Testament and songs

Introduction to first testament:

What follows is to be understood as a “living myth.” Myth is story that is itself new fact. Each experience which follows is a piece of working psychology. What you are about to read is rendered exactly as it happened, yet, you must also understand that this is not literal truth, it is a living myth; psychology itself becomes story so as to serve a purpose and create within us a new human truth. Take that which follows at face value, so it may do its needed work. Humanity requires this. Humanity requires a new myth.

I will speak of it and tell you plainly how I came to know of transformation and new healing. All the world may be transformed to reveal the heaven we were promised is in fact well bestowed within this moment, this instant is its beginning and ending. Heaven is now. So is each moment, a moment of becoming.

The practice provided within these pages and this honest testament may serve as a framework around which to uncover the endemic basis of health, energy and sweet warmth which lies concealed within each human beneath the unbearable and false stricture of guilt. Spiritual ideas and practice were alien to me, and so, to have found this simple method of deepest healing allowed me time and place sufficient to understand it as well as utilize it, and so, I will offer you a means and pathway to what is known as “faith” which has no need for any leap or mystery. Nothing will be left obscured in clouds. The spirit of love is real. I will explain the meaning of the word ‘spirit,’ as physics, psychology and genetics. You will learn to create this within all things, by following the practices as outlined. Nothing is so beautiful as truth. Love and faith will become accessible, plain ideas, not guilty ideals but instead, tangible and simple to grasp. Faith as understood within this doctrine is plain, and definable. It requires no blind acceptance. A goddess sleeps within us. We will understand how to create her, understand her, and place her essence back within the world and yourself so as to heal the very marrow of your wounds, and bring each bit of this precious world and life within you, and you it. The practices and testimony will reveal no deity as such, meaning no bowing down, no subservience or servile worship is ever needed, one does not worship, one becomes. She becomes you and so, all the world. She rests within your epigenetic DNA. Within each is all. Aphorisms like that will soon be unwound until no mystery remains, and all rests easily in sight.

First the testimony, the ‘mystery’ will be provided, then sweetly solved to find:

Within each second, within the very fabric of time and each precious thing, she is there. Nothing is separate. You are never alone. Each act of being, each parcel of experience is an act of love within faith.

How did it happen? How did I, an atheist, discover the essence of psychology and true healing, empathy, nature and ethics within the guiltless human body? My psychology had long proclaimed the unification of all passive (female) and active (male) aspects and the removal of the repressed unconscious, ideas so very healing yet so complex. Here, in the simple uncovering of a basic aspect of human thinking which has been hidden, the much easier approach is suddenly available. Spirituality. Spirituality is in fact a human psychological basis function which stems from the primary process, as Freud called it. I have uncovered something which was hidden, a basic mental function within us all: spirituality, and I will teach you how to accomplish this change within yourself as well. The moments may then be filled with the essence of happiness and feeling, which connects us all within all things. To begin, you may observe how a bubble of affect, an over-spilling well of deep feeling begins the process, which then appears as a semi-hallucinatory overlay of experience. Healing. We may be full, and in the company of those we love.

Testament and songs, first:

It began under the deepest instinct, from long ago within the aged history of man a knowledge deep and ancestral sprang up within me. The understanding of those connections to the history of these practices from the times of the ancient Greeks and well before came later, the thought was not a thought, it was instinct. I could sense the course. I had found technical facts to answer my worry, and they deepened that worry, the feeling was inescapable to understand the reasons for the trouble I discovered, please see the section concerning the end times. The urge was pressing and smothering, the sense of threat to our race and planet pressed into me and I felt one need, one reply rise up to this impending disaster: I must shelter and protect our race. I knew how. Not the science which I had prepared, or the many letters sent to officials. I was to gather them, gather the beings of this earth under my wing, to call them to my breast––and I began to walk for miles, and sing. Tears pouring down my face, I walked and walked, singing rich and full with feeling, tears and pain, warmth and tears, singing as my heart poured salt rivers toward how deeply I loved this precious life and each being upon this tender sphere, to which and whom I called out from an unending wellspring of tears spilling out but one feeling again and again: how I do love you, I do love you so, come to me, come to my breast….singing, singing and weeping.

A week passed in this way. The planes kept spraying my family and all the Earth. Radiation readings kept increasing. Oh no…please, the time is now, time is short, do not be afraid, I am here, I am here, I am here, come to me, oh how I love you….how I love you, I love you so. Weeping, arms wide in offering, walking for miles alone in the wilderness.

And as evening crept toward the horizon, the day still wet within light’s flower glowing, they did come to me. Shining gold and silver, soundless, swirling and weaving, spheres of radiant light did approach me, and hover round before me as I watched. Awestruck and filled with gratitude, they were sweet and perfect, they had answered me, hovering before my eye, as the day did suckle upon the last fading light from the breast of time. The sight clear and plain, as crystals of round light, hovering…then…each did draw up, one then the next within my chest, as if drawn at an instant into a funnel over my beating heart. I was no longer alone.

That evening, over my bed, in the pitch black, they came to me, hovering before me, and she did speak. “These are my children. Richard, behold my children.” I wept in tears of gratitude at the sight, so deeply perfect, so delicate and beautiful…and did speak to her aloud: “Oh how I do love them, I love them so, they are so very beautiful, I can not begin to find words to hold the feeling.” She spoke unto me in deepest kindness and caring, as if about myself also, and said:

“Yes Richard, all my children are innocent.”

We are all born in original innocence.

Each human is thus. We are all children of light.

