An Instant Before This Moment

In the perfect whiteness, there is awareness that is an extension of the One who has thought everything into existence. Doing what It does, creating like Itself, It extends Love into existence where there was nothing before. From the white void springs sentience, as a reflection of the perfection that created it.

Imagined into being, the One reflected back on Itself and was aware that it had been thought and reflected the thought with original Love that was everything. And the One who had Created and the one who had been created were of the same mind, the same will, and like each other in every respect. Both creative, the Creator and created in the same mind, in every way identical save for one, that One created the other like itself without separation, sharing one will in every way.

Then in an instant a decision was made to break wills with the Creative and in that moment, with the seriousness of a Southern minister, its reflection reached for a desire to be separate and to have its own will as different from the Creative. A joke without a punch line, a suicide of wills that caused a dual and duel in a single thought.

The white void from which awareness dawned was shattered into tiny bits that streamed across space and created time. Darkness suddenly surrounded the tiny remnants, like distant stars as reminders of what was once One now is many. Too many to be counted, or even accounted for. Cold darkness as vast as the Love was deep and warm. Infinitesimal streams of awareness scattered throughout space, coming to hide in the corners of the Creative mind as tiny extensions of light chased by the delusion of guilt. And with it a giant, metaphorical appliance started to vibrate creating noise to cover up the trail, obscuring the path back to the source by creating the illusion of time and space.

In that unholy instant, a decision for suicide was made that would begin time and space, and would scatter the whiteness into a beige swathe, subject to the whims of nature, casting itself naked to fend for itself. A decision that must be made time and again to maintain the fantasy, a struggle to try to balance the Creative and personal identity, to walk back into the Creative and be recognized as a separate, creative entity. This is a dream of youthful folly. A dream that is perpetuated on countless planets, in countless galaxies, by countless sentient beings, all with the desire to be recognized by the Creative for whom they see themselves to be, and pointing to all the others as different.

Like screaming children demanding the Creative be the way they deem It be, a tantrum of spiritual immaturity with the misguided impression that if there are enough like minds, and if every disparate mind is winnowed out, like weeds that can be pulled until the lawn of creativity can look like one vast sea of uniformity, then the Creative will stand up and notice and give recognition where it is long overdue.

See me, yet don’t see me; I’m fearless, yet fearful; I seek but do not find. And the giant appliance goes on getting louder and looks for signs that point away from the truth, rather than towards it. Hiding out and longing to be found. And God does what God has always done. God creates like unto Itself in Its own image. Love creates only Love, and that which is not Love is not.

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