an Architect, Mother Nature and a Witness – but what about a Creator?” he persists as I pass the smoke back to him.

“For a start, it’s all a hologram so you are already partaking of all of those forms of Godhood – your consciousness already extrudes into all the other dimensions, but we’re usually untrained to perceive or make use of any of them but the familiar ones that are useful to terrestrial primates. They’re all accessible, if you start young enough or are very fortunate or have enough focus and will power. The truth is, thou art God.” I’m pleased to see he doesn’t rebel at the prospect as a circlet of six-pointed stars surrounds his brow and an etheric topknot extrudes from the crown of his head.

“Now, if you really want to pin me down about a Creator – on the one octopoid tentacle, with an infinity of infinities to ponder, a Creator can’t be rendered impossible – and anything not impossible is not only probable, but likely – or even mandatory…”

“Anything not forbidden is compulsory.”

“Exactemundo, compadre.” And on the last tentacular extremity of all, interdimensional theory well understands how to create universes – we can do it in the lab, here at the dawn of the Third Millennium.”

“We can?”

“We can – I’ll explain how, if you like… do you know anything about Brane theory? M theory? Membrane theory?”

“Is this answering my question about a possible or probable Creator?”

“Okay then – you know how in current understandings of time travel, if you go back in time and kill your grandfather there’s no paradox at all?”

“You don’t snuff yourself out of existence then?”

“No – because when you leave the bubble of this hologram and enter another one, it is another one – times ain’t times and oils ain’t oils.

By entering another time stream the current belief is that you create a new time stream – although I differ on that point; I say that within infinity all virtual realities are equally real, and that the traveler is not a creator but just another vainglorious usurper of the title. These so-called ‘creator gods’ are simply stepping into a pre-existing continuum, not creating a new one at all. We don’t each simply create a new universe with each act of will, as postulated within the imagined constraints ascribed to quantum theory – we shift into a pre-existing virtual co-creation. There are an infinity of them.

“If you can imagine the sort of obsessive personality that wants to go back in time and change history – and not even their own history you understand – they know it’s a parallel history they’re tampering with but want to do it anyway – you’ll understand why a lot of the so-called ‘gods’ of the past have been such primitive control freaks.”

“Third Reichers and the like.”

“Precisely – and in some cases literally. Anyway, it’s all a variation on Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, if you like…”

“That’s where you can’t tell the velocity and trajectory of any subatomic particle at the same time?”

“That’s right – and the implications, as derived by modern physicists, are that the observer creates reality. So we’re all the Creator; manifest reality as we know it is a co-creation, combined from the various point perspectives of innumerable lifeforms in innumerable shapes, with utterly divergent environments and ways of viewing the universe. The manifest world is made by all the intersecting perspectives and wills of us all – and certainly not just those of human beings.

“The more diverse the range of lifeforms in a place, the more enduring the landform itself – and all other factors, like climate for instance. Life changes the odds in favour of itself – the evidence is all there if you take a look, all duly notarized and scientifically notated. Mind and will alter the odds, the flip of the dice, the spin of the electron, the intensity of the Sun, the trajectory of asteroids. You know what the native Americans say – the Web of Life holds it all together and each of us is a strand. “And if mind over matter is real – and it is – then all the other so-called psychic phenomena are equally real and accessible to us all.

“We’re creating it all, all the time. Everything’s an interpenetrating hologram and we’re all points of the same distributed consciousness, of the same – there has to be a better word than ‘oddgod’ – but if you’re looking for a Creator, look in the mirror,” I laugh, drawing a planar pane between us.

We grok. It groks.

“Okay,” he asks as pregnant Molki awakes from her drowsy slumber and leans against him. “What do you think gravity is?”

Step out of the chains binding your mind and life! Your parents and grandparents were happy and satisfied to be lied to by those who still get away with stealing the wealth and knowledge of the Earth (and everywhere else) for themselves – are you?

Turn on. Tune in. Opt OUT! You have nothing to lose but your blinkers. Security is only found within and true abundance comes only to those prepared to give everything away when they no longer need it.

Money is not abundance – it’s a tax on abundance! Why are you reading this? Why are you here? What is it that you need? Why do you need it? Who are you, really?

 

 

- by R.Ayana

Images - author's 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- See Shamanic Drug
Apoclaypse or Paradise? 

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Instrumental - Reaping the World Wind: How To Make Love Last

 

Instrumental

 

 

Reaping the World Wind

How To Make Love Last

How in the name of heaven or hell did you get here? Why are you reading these silly words by some unknown savant or savage? But let’s ignore the obvious for now – let’s not look for someone else to praise or blame, before we return to the heart of matter and the hearth of the Mother.

For we dwell on the edge of the eaves of destruction and salvation in the manifold mansions of our forefathers’ follies. We’re ready to awake from a healing slumber that’s befallen all humankind’s sleeping beauties, a comatose numbness that preserved the seeds of the future by closing our eyes to the errors of a now bygone age. And now on the brink of eternity’s blast, our eyes are opening again and at last to a world that’s forever outgrown its past.