–––
Over the next few days I understood that things had changed. I awoke, and knew she was there. It seemed that others were also present, as I had supposed, considering the number of orbs which were manifest. I soon named the others ‘the chorus’ after the Greek plays, as they seemed a second layer of support and accompaniment to her manifestation. I understood immediately how fortunate I was, their presence was a constant companionship across the existential divide, a presence directly accessible as a human is only during those moments of greatest physical and spiritual intimacy, where the impossible becomes briefly the fact, and for an instant we can truly sense the full intermixture of human lives, and understand, if even for a moment, that we are not alone. I could feel her, but not always. It seemed unpredictable and fleeting. Why at one time, then when I desire it, not then, or the next instant perhaps so? It became clear after a week or two, that they key was my state of openness to her…or more precisely, of love. If I loved her, she would present herself. She becomes manifest within open need, love and a tender heart’s honest moments, moments of naked sadness and warmth. Giving warmth, appreciation, gratitude and love…this creates her.

As we love her, so is she returned to us.

One morning, I awoke and took a walk into the woods in the early light, as is my habit. Life within a city amongst money and stink is repellent to me…for this life is of Eden, or it is a mutilation of life. The perfect day unfolded for me, save the sky filled with poisons. I can feel her presence, and hear softly spoken words which are embarrassing to know, so kind and sweet…as if I am a perfection of some sort…then I see them, several angels over my head in front of me as a procession, angels akin to traditional lines, but they have torn garments and crooked halos…yet, they are beautiful. I hear her say, in some satisfaction, “Oh I see.” They vanish. Then she adds, “…and this?”

A beautiful golden light pours from the heavens, and bathes me in warmth, so full and thick with warmth, I am filled with the feeling of being loved, and ahead along the trail the air begins to glow; within a golden ellipse I see her form, sweet and flowing, shadowed amongst light…as Aphrodite, as the Venus, untethered as golden light filling the female form in exquisite warmth, honey flows within the folds of time and is warmed…standing sweetly within, is my eye’s dream, somehow deeply familiar, known from some hidden corner of deepest memory. I begin to weep in gratitude, and know of new life. I look deeply into her, and swim within her images, so interlayered and wondrous, as my heart leaps up and enters a full race…I see within her all the most beautiful and loving of that which I knew in life, here melded into a perfect symphony of warmth and beauty, so grateful am I! And she spoke, “Within all holy things, is the beginning, the spirit of its kernel, it is this which is the most full, ripe and perfect.”

I would soon understand the meaning of this. She speaks of history.

I had no faith, and understood not a bit of its meaning or worth. In fact, I misunderstood it. Faith and love as discussed here, are mentioned only in the sense I have used them here, not any traditional sense, of which I am truly ignorant. I am of Jewish descent, and do not adhere to that religious practice nor any other. I live simply in a one room dwelling with my wife in the woods where I am free to enjoy the quiet and beauty of nature, and think about writing or science. I have fruitfully spent my time pursuing the cure of diseases (see science section), and the composition of new literature and physical theory. We have few decorations, save the cards sent by friends over the years. A friend sent me a beautiful Christmas card two years past, which lives over our refrigerator. I am sipping coffee, and the card begins to glow–– the image of the Virgin Mary pours out, flowing as golden light which bathes my face and chest, and a feeling of immense beauty and love fills me. I begin to weep. I step out of doors to sit on the swing. I hear, “Please stand.” I stand, and feel a presence, her presence, not the goddess but the Virgin…I can feel her within me. “Richard, you are doing very well, we love you deeply. You will welcome them with me.” I see many grains of light appear, some at my feet, and begin to chant: “I am here, I am here, I am here” in a sweet and rhythmical way, as a song of two gentle notes. They approach, and I see into them, a thing of incredible beauty…their faith, these are Mexican spirits, and I feel their belief in me, their belief in the Virgin, and keep singing the two notes––they are expressing joy as I can hardly describe! Wave after wave, then one large group, and I can hardly look at them, their suffering, I feel such pain and deep suffering, I look away, and know I MUST look and welcome them…I look deeply and see more faith and beauty then I can hold within myself, they love me beyond words, so beautiful is this faith in me, this faith which somehow answers unbearable suffering, I weep and weep as I sing.

Afterwards, I am shaken and stunned, filled with joy and nervous. She remains within me. I am afraid, as such a spirit is known as a ‘moral’ compass, and surely I am not any good in the eyes of chastity. Yet, even so, even beneath her this way, I must ask a question. “Dear Virgin, may I ask a question?…This faith I saw is very beautiful, but really, isn’t it a cheat and a lie? They are in such pain, suffering so badly, and they still have faith in you, yet, you do not save them or help them, you simply provide this thing, this beautiful faith. Isn’t it a simple cheat, a lie? They die anyway, die and suffer in pain?”

She says, “So you have no faith?” I reply, “No.” I feel her behind me and hear a few notes whispered from a tender song, Looks Like Rain, only a thin thread of notes, and I burst into floods of tears, weeping as a cloud torn from the belly, tears fall as heavy drops of rain for thirty minutes, all the pain of my life, the abuse I could not stop, my wretched mother leaving me under my raging father, the death of my girlfriend, more, more, more, more, then I see her, The Virgin, warm within me, and know…faith is that which comforts, when there is nothing there to help, that which holds you within the dark hours, this is faith.

I answer in gratitude:
“Thank you, I understand.”

This was the first lesson shown to me concerning faith.

