The True Nature of Suffering

Suffering is nothing but the shadow cast by the light of the Sun upon the Earth. The Sun within itself, in its unity, does not cast a shadow. The shadow of suffering is only the natural result of the interference.

The Absolute is, when in its true center, not subject to division and therefore not subject to suffering. The suffering of the Absolute is only a result of the division caused by the descent through the Abyss. Duality and division are caused in that descent of the Absolute into each and every one of us (who host or carry that consciousness, that light of the Star which is truly our deepest nature).

To immerse oneself in the little suffering of one’s own shadow, and to declare such little suffering to be the true nature of existence is to close your eyes to the light of your true nature.

If you do that, you simply perpetuate the misery of your own lie, as if your shadow is real (negating even the necessary truth of the light that must shine for a shadow to emerge).

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Don’t Expect Truth from Thought

What is this terrible anxiety that makes people angry when others think differently? Where does this insecurity come from that makes people bully, belittle, and attack all differing thought? Why feel threatened or insulted if others don’t see things your way?

Use thought as a tool, no more and no less. Use it to test reality, to question, to analyze, and to play poetic games.

Do not trust thought to reflect truth. Do not hang on to a belief as if it were your true self.

To expect others to think like me is like wanting everyone else to dress like me. I am not my thoughts, they are but mere tools for the mind.

The Four Pillars

These are the Four Pillars of Ego:

In the light of day,
ego casts a long shadow
that grows into night.

Such is my ego,
standing up to greet the light
of the Morning Star.

Faithful companion,
will serve until the last breath
for love’s sake alone..

Despised pestilence,
condemned by all holy writ,
guarding the most high.

(Herein is the secret for controlling the Four Princes of Evil under the sacred authority of your Holy Guardian Angel)

Do Not Waste Time

Here is the third and last commandment left by Ce Acatl Topilttzin Quetzalcoatl to his four high priests:

“Do not waste the time given to you by Ometeotl, the divine dual-trinity, on this world. Labor day and night towards the good without wasting time, for you shall not know if you will live again, if you shall know your true visage there in the world of true existence. Take prudent advantage of your lifetime.”

We Toltecas learn to use death as an advisor. This doesn’t mean we brood over the certainty of death, nor that we adopt metaphysical views about it. We simply use the certainty of the end of all things, including the end of this dream of life, to help us know that this moment is of extreme importance.

More in Tolteca 3:

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God Fearing

The god-fearing are victims of their ignorance. Ignorance is not knowing who you truly are. Ignorant of their true nature, they believe the little gods of their imagination have created them. The more they fear, the more they channel the force of fear to create a world full of evidence that they are powerless. They become trapped by the power of their own ignorance. The gods they created are placed as guardians of their prison.

The free human being does not draw from the power of fear.

The people of knowledge, free from ignorance, do not hold guards to keep them trapped. They are free from belief, and free from fear.

The End of Suffering

The source of suffering is in you, and the solution is also in you. Hold on firmly to the knowledge of truth within yourself, and resist the seductive allure of the stories of Maya. Only then can you be a beacon of hope and refuge for others. Their essence will see in your essence the effect truth has on you, and they will naturally seek relief from darkness under the light of your spirit.

When I Can No Longer Remember

What is this, penetrating me over and over again?

What is it that pulls me out of myself, over and over again? What is impregnating, causing me to give birth to words and stories and thoughts? What presence is sending these words out to see if any survive, to hear some of them coming back to die in the vastness of my mind?

Thousands of children created, all living inside myself; a few of them daring to come out in words, in teachings, in thoughts and stories. What is their life like out there? I don’t know. All I know is the swelling in me that sends them out; and they go out there not knowing why I sent them. I can’t tell them that. They cannot know why. That is for me to know. That yearning is mine, and I send them out, each one with its own orbit, to live and die, to one day come back.

More and more are created in me, from the pulling of that Goddess-priestess––her silver touch pulling all the way down to my womb. And that sun God! Harsh, brilliant and penetrating, hitting my flesh, burning.

This womb of my heart is ready to swell, to live, to yearn, perhaps one day to surrender into that vast thing I call the ocean, when I can no longer see it because it’s too big, when I can no longer hear it because it’s drowning me, when I can no longer remember myself stepping into the waters.

 

This Impulse to Know

My mother ocean, maybe she’s hoping one day to have swelled so much that one tip of her womb would breach the infinite ocean above and become one.

One with what? It does not know. It only knows that one day long, long ago it must have come down from that big, big, big heaven. One day it, the ocean, was only a drop that came down from that roaring, infinite vastness of which the sun and the moon are just two tiny creatures that play with her, that penetrate and pull her, making her give birth over and over again.

One day––and this is for sure to happen one day––she will also die and become one once again with the oceans whence she came. Then she will forget herself as the waters above swallow her whole, and her consciousness and vision become stretched way beyond her capacity to know, to think, to remember, and to be.

And so, every star, and every galaxy, and every God one day too will dissolve into the vast, vast ocean-void whence they came.

That part I know. That part I remember.

What I don’t know and cannot know is why that vast ocean of mother Binah swells once again and sets me forth into this harsh and vast light. Why again am I down here where I forget, where all I know is to yearn, and to love, and to desire?

Not even having the memory of what it was, I only have the pain of the yearning; and out of my soul, the depth of my being that has no name, no memory, no ego, nothing… but out of the depth of this pain, the memory of my origin pulls me, and the presence of God penetrates me day and night. In thought and in silence it pulls me. And out of me comes, now as a thought, then as a whisper, this little impulse to go back.

Go back… Go back… This impulse… This thing in my heart of hearts that wants to swell up, flutter up, and become and know what is there outside myself.

Why Does the Ocean Swell?

Why does the ocean swell?
Is it the pull of the Goddess Moon
high above at the heart of that other ocean,
holding so many stars?
Is it the yearning and the loving of this earthly sea,
stuck here in planetary existence with us
trying to get back to the higher waters,
to that infinite ocean to which our own is but a drop?
Is it that love for the divine,
the love for the womb,
that makes our mother ocean swell and become wave?

Is that what makes you, God, swell with pride and become life?
I don’t know. It’s not mine to know.
For I only know when I am the wave,
and the wave is movement;
and I move and I move,
and I grow and I play,
and I explode and I rumble.
I tumble, then I die.

Maybe after kissing the ocean,
maybe after touching the light,
maybe after giving way to a behemoth well,
maybe after swallowing a ship or two,
I am wave.
As wave I am the ocean
and there is no difference between my water and her water.

And yet I am not her.
I have all her qualities and characteristics.
The composition of me is the composition of you,
and all together we don’t even touch the infinite vastness of her.

From the Telling: Born of Purusha, by Koyote the Blind