The Gift without Name

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They come to you, unifying, communicating, manifesting in sound. We might say they use “music” or “notes,” as that is an analog the brain understands. They play the power through each center, ringing changes through the ascending body-of-light-sound that seems “I.”

They show something of what and why you are in the deep infinite of life, and something of what they are, and something of what all life is. They radiate pure meaning that comes as chords of music.

The waves are infinite in variety and beauty; each strand of musical-meaning sparkles with countless seeds of future life, your life and all life. The essence of the future is there, and worlds of instruction live in each chord. With all perceptions altered, brightened immeasurably, you are grounded at last in reality. Your subsequent life, in so far as it is meaningful, shall be nothing but the translation into action of this music.

The sounds continue in the background of your best thoughts. In greatly muted from they weave their magic through all the days of your life—thank heavens for the muted notes, for fully sustained they would burn your body to ashes. You see now where the obscurations are, where the notes failed to penetrate. But it is only a matter of time before the gift without name redeems everything.

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Fire and Crystal

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Were I just landed by spaceship, I’d not expect to find the world other than it is. But having lived here a while, and known moments of grandeur, I’ve often returned to earth with a strange expectation that I would find the world more like the vision. The contrast is painful, but in time things do become brighter, fiery; all faces take on spiritual ambiguity, are luminous like sun behind clouds.

Mother Earth is dark in time, yet hides fire and crystal. The Earth brightens in time and gives revelation. The mother of God shines in crystal and the fire of the crystal. I see that the Mother of God is in the pure violet; we pass through her as a door. Then again I think I find her retreating even in the fearful face, and I fancy I find even in mockery a faint sparkle, a prelude to revelation. In the play of time and Absolute, all things hide opposites in forms that call to love regardless of condition.

Small and Great

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How to distinguish the small and the great?

Beautiful small drop of ocean is great, but small talk is not great unless love disguised. The tiny star in space, radiant light beyond our reach, is great to our eyes. Space includes all and is great. The blind eye is not great but the eye that apprehends stars in space is great, for there is love in the deep of space and in the star and in the tiny eye that sees.

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Light of Stars

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Have you seen the white faces, the stars on wall of night? Calm they seem, and cold, cold as Arctic light; hot they seem, burning bright into my eyes. New fires bloom there, and stars that lived and died long before an eye could capture light. Behind my prison sight, the sky seems phantom cold, spatial void unbridgeable. But there is more fire than prison eyes can see. Have you seen the cold sky warm to luminous shadows, patterns of things to be? Have you heard the cold clear call, the songs of distant stars? Behind this bloom of lights, voices sing and whispered stories come of deeps beyond, and futures holy light.

Morphing with Light