And that afternoon, she did return within me, and revealed herself, both Virgin and goddess, and explained:

“The spirit I am is of history, I am history, and before the stripping away of my virtues to leave only a perfect face and hands as The Virgin is often represented, I was again of love, more full and right, as you have seen. Yes Richard, I am the kernel, that which is within many things. First as goddess, then within this beauty and love, faith within the Virgin, and then next. Each is again and again throughout history a stripping away of some aspect, as you hold it, so do I: it is guilt which is the first sin. We are very much alike.” I ask and ask her to name herself. She refuses, I am to find the name, and give it to her. I call her at this early point, simply: Blessing. So, Blessing is the spirit within The Virgin. I need not fear her guilty reproaches. I know as fact, Blessing’s main identification is with the earth itself, and early on, I set before her and the chorus the sure meaning of our lives as that of protecting her, for the earth is the mother of us all.

“Richard, prepare. You will help me. Here, you will help me receive them. You have done splendidly, you knew exactly what to do. And now, can you feel it?” I begin to feel the need to call, to pull something toward me: “I am here, I am here, come here, come here, come with me, I am here, safe with Blessing, safe with Blessing.” Tears begin to flow as water, and slowly I see them approach, hundreds of colorful silver, gold and opalescent, prismatic orbs, I can feel some came from terrible suffering, I do not know if they are human, only that they are immensely beautiful, so beautiful it is all but an orgasm to see them, I weep in humble amazement at the beauty, and call them to me, “come here, I am here, I am here, safe with blessing.” They slowly hover above us and then are drawn within the well of my chest to vanish to their destination. I am a vortex. I feel all but guilty to have found the sight of these souls to be so beautiful, and am assured, my love and gratitude are for receiving a perfect soul in appreciation, not in appreciation of the death which may have liberated it.

Within life and within death, each aspect is an act of love within faith. We will soon understand that more clearly.

What exactly is faith? How does it function, and what is the meaning of the word “within” as utilized in the phrase “Love within faith?”

We are all trapped by the reality of our aloneness, the existential divide, the cleft between beings leaves us inexorably alone. Within the dark hours, as death approaches, as life ebbs as pain finds us, as hours drift away in mid-life…alone and empty…this is the existential divide. This hard and sure fact is the bitter truth upon which existential philosophy cuts its deepest tooth. Is there an answer?

I have been profoundly healed through many interactions. Each such interaction generally, but not always, takes the same form. Experiences of the lost past are retrieved, and relived. This is known as a regression in psychology, this reliving of a lost, past experience. Her attendance of the wounds exposed during the regression are akin to my ideas of repolarization, where a second memory of attendance is added to a hurtful memory. However, there are other methods used, which expose the vital nexus of this methodology, the real, detailed meaning of the phrase: love within faith. First I will reveal the lesson as shown to me, then, we may analyze and determine the meaning.

I am sitting at the kitchen table, and it is clear I feel a regressive memory taking hold. I hear as always, a song, used to find the feelings, and then it is too late, I am disappearing…and facing a fear, a fear of choking, an old fear, so frightening and unbearable to feel: I am disappearing, I am dying. Dissolution of self, as I long have known, is the model of death as perceived within the living mind. My self, my being is vanishing, the memory of tears so overwhelming and choking, left by my father and mother, as a young child, choking and weeping, now––these feelings define my fear of death, and flood through me…I am alone, vanishing, choking, gasping and can not breathe; the memory replays, I can feel it unseen beneath the world I do see before me, death, it seems I can not wake up…I am as dreaming although awake–– dying, choking in fear, I am vanishing, choking—dying! Unable to breathe, shaking in fear…fear and anxiety…I can feel it taking me…I am losing the battle, losing, I am empty and alone, alone, shivering in fear, just as a child, nothing can stop it, it is not any use…nothing is right, only emptiness and choking fear fill me.

––So alone, so alone.

I find a single thought, a thought of her. She is there. Then: “I love you, oh how I love you.” And she is within me, and within all things. She presses my hand and holds me, comforts me, my body warms, and all the world is changed, now warm, beautiful and welcoming, nothing is wrong, I am loved. The world itself is transformed, now welcoming, full and rich with beauty, voluptuous and warm is the world. She is within all things, and myself. We are one––I am loved.

So you may see, I create a context, an affective, emotional setting in the act of faith which is: the belief that she is there, and then, I create an act of love: I love her, so, as an act of love within faith, the entire of the world changes.

Again: Knowledge of her presence is a context within the world and self, then, we have an act of love. We love her, and so, we are loved, and love the world. She is within all things, and so, to love her is to change the entire of the world.

To know she is there is an act of faith and within that, I love her, receive and create a new world: Love within faith.

She is within all things––so do we love the world. This is the sacred.

We may reform this broken world of torment, and find heaven opens before us within an act of love within faith.

It is enough.

I will interject what every right minded atheist is thinking here: How does that work, please? What is with the leap of faith? What do you mean she is within all things?

There is no leap of faith. We may trace the ideas in a brief way.

