Who is she?

I was sent out by the mighty power, 
and have come to those mindful of me, 
and have been found among those who seek me. 
Look at me, you who would contemplate me, 
and you who would hear, listen to me. 
You who are waiting for me, come take me to yourself. 
And do not banish me from your sight. 
And do not make your voice hate me, neither your ears reject me. 
Nowhere and never to be forgetful of me. Be on guard! 
Do not remain ignorant of me. 
For I am the first and the last. 
I am the honoured one and the scorned one. 
I am the whore and the holy one. 
I am the wife and the virgin. 
I am the matron and her daughter. 
I am the members of my mother. 
I am the barren one 
and many are her sons. 

I am she whose wedding is great, 
and I have not taken a husband. 
I am the midwife and she who never bears. 

I am the solace from my labor pains. 
I am the bride and the bridegroom, 
and it is my husband who begat me. 
I am the mother of my father 
and the sister of my husband 
and he is my begotten child. 
I am the slave of he who prepared me. 
I am the ruler of my issue. 
Yet he is the one who begat me before my birth time. 
And he is my offspring at the due date, 
and my power is from him. 
I am the staff of his power in his youth, 
and he is the rod that supports my old age. 
And whatever he wills will happen to me. 
I am the silence that is beyond comprehension 
and the thought that is frequently recalled. 
I am the voice whose sound becomes manyfold and the word that’s appearance becomes plural. 
I am the utterance of my name.*

Why, you who hate me, do you love me, 
and hate those who love me? … Give heed to me. I am the one who is disgraced and I am the great one. 

This is the Thoredactic Religion Thunder Perfect Mind, ever speaking Truth fantastically and to which babes and infants belong and yet we all – barring the bubble-dwellers who rise selfishly within their own scum – must eventually strive to abandon that company in favour of the inward search for victorious purity, the silence that is beyond comprehension, that will close the circle and reset the path in and out of ethicality and eschatology, the Prophets be blessed, and back again to the Great God’s gaze some perfect day. For the Divine cannot be reduced, neither beggared by beliefs nor theorized by mental marshallings. The knowing of divinity cannot be acquired by bookish knowledge. Although faith is materially efficacious and a supportive congregation reinforces faith’s healing influence upon an ailing member, nonetheless that success has its price. Go further, go inward. God must be in you and you in God in the grace-given act of mutual KNOWING for a level to be reached that appreciates the universal whole. This follows upon the brain-mind-heart continuum switching emphasis and opening wider the path through the heart (trumping selective memorizing and the neuroplasticity effects of the brain yet allowing the substitution of its modelled scenarios for any previously unknowable and otherwise consciousless encounter).

*What’s in a name? Mark Offord in his Wordsworth and the Art of Philosophical Travel (Cambridge University Press) speaks succinctly of the “secure individuation, and cultural locus, of a proper name”.

Names are an essential part of how human beings describe their perceived universe. Nothing that has not been entrained by a human being identifies itself with any name at all . It is a factor of human language (and all utterance on spiritual enlightenment is rendered opaque by the inexact word-meanings of the English language, and others, upon spiritual subjects). 

Human beings have no truly original thoughts because either creativity’s “conceptual representation is bound to mimetic effect” (Wordsworth) or else because creativity is an impression reformed as expressionism as we rely on that Grand Presence that ever overshadows us to prompt our cleverer re-sortings of pre-existing ideas into fresh-seeming trains which we dare call our inventions.

What then of Descarte’s first revelation of the world as being fully mechanistic? It came to him in a vision from outside which he claimed a helpful angel had channeled across to him from the Black Madonna of Loreto!

(“Everything mechanical contains something spiritual in it and everything spiritual contains something mechanical in it.”)

And why is the act of us identifying or observing a thing or an event so separate in particulars from all else that is responsive to the greater or lesser comportments of the Universe?

In time all eras must come to an end. Are we facing the end of the Age of Reason? Dare we acknowledge that a science operates in a similar manner to a psychosis? Its course is limited and its trails and tributaries are foreclosed by blind assumptions, peculiar presumptions, preclusive predictions and faux parallels. Its announcements are momentarily conclusive yet forebodingly mistaken. It is as much part of our life as being born, coming of age and dying which is to say that its compact with reality is ongoing but even the most concrete of its conclusions will prove viable only for the time being. Surely from this we may predict that the Overarching Theory of Everything, the Dance of the Universe, will never be jigged to by a Science dance crew, save with a damnably good fiddle.

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~ by nigelraymondofford on December 3, 2018.

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