You are now suspended in space.
A frightful feeling forms.
A neon judgement to the left.
A kiss beckons from the right.
They are no longer here, you are alone … or rather, momentarily alone, as it dawns upon you that you wait here for a reason. For an audience with someone or something important. More important than everything you hold most dear.
Oh, the cult was so wrong. So wrong. How could it have gone so wrong?
You recognize it all now. The words of the Doctrine. They were totems. Totems to protect you in this space. But the interpretations they fed you, oh, it was so wrong.
You are in a garden, standing in front of a gate. And there is singing. Such beautiful singing. The song is not ordinary singing, not music, something more than music. It is light-music. It is light-music. It is light-music! And the light-music becomes the Bride.
The Bride singing. Is it she that beckons?
No. She is not the one that beckons. She is the gesture of beckoning, you understand, and with that understanding, one of her names becomes apparent. She is grace. Grace in entity.
Grace as a gate. You follow through her.
But then she stops and speaks for the first time, her voice recognizable, as if all your loved ones speak to you somehow in single form.
“This is as far as your ascension will proceed, within this strand of the puzzle. I will show you more, but it will be a creation-in-speech. A creation-in-speech will become illuminated, and can lead you to the vineyard of truth or cast you away in the process, like dried branches after the grapes are harvested. The false is dullness itself. But the truth is complex, the most coveted treasure, the jewel of understanding, the emerald overview, the key to time, the бриллиант of being, the star of stars, the diamond dialectic.
“So choose, my suitor, choose well.”
And she conjures up a vision in your mind. A sense of concept. Birth. Formation of the heavens. Formation. Formation of what?
Existence? But what is existence?
It’s a fold in the fabric of reality. But what is the fold?
It’s a form in the cloud that doesn’t end. But what is form?
It’s a movement, a becoming in time, to the realization. But what is movement? What is becoming?
It’s love. Existence is love.