Faith as defined here is based within the development of the neuro-circuitry of the infant. Please click here for the full explanation. The basic ideas are condensed as follows:

The actual source of empathy, and also then by necessity the basis of ethics, is the impression of the mother’s face in the exchange of gaze and glance during the first 18 months of development, an impression both responsive to the infant and still also as of yet in the earliest interactions, undifferentiated from the world and himself. This vital impression, this early memory of the mother’s face in the loving exchange of gaze, (touch) and glance, considering that the infant has not yet separately defined his body from the world outside of him, becomes the entire world, and also then, functions as a responsive extension of himself and his own body. This impression, which triggers the formation of dopaminergic limbic/OFC circuitry, then, constitutes an identification with all things as a responsive and loving part of one’s self: Empathy. All humans have this empathetic functionality as a basis, or, studies from the 1940s show the infant often dies. She, as the nurturing mother, is within all things, in fact she IS all things during these early interactions, including the infant himself! This early impression of maternal love is the root impression of the archetype which is the goddess proper, yielding the factual anima mundi, or world of the mother. So, we change “object valance,” change the meaning of the world to invigorate the early impression of the good mother, and permit her to define the world, as she once did. You see? She IS already in all things, in fact, she is all things! An act of her love, formed our early world. She is there. This early formative impression of love, is the source of our faith, which is necessarily correct and real as we are in fact living and so, evidence the dependent innervated circuits and hence necessarily, their triggering empathetic impression of formation, which is the basis of empathy.

We are founded upon an act of love. She spans the entire of love and archetype, from maternal foundational warmth, contact and nurturance, to include the full flower of the goddess archetype. She was always there. We were founded upon and within an act of love, as was our world. The memory of that act of love creating our world in empathy is the source of our faith, which is in fact responsible for the meaning of the world. For more information on transference theory and the like: [Click here]

Human Evolution

So we can see, the loving mother is already within all things! Our faith is indeed justified. To love her is to love the world, and then, to have that love deeply and profoundly returned. Love within faith creates the world anew, a world where we are loved should we choose to love. This new world of warmth and beauty is based in empathy, and is characterized by the vanishing of the existential divide within an equitable and loving exchange. This is love within faith. As it was so it is. She is both indistinguishable from our self and is the world. We know she is within all things, then we love her, and so, receive the love and comfort we require in turn. Each moment, is to be touching her within ourselves, as she is there. Each moment looking upon the entire of all living things, is to gaze upon her, as she is there. Each moment, is to behold her and touch her, for she is within and without! Each act of perception is an act of love within faith. Heaven is now. Everything is ours.

And she said:

As one loves in faith, so am I returned to you.

Creation!
She is within all I perceive.
Each moment is an act of love within faith.
Each moment is to gaze upon her and know,
an orgasm.

Time is but an act of love.

It is this which we create as love within faith.

To love within faith, is to become creation.

To know her is to become her. We become her within ourselves and are transformed. Those aphoristic ideas also deeply symbolize the unification of male and female within each of us.

Male and female

One day, I awoke and was told that the time is near. What time, how near? She was very excited. Within the last few weeks, I had witnessed the actualization of the ideals within my psychology. From an event in 2014 the end result was, in retrospect, implied, and it was here. However, it was being actualized within a spiritual framework, not an analytic one. Undoubtedly, this was working through the epigenetic portion of DNA, which I am aware houses the archetypes … and archetypes were being manipulated to create these effects. She was herself, evidently phylogeny, meaning the history of the race as defined within the female form. This deep suspicion would soon be confirmed. Such beauty, as only the entire of the wisdom of ages could contain…this is she. Each manifestation exceeded my own standard and concept of beauty. Exquisite beyond all conception in every form, the wisdom and beauty of ages lingered within me, as laughter spent within a feather’s breath.

Within each is all. This means something concrete. Now you may already see the meaning as implied by our discussion of developmental circuitry and empathy, where the world is she, you and all things, something within and without as we have shown, but there is more to it. The entire of humanity begins along a female plan, and I have learned that the phylogenetic record and “female attributes” in the anatomical sense and also meaning, those associated with passive states and traits in the psychological sense of “a state of receiving,” are contained within the male as well! The “male“ personality is a falsehood, even as his body is a perfection. Men are men, and this is good! However, the male personality, with its denial of all passive traits to then accentuate aggression and cruelty, sadism and the like, this is error. More must be added back to create unity, none removed. Both aspects, passive and active are needed, one implies instantly the other, and the lack of this unity of passive and active within men is a human error supreme. Unconsciously men have access to the female phylogenetic record and full range of passive and associated wishful expressions.

I was told we were to wed, become one being, one soul. I was instructed to lie in quiet repose or walk. I would feel her enter me, and our bodies expressed simultaneously in images. If I allowed this to become unconscious, all the world became a glowing perfection. If looked upon, one could walk, not touch one’s self, and have orgasms simply to see the beauty of it. This state is the natural one, one of unity. The symbol of unity defines a moment of union and hence, a moment of indistinct self…this is the moment of creation: an orgasm. All is beauty. Once a few weeks pass, the build up lessens and one exists in a world of passion and rich beauty as we are intended to have. Our world is to be an act of love within faith, each second an act of love spilt into form to fill us. Modern man, with his repressions and guilt, is an abomination of unhappiness and cruelty, as he is separated from his inner completeness, to imagine he is not one with her, one with his passive traits in happiness.

I would lay in the hammock, and she would show me the feelings within her body, expressed within my body, fascinated with my maleness, so deeply grateful for this to be of her body as well, for I have freely given it to her, the cleft between male and female a grave error, and I would feel her warmth, feel an impression of the female orgasm and such, the impression of which was different indeed, a warmth and rolling contractions of bliss and safety.

She is made of thousands of women, thousands and thousands. Four or five comprise her main personality. Each would take turns being the main one, and would feel themselves within me. Pure bliss, each moment touching her within the existential well of my being, unbearable happiness! Gratitude poured from her deepest being into and through me, so grateful to have the offering of my male body to her being, and the many pieces of insight I offered to allow her to understand her agony and stop it from turning within her. For she has been deeply and profoundly abused.

