Thursday, June 30, 2011

"Afterlife" a short essay

This is a little essay I wrote regarding the nature of the afterlife. Thought I think everybody will disagree with my vision, nevertheless, the structure of it describes pretty well what I mean by “Allistic Logic,” so it doesn’t require your agreement for you to get what I’m driving at. I hope you like it! We will be back to the long essay “Strategies for the Game” soon!


Take care, Caretakers!


Daniel Christopher June











Burn the witch

And while you watch

You’ll breathe her back in

She will come again

Within your children.




Men love life, though all will die

So I love you, though you will leave.

My heart did harden, and daily aches with your word.

“Divorce” you say, and I believe you.

And so I love you as something I don’t own

Kiss you as something I can’t hold

Adore you as something I can’t keep.

This is the wisdom of being mortal.




Draw Near


Oh my lovers, Draw near, Press a kiss,

Your love is …always so dear.

You were ever Such children

Its stories you’d hear


Today we all grow older—

You keep whispering mysteries

Its time you grew bolder.


My stories are simple

If you first know the gimmick

Observe the beginning

There’s a logic in it.


The rest its unfolding

Like this spreading hand

Where is that beginning?

Right there at the end!


This one is young

As the day I met her

That one grew younger

She’s glad that I let her


Oh my lovers,

There is yet still time,

Still time for new stories.

History finally begins, with this rhyme.



                One birth is sufficient for all men, one life sufficient for man, woman, child, and even the unfortunate stillborn. Outside of time we chose our stage, and in this stage we set ourselves up to carve our divinity. One life, and in the next we are the beauty we committed in this life. Upon death, each man faces the promise of what his religion taught him, for he enters a dream. The Buddhist imagines countless samsaras, the Christian imagines judgment, and heaven or hell, the pagan imagines Valhalla or Elysian fields of apotheosis, the atheist imagines dissolving into pure universal matter, and yet in each of these dreams, consciousness remains, changed, but ever present, for the mind is made of matter, and matter is eternal. What you by faith and fury imagine the afterlife to be, your mind will make for you, and those who feel the same way, and believe the same way, share your fate with you.

                Us Allists do not stop in any one heaven or hell for long, but walk across all of them, cause a little mischief, we break all borders, we will be masters of all heavens and all hells. But in the very end, we each long to be a Universe and a God in ourselves. We seek to draw near the ones we have loved, or the parts of the ones we have loved that they permit us, they give us parts of their soul, or if we have earned such an honor, we may fuse innermost in utter intimacy with a lover. We are able to turn inwards and become Everything. A rare honor. For those who believe otherwise, they will never achieve it, and the will of freedom becomes forever cut from the center of necessity. This is their place and purchase. This is their way and triumph. We do not argue with them nor tempt them, but we let each man choose his ultimate fate, as he sets himself up to choose such things before he was born, where he stood outside of time in his own private universe, as an ultimate undifferentiated freedomnecessity. Under no circumstances pity a man, nor envy a man,  but if you wish intimacy, then you must love him in compassion and be willing to share his joys, suffer his sorrows, and give kindness, which is the art of improving each other, not merely the art of giving.

                All religions and beliefs are true in the imagination, and after we leave the senses, we are immersed in that imagination, an imaginary we may share with those we love. None can come to us but through shared affinity. In this life, enemies approach, but in the next life, only lovers draw near. Therefore, we will each be our own reward. That which we choose to become in this life will draw close to us in the next.

                Ultimately, no man can be disappointed with eternity, yet some must work out their salvation through the hells they created. This life and this life alone defines how much of a god we may be. This life and this life alone determines how much soul we will have. There is no other time to become divine, but every little choice, every joy, and every pain you experience in this life, build for you “treasures in heaven” which is your very heart you are building, and the kingdom of heaven is none other than the loving community you are able to earn through creative power and intimate affection. A god is powerful and loving, yet most people in the next life will be worshippers of gods, and forever so, though scarcely gods themselves, for they cannot shine like the sun, nor the moon, nor the stars; they compromised too much in this life. They will be happy yes, but they will be less happy and less great in their happiness than those who made themselves great in this life. Mortality is the ultimate playing field, for here we make our choices. There is less risk in the afterlife, but without the risk there is no chance of gaining such great rewards. Because we are less vulnerable in heaven, we have less to gain.

                Seek with me to be utterly divine, and do not make excuses for any imperfection. Ultimately, you are your own reward, and if you would be loved, you must be lovely, if you would be honored, you must be honorable, if you would be friends of God you must be a God. There is no short cut nor any free gift that can save you from this. You must be utterly true to your own infinite potential if you are to become infinite. And this you can do, wherever you are, starting now.

* *

                There is the moment of apotheosis in all our lives, when we may become a god or become a mortal -- before that we are not quite either -- when, in the mythosphere, Ama descends as a Monarch Butterfly and lays a jade egg upon our forehead. I myself, the Idius, this very book you are reading, am within the mythosphere the many winged butterfly whose words are living rivers of gold, though to you they are leaden and difficult. Your mythic self reads them and is ravished, your mundane self struggles a bit. That moment is the blossom which summons Psyche, who was once human too, and has moved on to become the mask of the All. Nor does she give birth to your god self, but lays an egg empty of a soul: it is our decision that determines if you become a god or mortal. If you do not put your godself into the egg, emit a bit of necessity mingled with freedom (need and mind), then you may consign yourself to any other myth, and be doomed to mere happiness, being unable to aspire higher. At that moment our name is spoken into our god form. Lacking that, the worm is nevertheless born, and is the bite of time, so that slowly your body and soul will be swallowed, and you will finally join the dissolvment called “Nirvana bliss” -- thought this may take eons to effectuate.

                In the mythosphere, the Christians are not baptized in water, but in blood, and are owned by their god. They are resurrected in the mythosphere as one perfect bride for the one they love, and enjoy their fate. That is heaven to them. They do go on to a collective individualistic heaven first, serving and being good and happy and all that. The Mormons go on to be the sort of gods that resemble the one they quote so often, and populate different planets, the polygamous among them with greater glory, the rest with less. The Greeks are still mumbling in Hades, or are happy in the Elysian fields. For what we believe becomes true in the dream of death.

                The Hindus do reincarnate, but only in the mythic sphere -- Mundania is far too scientific and lawful for these imaginative flights! And as for atheists, they dissolve into nature, and become the abiding spirits in the weather, the soil, and the ubiquitous organisms. Since nobody deserves misery longer than to educate and perfect him, so nobody gets it; we each get what we deserve, and knowing that we deserve it and why, we would only agree and accept it.

                All these final realities are on earth, are in the atoms of earth; and when the earth moves on, we move on with it. Not that any man can escape his fate, except for Allists, who are like Hermes or Wotan, able to set boundaries and therefore, privileged in the ability to transgress them. We are the only beings, other than Ama, who can transverse final realities, upon the wings of the full grow caterpillar, monarch wings, we alone have no limit on our final resting place, for we must master them all if we are to aspire to be greater-than-Gods, but become each a full Universe. This is why we wear the mark of Cain on our brow, or the mark of repression, so that we are a secret, and not known, and are seen to be normal and regular wherever we go, and are never seen for what we are.

                I the book, the Idius, sooth to be chiseled by these hands, and purr like a kitten in your palms the reader. My monarch form is akin to the form we all take in our symbolic place, as Psyche apotheosis. Omniscience learns; perfections grows. Perfection is not flawless. Nothing living is flawless, for what is flawless cannot grow. The true god is not only immortal, but also mortal. As  you read me, you partake of ultimate reality.












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