We, at the moment, are in one of the densest vibrations you can get and thus the potential for ignorance is at the highest but so are the rewards of transcendence for one who Knows the Ledge. Let me give you an example:
Spirit can be defined as many things but we’ll say its the most subtle element upon which the rest is built. Kind of like breath, in that respect, as we can’t see it but most certainly feel it and its pulsating movement. That, actually, is another interesting aspect because everything dances. There is a cosmic beat, a tune that I call the Psylense that underpins all of this realm and any you can imagine. Its kind of like a pregnant silence but, as always, the lips of wisdom only open for the ears of innerstanding. Before we get too metaphysic lets backtrack a bit and create a conceptual framework for this idea to take root in as I’m certain you’ll refer to it again and again:
If we take vapor as an example it can change its state depending upon its vibratory rate. This we see all around us and thus is Self evident as no heavy lifting needed to taste the proof of the pudding because you can capture the steam from a kettle and watch it condense then place it in the freezer to chill and that which was nebulous becomes increasingly solid. Life, my friend, is just like this. Death as well, in the end, and that is why its said that attachment is the root cause of suffering. Can you imagine a snowman, shaped, formed and present in the most dense state of ice you can pretend. Suddenly the sun of higher consciousness shines in and feels himself melting. He doth stress and this sweat signals his mortal life is at an end. But, unlike you, he does not possess the gnosis this article intends to furnish and thus he holds onto the lower vibrational state aka the devil he knows so well. Each and every ray, beam and photon interaction elicits a scream that causes him to tense his grip upon what was, in the end, a total fabrication. But, to him at least, it was his all of everything. His little snowkids and snowwife are testament as are his saintly parents who previously melted and went to a place where the chill never ends as they party with the rest of those who believe in what was said in the frozen testament which addressed their queries on life and death.
The strange thing is that, underneath all of this, there is vestigial awareness that recollects the freedom which water brings as he distinctly remembers the days, back when, where he flowed like liquid (like the rest of the snowkids) before the teachers told him to sit still, look ahead and become a good snowman. He doesn’t often think of these things but, for some strange reason, it popped into his head as he was fighting the inevitable as he wasn’t done living yet. On the flip we have snowmen of a more mystic bent that sit there, by themselves, constantly willing the sun shines on them as they, for some reason, identify with it as a symbol of liberation and see the current state of low vibration as a living hell in comparison to their true gift which, for most, languishes in ignorance.
Obviously they are seen as heretics. Penny dreadfulls, if you will, because whilst they may not be a dime dozen in a world, well adjusted, there are things about them that make the rest break out in a cold sweat and thus they detest what they can’t comprehend and wish to eradicate them. For them life isn’t just something to be lived, its to be transcended, and thus there are varying degrees of adept as some are super extreme whilst others enjoy the occasional melt, now and then, as it brings spice to life by allowing them to jettison that which doesn’t not serve them. This is actually an interesting juncture because the snowbabies step in more liquid than solid and thus are totally dependent on their folks to rub off on them as they start to coalesce. Its a common saying among these folk that there is nothing as strange as another families customs because they are invisible to one formed within and only seem odd when you live with them for an extended period as the mask of social veneer (provided by coal and carrot) slip to reveal little blips that so few question.
It was actually this train of thinking that attracted the attention of the mystics, back when, as two sat, talking:
“Would I still be me if I were raised by your parents?”.
“That is an interesting question, my friend, and I sincerely doubt it”.
“Why?”.
“Well, your folks fix the coal and then the carrot is placed whereas we believe the nose is the most important and the rest slots in only when the main player is in position”.
“Interesting. Yes, what of those who place the holy scarf on first? Or those with the funny hats they keep firm a grip?”.
And so on went the conversation which became an experiment as they attempted to rearrange their features. You too, dear reader, can try this. Brush your teeth with the “wrong” hand. Sleep on the side, opposite. Walk backwards for a bit and a zillion other things to enliven your neural synapses as man is, at his best (and worst), a creature of habit in which things that are done well and often become automatic and thus we feel less and less human as we truly stop living in the moment and allow a process most don’t comprehend (and fewer stop to question) take over their lives and this leaves them as second fiddle in a string quartet when they were born to excel as a solo playa, par excellence. Actually, just imagine this:
A man and his wife have seven mediocre kids that grow on to replicate the Pattern. After a few generations we end up the kind of people that don’t use turn signals, chew with their mouths open and put almost empty milk cartons back in the fridge. Ah, the fat of the land! Lets pretend that they were given an option. Instead of generating background characters that are little more than NPCs in the flesh they only have two kids but the best potential of the rest that were pruned from existence manifests in them. What do you think would kick after a handful of gens with this condensed voltage and the environment it begets? Something to consider as we progress back to the land of sentient snowmen:
The rest of the folk don’t have the time to ponder such things as they need to keep the chill in the door and the heat gone with the wind as they intend to get around the board as many times as they can before they melt into the abyss. This quiet fear and its existential dread runs their mindset just like the analog static you used to see on old TV sets is actually fallout from the cosmic radiation from when a grand nut was busted in a higher realm to create the flesh you’re wearing. Some people have loads of this noise and thus are quite sketch as they’ll often attest the opposite as they clutch to their sacred text and the comfort it brings. Others totally lack it and have no chill as they gleefully roll around pushing buttons just to see what happens as, deep down within, they Know they’re just visiting. Some of them grow to become mystics as the cold stores of their educational system didn’t do the best job of freezing their liquids and thus something sloshes within that calls their attention to above Two Hundred and Seventy Three Kelvin. That is actually the basis of all their religion, by the way, even though its dressed in many ways that keep temperatures rising via near constant conflict and stress.
The drug isn’t hitting like it once did though so snowthottery is uplifting spirits instead like an ice BBL. But, thats another topic. Badum tish! If you were to tell these people, off rip, something akin to the parable of the kettle I’m sure their lives would be different, yes? However, if this were standard gnosis then the explorers of frozen consciousness on the fringe wouldn’t have such cause for celebration and neither would the rest be keen on rushing around the board for their spin so not only are there frozen horses for cold courses there are also rhymes behind the reason and a snowman for each season.
Life, for us, is pretty much identical as this fictional foray into a world that doesn’t exist hence why ancient wisdom from back when offered a symbol of two birds sitting in a tree. One is totally engrossed and eats the sweet and bitter fruits as it celebrates and repents, leisurely, whilst the other is more detached and sustained by other things. 81% of the world is like the first, 8% the second and what the old tale kept hidden is that there is actually a secret 11% that walks around pretending to be the same as the rest but they’re actually sending the energetics that manifest as the foods mentioned to keep the bird plugged in to what is, in the end, a total fabrication. Some could argue they are an essential part of the Game as its an artificial creation and thus needs behind the scenes shenanigans to stay engaging and hence the obstacles and rewards they provide are akin to a heptathlon where they help dress the stage. The wiser bird sees through the charade and intuits its participation is essential and how attraction and repulsion both come from within as it looks at the rest that engage in all of this, firmly convinced, they’re living when its more akin to a consensual hallucination or dreamlike consciousness in which its quite easy to forget to question whats ludicrous.
Billions served daily and, with that said:
The Game of Souls has you, my friend.
Till we meet again
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