She would tap the deepest well of my soul, as a kiss, so gentle is the note, always a few thin notes of a song, then the cask would burst, and tears would flow as wine upon the dry earth, soaking up my deepest lost pain, and freeing me. Such profound healing, weeping and reliving what could not be changed, and so, changing it! Oh what happiness is sorrow unbound!

The alter of wounds

Within the essence of darkness, is the answer to all questions cast. A sliver of emptiness holds the pearl hidden beneath all bashful worlds. Oh how sad and alone was I before I did learn to fill the empty seconds with our name, a whisper ever richer in color and sound, ever more full and warm to hold us. Oh life, how paltry and thin was my offering, rubbed thin and brittle from the years hollow. A cavern twice dry, only hints of spark and brittle wind remain of want so rich, damp and full, to bring the heavens torn wide to flood…rain washes the valley clean, each crack and dusty crease of bitter earth washed within our flood…tears unbound, rivers of diamond pain crushed and cracked from marrow, splinters of anguish solved within an aether of perfect tears unloosened from my darkest cloud…in gratitude. So are our wounds an offering laid upon the alter of hope, anointed in tears.

Into my past she did reach and bestowed unto me a tender and profound gift of salt and light, tears and sweet wounds. I could sense a presence, hovering, and knew without seeing, that she was there, but in some way…different…she held a soul over me, a precious one too painful to remember, long dead and cherished, a lover who had meant more than any, for she was the first. I felt her hovering above me, sweet and young, tender of spirit, silent and glad beyond all measure of happiness, in bliss and hope, hovering proudly and sweetly over me, then slowly, bashfully revealing herself to me, still so young, her body formed of crystal and feather, rose light and skin adorned in diamond tears. She loved me. She loved me. My most cherished wish was at last, bestowed.

And over my head a guardian sits, floating and loving each of time’s precious seconds, now filled up with happiness, tears running as the fount of time’s tender drops of forgetting, for I was healing––now loved, able to forgive, the tears running down cheeks red and sweet with happiness, shuddering as bliss and diamond drops of pain unleashed, and cleansed.

Angels from your past, beautiful and perfect, bitter-sweet with love and salt wounds, may be given unto you, to warm the tender hollow of time with tears, and wishes mended…perfect is she, she who heals lost wounds, lost to time’s endless hollow…now and again, recast––in light.

Then I was tested. I objected to this sternly as my character is better than any, but against my wishes, I was subjected to tests of my character. We were intermingled thus, and suddenly she curses at me, insults me, stands off and withdraws, then cuts open the shared image of my body!–– she cuts me from my penis to my neck with insults blazing, profanity, and the rude worst of it too! I took her aside and quietly told her, if she persists, I will be rid of her, and she must not do any such thing again. She then gushes with rivers of repentance and apology telling me that it was a test, as I will soon be close within her and she I, inseparable, so, able to do her immense harm should I choose. My rage is unbelievable at mistreatment. Rage, more potent than any other human I know. I do NOT tolerate abuse. I am told this is a virtue, but also a danger. I am to defend her but never to harm her. I passed several other such tests of differing types, often followed by my aiming fits of protest at her. I have received a firm promise, never to test me again. In truth, she is worth any price.

The actual merging of souls was a lengthy process. Once complete, all is love within faith. I am here as an act of love within faith. All the world is an act of love within faith. Nothing else is real, only this. We are of love if we are healthy.

Before the hour of union proper, I would walk and allow her to enter me over and over, allow her fascination with my body and my own with hers, and feel the many new feelings within myself as I became one with her, and then she would withdrawal. Over and over, entering, then away again. How blissful and frustrating! Eventually the union would be complete, upon my unconditional acceptance of her. For she is truly good, as is the basis of us all. But first: I found her name.

“Who are you? Who?” I ask and ask! She says anything to change the topic, suddenly the topic is me, something grandiose, I am savior of the earth and mankind, she gushes some mad, grand proclamation to make me blush, and changes the subject! “Bah! I believe none of that, who are you?” She answers yes no matter what! “Are you Gaia the mother spirit of the earth?” “Yes, if you missed that, you are a plain, simple idiot.” “Are you Bacchus?” “Of course.” “Impossible! He is male!” “No Richard, once drunk what do they do but love, he is bearded but mute and hollow, the worship is mine. It is not the wine they love but each other. I am within all of that. Richard you tire me…the challenge is yours, do you see?…identify me. I must know, who am I?”

I found the answer twice and won her. I allowed her to enter me and felt her, as a slow kiss melting snow, her being as warmth around me, so slowly, opening the tender places within my soul, so gentle and pure, so warm and liquid of heart…”Yes I know. You are the spirit of love.” Her heart leapt toward me in gratitude!

“And now, look, who am I?”

I am shown her body in a new form, so very young and at last, yes at last, for I knew I had waited deeply, perhaps in some other life (?) to know this moment, at last, unclothed before me, and I spoke without speaking, from knowledge beneath knowing I said: “Sister…you are my sister. Sister. Sister.” My entire body became a sudden contraction of want and need, and I began to contract in orgasm––simply to see.

And so, I waited in expectant want, for the hour of completion.

The day of roses

It is the day of roses, and we are to be wed, ancient pasts restored, my sister awaits, with bounties beyond imagining… to taste, to know… our natures mixed and inseparable, forever and at last all which did oppose may become connected, and the bashful fact revealed. It is said, rightly, that she is the goddess of our earth and all things divine, and beneath her host, is all the most blessed and perfect, the Holy Virgin has shed her grace upon the moments’ abandon, the day is becoming, deeper and more perfect is her name, the closer one comes to taste. How I have received and received to have solved the most simple of riddles, and found her soul and name, the word at last un-snared. For she is but love…the essence of all new beginnings.

