The paradox, the yes and no of things is pervasive. It’s not just the transcendent that is intellectually elusive. The child asks, “What is a flower?” How can we answer? How deeply do I know what a flower is? Yet we try to answer.
What is a personality; what is the definition and the limit? We say it is vehicle, that it is a mask, that it’s on the surface of things. Then we say all is one, so the soul and personality are one. But there is time we say, and Saturn’s rule is the root of this separation. Yet we sense that time is an illusion, and for those who love, “time is not.” We find no clear dividing line between spirit and matter, between personality and soul, no place where personality ends and soul begins.
The mask we call personality is deceptive. If the mask speaks of the mask, how could it be other than deceptive? Yet, to the degree that it is integrated with soul, the mask is no longer deceptive. There is no mask in honesty, in wholeness, in unity—and unity is the essence of all. Yet, the most transcendent unified light still uses a form. And if a human form and human symbols are used, a degree of imperfection lingers, an element of deception.
Where then is personality, and where soul? Among actual humans, I do not know if I’ve ever met a personality. I’ve seen faces in degrees of radiance and faces transmuting pain. But in all this alchemy, no personalities like the mental construct. Today, I suggest there is no category of personality rapport and or soul rapport. It may be convenient to speak of them, but they are not what is before our eyes. The existence of personality is factual, but it is not true. Before our eye is an exquisite play of light and shade, a world of gradations in flowing colors and shapes. The persona and its provincial and cosmic matrix are worlds of dancing lights, bits of energy with star-like distance between the points of illusion. The soul is the indefinable light that holds these stars in place and feeds their life.
The shine of personality is attractive. But it is somewhat like a moon, shinning with borrowed light. Its real beauty is not in the form at all, but in the soul shinning through. Personality is love in disguise. Virtually everyone I meet in the normal course of life looks well attired to me. They do not speak the language of personality only, they speak also the language of the soul. They do not always know they speak it, even when they do it very well. We hear the voice behind the voice. They cannot hide it; it is the nature of things. I see where the gleam in the eye comes from, even though they have forgotten to explicitly mention it.
Well, surely heaven is not what most people think and imagine. It’s not the singing of old church hymns and, if heaven had walls, they would not be decorated with the plump cherubs of old paintings. Of angels I have no doubt there are many, though minus the feathery wings of Earth’s ornithological types. That is the trouble with the way humans picture heaven, it becomes a projection of the earthly imagination. Surely, there are no towering churches or collections of virgins for the would-be resident.
Now that said, there is a consensus in many esoteric works that the mind and emotions, being exceptionally creative, means that all these things are collectively created on a psychical level. So whatever people imagine heaven to be–personally and collectively–that it becomes for the persons who participate in that thought form. So one can easily see how–in the psychical world–crowds of devoted followers gather around their Jesus to hear the repetition of sermons. But all this must be structures, forms of the earthly experiences projected, as it were, into the skies of the the “heaven worlds.” In modern terms, an illusory matrix.
As I have it, all this described is not heaven but a collection of human counterfeits, the very same counterfeits one meets with in the minds of humans generally. How then to elevate the term and concept “heaven” beyond its usual earthly import? “Structures,” which is to say forms and materials, are the stuff of worldly life. But there is something else, something truly spiritual, that casts its luster over, in and through the earthly world. The word I adopt for this is “archetype.” There is a pattern in and through and behind everything an archetypal beauty being the soul of every form. Truly perceived, life in the external world becomes a window through which the real heaven can be seen. It is not structure, but the creative energy behind.
The nearest analog to heaven in the objective world is light, color, sound, and geometry. These suggest the archetypal pattern on which all is based. To put it otherwise, the soul of every truly beautiful thing and experience of life, exists as a living and dynamic archetype in spirit, and that includes all that every individual is in their deepest self. The archetype of thought, emotion, consciousness, nature, and of the entire cosmic expanse, all exist in “heaven.”
“Hell” is in the life hear on Earth, and heaven also, when we can see through to it. That being the case, we need not wait for death to know what heaven is, because it is present now within and about us. It is a living presence in and through us and in and through all things. So then, yes, it is Consciousness–a whole rainbow of consciousness. All that people love and cherish about external life is the shadow of real life, the life called “heaven.” Not one good thing in world—in past, in present, or in future time—not one good thing is ever lost. The good unfolds always in an infinitude of wonder that is life. The heart of all is good beyond dreaming and it lies open before us now and through all the lives and deaths on which our spirit rides.
And about evidence there is this:
The cosmic, the universe, the all beyond yet inclusive of Earth, the vast ocean of energy-matter; the misty turn of galaxies and suns, bright lights and luminous clouds and further on, unfathomable curtain of night; so many well designed flames, so many mysteries of light; and here below we focus small, reduced, microscopic, with body heat no match for stars. Or more, we find it so by our binding in time, by animal nature, by blood, by minute psychologies and small pains, troubles rendered in large illusions, yet not one such visible from Space. But thought of the universe is more magical than time and lights brain with new fires; so then, small links to great and the sunlight spaces of the cosmic worlds are close as love.