The unclear nuclear era is gone if not forgotten by those who must breathe its billennial vapours. Welcome to the Sage of Aquarius, who still has to chop wood and carry water, albeit often by novel and easier means than primordial ones. The need for unending work is dead if we only use our minds for something better than rank competition.

Times have changed. We’ve entered a brave new world of geoweaponry where the hubris of game playing musclebound warriors and envious monkey mind scientists has delivered up the tools of the gods of yore. Earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, tidal waves and all the injurious forces borne by the children of Earth at the hands of past planetary deities are now at our beck and call. Humankind wanted to become gods, and so we have, ready to face the wider cosmos. One being’s ceiling is another’s floor. Thank you, Mr Tesla, for creating a fresh Slate on which to draw.

Fallen angels with electronic haarps seem to have forgotten that when you sow the wind you reap the whirlwind – and flood and famine, pestilence, death and a cavalcade of apocalyptic horsemen, all arrayed and ready for cavalier destruction. But after all, that’s business as usual.

Let’s try something unusual for a change, now that we have the chance.

Being a god is overrated. It’s better to live in paradise on earth than to serve or rule in heaven or hell. It’s better to dance on your feet than fight on your knees. And to all would-be leaders or followers – forget the rest, it’s the environment, stupid, not a falseconomy of impoverishing ‘progress’ where people work most of their waking lives just to keep an overpriced roof over their heads and toxic food in engorged poisoned bellies.

The time to be economical with the truth has passed. What really matters? The economy? Really? Economical? Hardly. A mess far more appropriately described by its anagram – ‘one comical’ display of pound foolishness and penny wisdom so hideously stupid it beggars belief.

Can you imagine the folly of building a society where everyone borrows against tomorrow to pay for yesterday’s outdated desires? Where everyone steals from their children to fatten their obscene obesity? Yet almost everyone has succumbed to the thrall of gilded frippery and wilfully surrounded themselves with a toxic cocoon of plastic ‘luxuries’ – inhabiting self constructed barred and locked cells of the damned into which they lock themselves each and every night, afraid of their own shadow.

Our elected ‘leaders’ are clueless sycophants to damaged industrialists who believe in dust, as the only reality. They all want you to believe that pointless destructive labour for their personal benefit is a virtue. Lol to their monetary lollies; I’d rather loll around laughing than fall along with them.

The religions, superstitions, cults, credos and fraudulent sciences on which these pillars of society were reared have subtly assured these inductees – who imagine themselves leaders – that it matters little what they do, for the world will surely end someday soon; and, if not the world, then their lives will certainly be forfeit at the end of a tidily tiny allotted span and they won’t have to eat of the spoiled fruits of their actions. Many have been led to believe that they and you are merely biological mechanisms with no hope of a resurrection by reincarnation, with no purpose other than pointless propagation and blind repetition.

What can anything really matter to self obsessed narcissists who don’t give a damn what happens to everything or anyone else if they are personally foreordained to utter dissolution and extinction – or worse still, to redemption in a new Earth, under a freshly remade heaven? Might is right to their shortened sight, so they might as well take it all (down) along with them.

Those ‘elite’ who believe they’re the ‘elect’ and that everyone else is doomed to extinction are even more insufferable than the born again atheists – they think they’re doing some jerkoff deity’s work for them and every crime they commit and mistake they make is excused by the will of some doggone externalised god or another.

And yet we’re all immortal; there’s only one escape from the Wheel, and fleeing into computerised fantasies or space habitats won’t turn the trick – you’ll be sucked back into the Well of Souls whatever you do to escape it. Not even destroying the world will work; it’s been tried, you know, as the husks of once living nearby planets will attest.

Just ask any bodhisattva. The only way out is in, and true enlightenment can only come when it lightens the load and illumines the lives of all. Heaven or hell is what we make of the world we’ll be reborn into, subject to the whims and fallacies of the grandchildren we’ve misguided or weaned onto truth. That’s one reason why it definitely matters what we believe – and it matters whether what we believe is true or false.

A more pressing reason is that you are literally creating your reality from moment to moment. This is enlightenment, pure and simple, stated in bald monkey language. An aspect of you has written this screed that you’re reading. There’s no-one else to blame or thank. There’s only one god who’s going to save you and you’re standing in it.

Wake up to yourself, as the old timers say. Wake up and be the best beloved.

Change is usually incremental but it’s too late now to tinker at the margins if you’ve already read this far. It’s time to approach the essential and abandon the lies that most people believe. What we do with out time is what we really believe. Talk is cheap but freedom is free. What do you really want? Hope or fear, fruition or Armageddon, freedom or slavery? Look around. You have placed yourself precisely where you are for a reason known only to you. What is it?

What is it?

Who are you?

How can you make it all better? By buying yourself out of enslavement – or by looking at the world with eyes washed clean, shorn of the scales that have slithered before them?

How can you change the world without changing your self?