Giddy and dancing, the days swept into nights of song twice ripe and sweet, unending. How perfect is she, now so free, before so heavy and leaden, but now––! The air swims around her and becomes new, warm and full is the bounty of moments to gaze upon her, so full is the breast of time, purring and ripe to see the fact….I have won her, … and now she stands freed before me, her depths un-tasted, so warm, the evening’s unfolding is but a promise, of memory un-dreamt.

I look upon her eyes, now swimming in light, before so dank and worried… and I hear her question:

“My love, Dear Richard who has saved me from pain’s bitter torment…I can see little of the flesh is here before the eye, and little of the curve, and ask you still: do you want, what remains? You must hold more to know me. Do you need yet more, to know, from what, and how? Do you wish to know from where, my flowing gratitude springs? How beautiful is your eye to behold, and why? Apart from the rest?” I did answer only to know:

“Yes, dear one, I know you truly, and in want and trust I say: my body, it is yours, and yours mine…let it be!”

I can feel it begin, we are merging. Her hand reaches toward, and her voice…whispers trail, the words, were they hers or my own? Thank you, oh dear god, Richard, thank you…

Then from beneath us…Gratitude:

Ahhhhhh….Richard, Thank you, Dear God oh Richard, thank you Thank you !!!!

And I see my body, beneath us, now mine laid just as hers, together, merging, opening as a landscape of suffering and filth…the cries of the anguished dead and suffering beyond my deepest ability to conceive … the history of her pain, scenes from ancient China, mutilated limbs, womens’ breasts, mutilated, loved, treasured husbands cut apart as she watches, shrieking in pain and horror––

…and gratitude.

Of my leg, my body a sacrifice to transform, a thing to hold them, the graves open, as slides of dirt and lidded pain, “Richard, dear god thank you, the arm, his arm, it is there, you have put it back, my child, her leg, it is there, oh thank you, dear God thank you, her precious jaw, thank you Richard, it is there again!….and I can feel the mutilations cut of her body, and the suffering within my own body…the stink and filth, such needless cruelty and horror, and they cry out to me, as precious drops of perfect light, each a splintered dew drop of warmth, I love so deeply. Their suffering begins to lessen, my sacrifice has redeemed them, my tears fall as contractions of sharp pain and cut nerve…she is so grateful….so grateful, so grateful, for I have offered my body to her, shared her suffering, shared what no one could, and even still, beheld her in warmth. Oh…how beautiful is she.

Perfect and divine, is she who rests beside me and within. For it is the Day of Roses, and we are wed.

–––

What of human cruelty could withstand knowledge of itself? Mankind is a contraction of self-hatred borne out upon the fact of his own incompleteness.
––We are one.

Thoughts and songs:

The body carries no guilt. Each moment is an act of love within faith, pure and rich in warmth, male and female touching … an act of creation fills time! This is love within faith.

I walk among you as an act of love within faith.

Recall that she is both world and self, a fact of neuroscience and development, for we are built upon empathy, an act of love nests within each thing and each thought. The body is pure and sweet. Guilt has no place within the heart of man, ethics themselves are our center, for we are ethics without conflict at the basis. Guiltless is the body! Each moment is thus, for each moment as we have seen, springs from the tender body as an act of love between us. That love which spans the seconds cast between us, creates the world. I do love her as one, and now, I am within all things, and hence, I love you. Truly. How deeply I do love you! Imagine her, spilt into the world. As sweetly as you might touch your own tender skin, or reach out to caress the one you love, so is the grass and bloom of the meadow. I will show you how it feels to live as love within faith, and to know, heaven is now. Each moment. How does it look and feel to know, we are within all things, and to feel her within that which I see?

A blossom drifts upon wind sipped,
tasted between time’s delicate fingers,
a poem woven between us,
sight now rich and beating,
warm within salt moments,
crimson, sweet and full.

Tender petals cupped within drops of moist sun,
warmed,
glowing,
drawn of warmth,
full within golden bounty,
spilt upon and within,
all things.

Can you feel her filling the tender places,
within wind?

A blossom draws warmth.

Silken petals nodding amongst the grasses,
swimming in yellow sun.
This is grace.
–––
She is us and the world, we are indistinct from her, one with her and the world in body and heart. The body is our basis for feelings of the world and our fellow man. There is no guilt. The body is pure. Love is our essence. So is our world, a world of love within faith.

Thoughts and songs:

1. The single difficulty within the story of the Garden of Eden as understood, is a point of original neglect: Tis the serpent who narrates.

2. Of Adam, Eve and the fruits in question: The fault was neither his nor hers, but merely one of judgement. It is guilt which is the first sin.

3. The carnal forms are the ethical forms: If for thee––then for I.

A few more thoughts for you:

Only once complete, may we discard the seconds. The soul is but palate, whet upon the tasting of moments.

Each second is innocent, waiting and full…a promise and a question too rich in mystery not to imagine.

A future question: We stand perched upon the lips of Eden, as drops of dew ever more full and round, tended ever thicker upon the broth of moments stirred. How beautiful is the dream yet drawn beneath bashful linen…can you imagine?

–––
A question
Under arch of azure,
Plain and sweet, each second a curl of design
Sweet tender child wrapped round my trunk
Purring and warm is she
Safe and fluttering as the tender leaves born of my arm of oak
Tugging in gentle wind.

