Vision of the Afterlife
We have many “selves” or layers of consciousness – material self, social self, conscious self. These are the mind in its modes, but they don’t refer to the Self proper. The self is called Atman among Hindus, or Annatta (nothingness) among Buddhists. For the Hindu, the Atman is Brahman: self is all. Pragmatically, Atman equals Annatta; whether you think your self is absolute nothingness or absolute everything, the mystical results are the same.
For the definition of definition that declares identity is a matter of “family resemblance” so that any member of a set has some but not all the properties typical of the set, this definition does not define itself: how could the definition of definition be formulated along these lines? Furthermore, family resemblance includes countless coincidental characteristics of members that look as if they could be a family member, but are not at all related. These ideas relate to the identity of the self, and whether there is an essence to it, a necessity. There is the creative necessity, a set of needs, and that is our self; there is the conscious mind, which chooses how to express those needs, and that’s our I; and then there’s the totality of all we are, our orgasm, and that’s our being and becoming.
How to relate this transcendent mind to this organic body? For the mind is something in the atoms and cells of our brain and yet able to survive without them, in and above. Amidst unrecognized bodily sensations, an immense yet transcendent mind – the completely supernatural emerges.
The talks of heaven and hell, which were invented in Persia by Zarathustra, speak of bodily rewards, social rewards, but never spiritual. Not even the latest manifestations, Christianity, Islam, Mormonism, get the most important meaning of a morally structured universe. Karma is in our veins. We create a new body according to what we have done.
There are, after all, two ways a man can go. He can “die to be reborn” to God, “Lose himself so he may find himself,” “trust in God’ “Believe in God and believes things he said,” “submit to God” “Follow all the sacraments,” and this is to sell your soul to get into heaven. You will indeed die and be reborn, you will be reborn without your necessity, your needs, your innermost self. You will be an angel.
For in the after life we become either angels or gods. Angels belong to whatever god they served, whether a good God or bad God. But to become a God yourself means reflecting with the All, with Mother All, back on your innermost, your plethorabyss, your aboriginal self, your Me Myself, that creative dynamo that feeds vitality to the conscious mind. Self-reliance and emanating your greater self are the necessities for apotheosis. You emanate a new skin, a skin of light.
Whatever has once been part of the self forever will be, though its material instance be destroyed. The body gives the subtle resonance of its energy to all its own. That energy will flow out into all you create, and live forever, piggybacking on all that, so that your body scatters, but your mind coheres above it.
The person is an energy (self) and a power (mind). Our energy cannot be created or reproduced by anything but itself. Truth is its Name.
The self is not an object for worship. It gives us the necessity to worship other things, and only because it needs to, and this is why worship can be good. We worship the All, or some God her mask. That is, we respect. We do not obey.
I ask for nothing. I give everything. Are you rich enough to receive my gift? I who see everything but the obvious, I who disdain closeness to the facts. I forget that even staying on the surface you can find the spot to reach to the deepest nerve of the darkest well of the bottomless heart – even the surface, the superficial, has those points. And when you’ve said the exactly needed word, the magic word, your friend may not react or know he has received it, but it will work into his system.
Psychoanalysis taught that hidden, occult, arcane memories, twisted and distorted through a thousand inversions, were what alone could give us insight into our daily life. Person Centered therapy – psychotherapy of the United States – seeks only to affirm the patient to allow himself to say and mean the simple truths that will resolve his anxiety and empower him. “I deserve love” “I am angry at my mother,” “I am a good father.” Anybody can say such truths, but few can mean them. Being able to deeply mean them, to feel their meaning with the full viscera, is the object of self-knowledge, of mirror mediation, one of the angles of mirror meditation.
Who is that Me Myself, that Aboriginal Self, that Plethorabyss? Who is that Man of Light in his Robe of Glory? What is that innermost sun, swallowed up in the mirror womb?