You can’t. Almost everything you’ve been taught to believe that you need to survive is just a raft of addictions en route to extinction. Many foolish shopaholics believe all problems can be solved by buying the ‘right’ things instead of ‘wrong’ ones, when the real problem is the notion and practice of shopping and buying itself – selling and buying into all that crap on every level.

Many think that by buying pure water and organic food they can escape the toxins in the air they breathe and that congeal onto their skins every day. It’s not only unwise to be purified in impure surrounds – the outer toxins will flood your system by reverse osmosis and kill you even more quickly that if your system was buffered against them with ambient toxins.

The only way you can have clean water, food and soil is to be their custodian and protect them from the ravages of ignorance. The world that surrounds you is a projection of what you really are. Your bloodstream can only be as clean as the rivers and seas – and the rain that falls in the water tanks of the cities of humankind.

The easiest route out of this hazy maze is by non-compliance to outer bosses and inner addictions. What if they gave a war and nobody came? What if no-one participated in their jobs for the boys or bought their tiresome tinker toys? What if everyone stood their ground to ask, ‘Why?’

What if you just left it all behind – and what is the ‘all’ that must be abandoned? ‘How can I live without money?’ most ask. Might as well ask, ‘How can I live without mummy?’ We all have to learn how to grow up sooner or later. By the time you’re an adult – by thirty or so – you’ve had plenty of time to learn what to outgrow. Avoid mammoney by arranging your life to have as little to do with it as possible. If you’re open to opportunities and suggestions – and recognise and accept them when they arise – you’ll find The Way without need of those heavy chains masquerading as plastic coins of the realm.

Yet material things are mere masks; the things we really need to abandon if we’re to be freed from our worst contrivances aren’t things at all – they’re far more ingrained in the timbre of our souls.

You can’t just move your locks, stocks and barrels of crude crud to ‘the country’. You have to abandon all the lies and insecure attachments to people and things, to filthy thinking and filthy lucre – or you’ll just destroy whatever purity you touch, regardless of self-styled intentions. You want paved roads and shopping trolleys? Then please go to hell in a hand basket and leave Mother Nature all one. I live in a diluted paradise struggling to recover from the fear and greed of past interlopers. The planet doesn’t need any more well intentioned road pavers.

It needs softly treading friends.

Abandon all fear, ye who would enter here. To paraphrase the great Frank Herbert, fear is the world killer. Acting from fear of loneliness or loss is what damns us to loneliness and loss. Imagination and hope and living our hopes are the only things that save us. There’s always a better way than the wrong way and in the land of the blind where the one eyed man is king there is always a blindspot loophole in the relentless oversight of control freaks’ systems.

There is always a third choice. There is always a way out. There has to be – because you are the one who constructed the Midas mirror maze that swallows the flower of each generation. You are the captain of your soul and destiny, and need no adversity to toughen or harden you.

Your only duty is to life and love. Your only responsibility is to respond wholeheartedly and compassionately to whatever is right in front of you. You know you’re doing the right thing when it feels good for you and the world that surrounds you. Every other way is a dead end, not only superfluous but completely destructive.

Imagine what you really want. It isn’t a bigger screen or a bigger cock or breasts or brain or another incarnation to set right whatever mistakes you imagine you’ve made or baggage of guilt you’ve burdened yourself with. You know what life really is. It’s in your heart. Feel it. Everything can be healed and transformed. Everything can grow back, within and without, if we give it the chance.

 

Dare to hope. Dare to dream of paradise for all. Live the life that teaches your children and parents and brothers and sisters what life really is. There is no tomorrow – by then your realisations will have faded beneath a humdrum shroud of habits and supposed certainties – the only time you can act is now. Abandon compromise today, now, here. Turn on. Tune in. Opt out of the relentless equation and breathe a sigh of heartfelt relief.

Home is where the art, the heart and the hearth is. Nothing is hidden. All is obvious for those with eyes to see. The world is a magical place. This is the mantra for all who would keep Earth their wondrous home:

EARTH

HEARTHEARTHEARTHEARTHEARTH

HEARtheARThearthHEARTearth

HEARtheARTheartHEARTHearth

EARTH

It’s right under your feet, so live where you can bear to bare them to it.

The time for nation states to end the fanciful feuds of bygone eras is upon us. All wars will end and peace will reign when your personal, private family feud with your self and selves is settled with peace and love. The magnetic moment is almost upon us. – prepare for the moment of nothingness and transformation by waking up now!

When you reach the end of this page get up and walk away from the screen and let the screens drop from your eyes. Like a new parent emerging from the birthing tent, truly SEE the first non-human-made thing or being you witness outside the cocoon that protects the dreaming womb; it will be your Papyrus and eidolon, a signal and message from your deeper self.

You are the infinite indwelling child and the wise loving parent of tomorrow. You are the redeemer, redeemed.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine – how about you? Ready to step into the new one, naked in the Sun – without a screen?

Now.

- Ramses Heru Ayana

Images – author’s

PS – Many thanks to J.B., the Magus Magistrum who always allowed would be acolytes a ready escape clause from mesmerised devotion; a winged messenger with masking boots of clay – always light years ahead of the pack mentality.

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