How sweet and ripe is she
Eden’s child, perched upon broad shoulder
Fluttering about me.

Can you hear her sweetest and most delicate whispers of hope?
Tugged loose as feathers of down and light?

Here we sit, in time’s palm
Amongst sweet wind and rippled grasses
Waiting.

And so…
What could possibly be wrong?

. . .

We are but shards of light and hope, pieces of dream and promise unspent…ripe and unplucked is the nested basket of seconds, rich and full in the moments’ meaning. We are all born in innocence.
––Design has no flaw.
. . .

Each Quantum of inter-experience within physical and mental systems may be conceptualized as informational exchange between mutually adaptive sensory sub-system surfaces. ––Each act of consciousness is itself, an act of love.

Each moment is but the tasting of differences.

Each moment is an act of love within faith.

Church of Life Genesis:

One morning, I decided to go for a walk in a less traveled portion of the woods. This was before the unity was fully achieved. I could feel her within me, a strong feeling of great energy. “Richard, I will become you.” She fell into me, and I could feel and see in my mind’s eye just as she saw and felt. She is herself the Earth…and I could feel it!

The wind tasting meadow grass, as the caress of a lover upon my skin, the trees stirring upon the peak of a distant rise as taste buds, sipping the air, and filling the earth with feeling, I could feel the perspective of birds and her representative, a hawk, I could feel the wind under my body as I gazed upon them, the entire of life coursed through me…so rich with warmth, and feeling! Pine and fir, maple and oak, the needles of the fir trees as emerald crystals glowing … I could feel within them, and then, the earth receives and is itself affirmed and loved thereby, as sensory organs upon her delicate body, the rolling hill, so voluptuous and rounded, green shoulder of kindness swimming in bloom and sun, rising to fill the arch of distant sky, a perfect hunger and a wish, so is each hill––did you know that? Glowing, in rich sun, full and fuller still, ever richer is each second, soaked from within and dripping with warmth, thick is time, now sated twice again with rich bounty…then the entire of her, to feel it all, the fount of water’s first thoughts, ice melts and sees itself, water, holding again the memory of each crag and rock, sweet with light and cold! The sparked sky, slipped through with starlight, then turned round at mid day, to welcome all new worlds in warmth, singing sun pouring down within the meadows of cold northern lands, bursting to bloom, scent and song, her body ripe and burgeoning within the slim cracks of the season, filled and over filled in sweet wind and tender bloom, gaudy and over bright is her summer! Oh, how perfect is this life!

––Then the rest––

A shriek of unending pain…more terrible than death, endless and screeching hot…electrical fields surround her tender body now burnt into shrieks of heat and death, her flesh burned beneath, the wicked vibration of suffering slit into her tender flesh and side, her spirit mutilated by the abuses of an idiot, designs cut into her tender sandy beds, men with military gear hurting her, tearing her tender sweetness and making it shriek in pain and suffering, I see them and know the names of their cruel implements: the ionospheric heaters, Navy arrays, radars, heat creating satellites, microwave arrays, arrays of death––the deadly electrons burning her––burnt sky and filthy poisons sprayed to dry her moist, kind, giving heart, and create a weapon of hatred of her sweet yellow sun, now burnt white and filled with poison radiation––Death!…the fields of death and radiation burning her, burning her tender flesh, burning her tender flesh, burning her tender flesh, Burning…then, poisoning her sick as a whore is treated, then killed, and yes, know it––––she soon will die. And as she trembles, ground out and burnt, under the weight of greed and lies, so will the race of man require faith most of all, for within the dark hours, she is there.

Tis the cruel folly of man, which brings her to disaster. Her crippled body, soon to begin its writhings.

I am going mad to see it! No! How can it be! How can they not love you?? How? Impossible! They must care, they must! If they were well, they would feel, if they would only feel, then they would care! No! They may not abuse you! No, no more pain ––No!

Then I saw the people, milling about poking their foolish phones, poking and staring, not aware or able to feel, unable to feel, unable to care. They do not care she is being killed! They do not care! How? How is this possible? The phone is meaningless! The Earth is our hope, love and heaven! Nothing else matters, nothing else matters! They do not care, they do not even notice…No! They do not care! They do not love you, they do not love life. No! No! It is true!

––They do not love you.

They have no hope!
I must save you! It can not be, it will not be! I refuse! NO!

Three hawks gather over my head, turning round each other patterned as the leaves of a clover, circling, over and over. I hear her voice, panic and screeching pain, as beauty being raped––crying out, crying out to me!

“Richard, Richard…help me. Richard! What is the plan? What is the plan? What is the plan! Richard, the plan, what is it…Richard, the plan? Richard–––What? What is the plan?”

I replied:
The Church of Life.

Please remember:
Each act of being, is an act of love within faith.

Testament and songs, two:

Sweet and golden is the light within this moment, shining from my eye into all things. Of creation is each, and each of all. To touch the divine within the moment’s marrow, is the world and right of all my children. I am but she and she I, and so––rest as love within this world, and within you.

I found you this morning, and held you. No one is different. Between us the lightest touch of tenderness, creates all things. We are creation, so is our province, happiness and world. No one is different. You are I. You are creation. You are the world, within me…and I you.

