Incarnation

From blog: oafeny.blogspot.ca/

Incarnation is always through death and only through resurrection can there be re-birth—to  put  it all in a more humorous tone, or rather bluntly—after  the  unveiling of the latest model of  ; “Firebird 2016”—I am  now literally a totally new person—no more Red Dragon, no more, Cica, no more Quetzal, no more any other legendary creature except, “Firebird” Thus why not become all fire?—as one of the Desert Fathers asked one of his young students. Fire is heat and light in other words— it is love and truth. If one cannot live according to that principle then one is in the wrong incarnation.  Half here, half there will not do, and should not be tolerated in any way—it is either all or nothing.  Not some half arsed version of living a deviant principle of a lie and non-commitment. Either one grows a backbone, or remains a spineless jellyfish—with no moral backbone; I refuse to be a jellyfish.  

So the name came first—though perhaps –well I don`t want to flatter myself with an inflated ego by saying it was divine revelation, but it is somewhat close to the truth. Ask and you will be given, seek and you will find said Our Lord. Thus followed the introduction to the next chapter of my life with new vision—a symbolic message with its  numerous implications for my life—well my life as well as the many I touch. 

I  have through my life have been growing steadily towards God-, so I hope—in more areas than one —, but at times often for several years one mucks about in the deep sludge and the grunge of the physicality of life forgetting what is important –and then comes a time of  a desire to fly; for some unexplained reason—then through tremendous effort, courage and pain we wade out from the swamp—take bigger steps, eventually start running atop the crap and suddenly we take flight. The soul seems to almost unfurl in the generated energy and  in a blink of an eye sees the view of one`s entire life in panorama . A form of self realization or awareness. Once more it finds its way, out of the swampy muck; that we ourselves create though our behaviour or attachments or desperate desire to be loved.

We leave behind the false promises that were made in the heat of passion, that we never really meant to keep. Make dedications that mean entire nothing, but to forge the chains that clinch tightly the heart of the other even tighter.  Betray loyalties for loose change. Talk in the language of angels that beguile the spirit, which are uttered with forked tongue. Knowing so well the words that will open the heart. But when we don`t commit fully, we are forever  trapped in Limbo—neither in heaven nor hell. 

Oh yes, we think it is love—but it is prison, slavery in the worst way. A living death and self mortification and torture at its best-when there is no balance of souls and mutual feelings. It is filled with disillusionment, fear, pain, trepidation, jealousy and heart break; all are deadly emotions for the soul. All is always written in the stars and within ourselves long before, but yet we turn a blind eye and refuse to see the truth. Love does not hurt, destroy the one, one loves. Love will sacrifice its own self for the loved one—suffer for them and even offer up ones life for the beloved. That what love is. But choose we must in love completely—one or the other. Hold tightly or let go entirely. Otherwise it is a futile exercise .

One grows up slowly and after each episode of years, one gets to the next class. And those times as I often mention, the teacher shows up; always for good reasons whom in the past weeks has taught me more than I have ever known, or understood about life but more so my relationship with myself, the universe and God. Maybe one has to be like a fruit –become ripe for the plucking so to speak, to comprehend the questions. I never mind the answer, for that always follows. The hand having writ moves on, we turn the page as well never an other backward glance. 

But woe to you who do not see what is before your eyes, for love disappears like the morning dew. Regrets are the worst form of punishment for the soul—for realization of what one had and lost torture the heart forever. Haunted  by what could have been, should have been. No reprieve only through death—and then comes the ever searching  once again. I shall whisper a secret to you—appreciate always what you have, recognize its value and cherish it with all your might—for that is the action of a true wise soul. Second chances seldom come, third are non-existent.