My family and friends are flowers of wisdom. I the psychic god, butterfly afield, and I mingle and dance and take my heart’s nutrition from kind conversation with those I love. A few are also butterflies, able to migrate past the winters of life. I am ever in my nightly dances writing augers on the air, changing worlds with the electricity of my antennae. The seeds of light deep in this book, this Idius that gives the divine from Ama, her idea that when merged with yours becomes your apotheosis – you already know this. Your soul is already the emanated poem of your self knit carefully with the emanated poem of Mattria, the universal Mother. Her Divine aspect, Ama, gives you the kiss of innocence on your brow, in the form of some trauma or difficulty. The purpose derived from that is a devouring worm who either eats away your bad and merges with your good to give you psychic wings, or who eats your soul away, so that you give yourself up to some God or Goddess to survive. Life or death, the choice is yours, and you don’t choose it by thinking it, not consciously, you choose it by living it; you think through your life – days are thoughts, months and years thoughts.
Our needs sum up in our necessity; our greatest need, once it can arise, is to choose our purpose, an expression of our necessity. From that we break our life into many different projects, and all our life is a series of projects to educate us, though we think they are random or unrelated. Amidst all those projects we develop our Method. Our method is the comprehending langauge that dissolves all its world into tools of use to achieve its purpose.
Karma is in the blood; we become because we tried. Do the thing and you will have the power. And all the petty chores of this life are grand tests unknown to us now.
“We have no guess of the value of what we say or do … tis all phantasm; and if we weave a yard of tape in all humility, and as well as we can, long hereafter we shall see it was no cotton tape at all, but some galaxy which we braided, and that the threads were time and nature,” so said Emerson. Thoreau teaches a similar lesson in his parable of the creation of the perfect walking stick, the man who finished the perfect implement after eons of creation: “When the finishing stroke was put to his work, it suddenly expanded before the eyes of the astonished artist, into the fairest of all creations of Brahma. He had made a new system in making a staff, a world with full and fair proportions; in which, though the old cities and dynasties had passed away, fairer and more glorious ones had taken their place. And now he saw by the heap of shavings still fresh at his feed that for him and his work, the former lapse of time had been an illusion, and that no more time had elapsed then is required for a single scintillion from the brain of Brahman to fall on and inflame the tinder of the mortal brain.”
Every genuine creative act of our life, every form, transcends its object and becomes an idea in our heaven: our heaven is shaped like the things we created, the creative way we loved others, our words and deeds.
Laws for Creations
What do you suppose creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and
own no superior?
What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but
that man or woman is as good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach creations through such laws?
Thus Whitman in the American Bible hints to us as to the shape and way of our creativity, its full purpose. Whom we love, we forever love, no effort is lost. What we do forever repeats itself, in endless permutations, inversions, and iterations, like a fractal glyph, like Bach’s music, like one of my Line Drawings.
Angels or Gods, that’s our choice, the choice we make as an organism, a total choice. We can either submit, “making themselves loving, pure in heart, poor in spirit” to achieve union with the one, or we may insist on ourselves. We may “give yourself to him or you will not have a real self,” and thus lose our necessity, and be given some God’s purpose, or we may love our self and soul and submit to nothing external. Whether done through religious language or secular language, we all ultimately make this choice in life.
When will you let my dovelike soul nestle and rest in the in of your bosom? Remember my name, the idea of me, and let those forget it who never heard it to begin with. To hear with understanding, one must already know the truth, having gained it through intuition. Neither love nor its lack can be hidden for long. We share a language. What have we truly loved? Not officially loved or piously loved or tried to love or wanted to love, but loved in the inner sanctity of our heart? Be yourself: express your necessity. You were born for this, and none other. Oh! youth of budding gifts, know the one who endows you with every gift: your gratitude is in perfecting them. Know the name of Love, whom we call Ama. That which you love, really love, no matter what it is, already this is Ama.
We are each like Socrates, who was called by God “the wisest of men,” and unable to believe it, sought out every manner of wise man and teacher only to expose his folly, but finding at last the God spoke true. When Ama whispers the truth of our being into our ear, we can scarcely believe it.
I scry with my glans the turn of your words, gold leafed soul; the sunset buries my desire in friendship. Oh boy of responding kisses! Oh girl of swooning limbs!
When we share an eye, and touch tongue to tongue, langauge to language, I will have shown you the all. Repeat the truth and this motive and they will say you blaspheme or call you mad. Doubt of Ama is also Ama – nothing can cut you from this perfection, this fulfillment. It is done now because it is forever done.
\~ @M@ ~/
perfectidius.com
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