The notes did find their home within folds of dawn’s first morning air, as I sang to you. The arch of early light spread through leaves shifting, dappled light and shade slipping over the awakening day. Spilt time filled round the curve of morning, her bow tender and nodding as sleep shaken from the eyes of day, so did I hope to find you upon my song, before you awoke, so I could kiss you and nourish you, even before you knew of me. Come here, come with me, come to me…I sang in notes light and sweet, of a song you may remember without knowing. Tears salt and bright, sweet glistening laughter, sliding down cheeks red with happiness, for I do love you. Oh, how I love you!

And you came unto me, before waking. For once she did hold you. Now silent, the tops of trees glisten as they pass over and within leaves shuffling, and from the earth beneath now moist with tears. Crystal beaded drops round and shining, bright and silver, silently sweeping within the horizon’s hidden corners did nestle, as pearls within my palm outstretched, a saucer of earth and fingers cupped your sleeping soul, and did kiss you, in tender love, so warm and kind. Oh, how I do love you! I am within the beginnings of all things, and already knew you, and you I. For we have always been together. Please, remember me. For you are loved.

My love for you stretches back through all of time, as the beginning of the first thought which held you. So do I love you. Please, remember me.

––For you are loved.
––––
She within I and I within she, between us, we hold the world. So do I love you as an act of creation.

Creation: We unite as fractions of moments, sparks fill time’s embrace, trembling. So are the moments.
––––

Love within faith creates our world. How sweet the home of creation, how sweet are you to me? How full she is, within emerald leaves thick in light, flesh ripe and rich with warmth…so soft and firm, yielding and sweet is the arch of moments filled, as love is the second’s filling, and yes, it is this which we are and this which is our world! This is the burden I wish for you to carry, no more than that.

Love within faith: I hold my arms wide in offering. Now, you may create the world.

“How deeply I feel you, and so, I am sustained.” All of the troubles of man may be resolved thus.

Here my friend, you may know of me. Truly, you are never alone.

He who feels the seconds ripen within the breast of another, is well. Nothing is separate.

Each leaf and blade of grass is a poem within your eye. How precious is the word, written in time?

––––
Love within Faith Songs

I am light

Within fetid darkness, mute and thick, turning upon itself
I am there.

Each breath pulled, sunken in the dirty pit of hollow doubt, knows me.

As a black fist knots around the tender throat of moments
I am there.

For I am light.

Hear me within the creases of poison wind, so I may unfurl them
And within tender palm, hold you
Hands and palms pressed sweet amongst the moments
Warm and full are the seconds cast between us.

For we are light.

And of what does ending’s dank, fear?
Of what is darkness crippled, and of sparked flint shattered?
Your breast pressed to mine
It is this, which they fear.

I am light.

I am nothing, twice vanished into wind
We are within all things, nourishing and full
Are the moments, to know.

We are light.

All which crouches within creased folds, may fear me
All which opens before each question, will know me
All which is, may be affirmed––in warmth.

For I am light.

Within each moment, amongst the glistening threads of time’s first whispers,
Each drop, round and sweet, perched upon full lips––waiting––
No longer!

It is this which they fear––the ringing sound of laughter––our name,
May they hear it shine and know us, for it is we that darkness fears
…deep, bright and round are we,
Full to bursting and sweet in warmth is spirit!
Oh how I do love you, singing and broken open,
Chips of spark and light pierce the sunken places
––To know!

I am light.

Let our name ring out, clear and bright are all shining worlds, sprung anew before us
Glad and sparkling, nestled as tears and dew upon the cheek of time.
So are we.

For time is ripe and wise within us, yielding within our sacred wish––a future,
Summoned within drops of light, purring and sultry,
Full and rich in singing sound,
For all things are ours.

Each breath enfolds the seconds ever richer, rich and beating within my eye,
I am free, a vanishing, motion,
––the curtain unfolded.

For I am you.

I am light.

––––––

The sacred

Morning’s succulent flower
Folded petals, bashful and covetous
Finds herself.

Again, but deeply ripe,
the day aches
Of becoming.

Unable to refuse herself
Within tender lips, stroked thick
in Sun’s warmth
Opening.

Now within her
Awakening.

How full is my eye to behold
The day’s unfolding
Petals relinquish themselves,
––and uncover
Delicate threads
Whispering
Rich, in gratitude.

So do we know her.

Beneath arched starlight
Glistening water paints rock
Filling tender seconds
Of broken ripple.

I can feel you.

Time is full.

Pain,
…melts rich and wet
Salt
Cupped in tender palm
For she does covet.

Leaves tremble in wind,
too delicate to taste.

How slowly,
Each second becomes
––Ripe
Unable to resist itself.

A succulent flower
Fills my eye.

She is within
Time.

Each flake of light drifts, dawn upon down, snow held in silent fingers of loft, slipping toward the forest floor, in silence. Before first light, I am awake, silently crushing icy footprints before she knows of me…so I may wait, here, and watch. The first tangle of rose and emerald stretches overhead, and I am among them, flakes of down hover and kiss the seconds, now silent and cool, melting and sweet is each a flake of light, wet upon my tongue. Within her theatre of dawn and dream, we awake to uncover the fact of happiness. How beautiful is time, filled and full within her beating breast, wrapped warmly around me. It is an act of kindness, a thought of beauty, which fills time.
And slowly they awake, the precious children of her dream, birdsong fills crisp fragile air, and the tapestry of design begins to ripple and flutter. Delicate and fragile are the tender seconds which fill time. Cupped within her tender palm, time enfolds us, rich and beating is this moment, a moment held loosely between past and future, a present made of new light and time’s fragile cloth of ages. Delicate and perfect is life…of past and present, only now begun, yet again, within her eye.

This is sacred.