Noder’s note: I am going through my old writeups. There appear to be many that I did not write, but which have been posted to my account to judge and gaslight me. This is one of them. Please read it with this context in mind.
The things which i have seen, today, seem to have lasted many weeks and seasons, days and nights. And probably, in their formulation, they did. I set out for some kind of a spiritual journey, or at least one of insight, and that is what I have found.
It is with sleep, I seem to feel like some aspect of complete wholeness is passing over me, or that I am dying, returning to some life of aeons ago. Up the ladder I have climbed, tomorrow surely seems a low bit of work compared to the ancient mysteries, compared to standing on top of the mountain and seeing my place in the whole universe, and seeing the big picture and the little bits.
It is not so complex. There are philosophies of grande ideas, numerology and symbolism, layered intricately. They try to communicate some basic human truthes, to say very simple things. But it is not that complex. These things are common virtues, good and sharing, and empathy. They are mundane and rarely thought of as anything more. But they are the most heavenly and celestial of virtues considerable.
The little things. There are many little things. They fail at fully expressing this grandness that needs to be communicated or felt in a much more poetic way. The little things are like vessels, they are pots. Though the vessels of little things, there is a grand wine, a divine knowledge or ambrosia, which moves through these pots. It holds to them like magma.
This grand element moves through these vessels, in various forms. In some pots or crannies, it might seem beautiful and love, but in others, it may seem stark and undesirable. It is not the element that is defined by the vessel shapes. The vessels, the small things, they are like knobs, they seek to describe the grandness but fail to do so but in the most superficial of manners.
Now, there is an emptiness.