, , , , ,

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. 
The earth was without form and void, and darkness was 
upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving 
over the face of the waters.
And God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.
And God saw that the light was good;
and God separated the light from the darkness.”
—    The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Genesis 1-6

What if there is no beginning?  What if there is only energy, billions of infinitesimal sparks?  One vibratory field, one shared shimmering essence.  Undifferentiated, without borders or boundaries.  Timeless.  Eternal.  Ever and always.

But while there may be no beginning, there is change.  From this glittering field, consciousness arises, and with consciousness dawns perception. The once unbroken frequency now appears variably as “light” and “not light,” as brightness and dark.  Perception is itself an act of separation, implying the seer stands apart from the seen.

From perception is born a sensitivity to pattern, the repetition of variations.  This grasp of pattern leads to an apprehension of form, such as when one gazes into the night sky and imagines stars assembled into shapes.  These shapes we call constellations.  The Lion.  The Hunter.  The Bear.  We name them after things we know, and believe them real.  It is perception that imposes form, and with form comes the hunger for meaning.  Which in turn gives rise to definition.

Suddenly consciousness is preoccupied with what we are and what we are not, and the division between these states: being and not being.  Light is no longer the same as darkness. The mind learns classification and discernment.  We take these assessments to be real.  With the mind of separation, we construct our reality.


“And before him shall be gathered all the nations: 
and he shall separate them one from another, 
as a shepherd divideth his sheep from his goats.”
—The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Matthew 25:32

Once land was whole.  The world was one continent and we all came from there.  Then skin stretched until it split and oceans oozed to fill the gaps, balm the bleeding edges.  Now who can tell me the distance between China and Uruguay?

Not a distance of miles but of perception.  We are we.  They are Other, a mystery we cannot penetrate and thus must fear.  Each of us our own continent, set adrift in a vast ocean.  Each our own solitary light, bobbing in unfathomable darkness.  How many times have I observed, Those people are from another planet!


“Two nations are in your womb, and two peoples
from within you shall be divided…”
— The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Genesis 25: 23

The units are ever reducing.  Continents split into countries, riven by states and provinces, counties and cities, parcels and acreage, stay off my property.  Tribes splintered into clans, broken into nuclear families.  Family members now estranged, they never call.  Interest groups.  Identity politics.  Market niches.  And the walled territory of the individual.

And even within our Selves: Who among us hasn’t felt there was a piece missing?  A chink, a missing link.  Even the atom can be broken down: electrons and nucleus, in which nest protons and neutrons.  Is it the id or the ego gone awry?  The split-off personalities, the echoes of past lives?  We seek unity through performing dissection, a perverse attempt to make whole by taking apart.


“You shall be holy to me for I the Lord am
holy and have separated you from the peoples,
that you should be mine.”
— The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Leviticus 20: 26

There was a time when we knew that the essence of God was everything and everywhere.  Nothing could be not God.  Therefore, we were God and we were everything and everyone and all was God.

Now the One who made us denies we are part of him.  Refuses the paternity test.  Casts us out.  We are orphans, clamorous to regain grace.

Now God becomes the sunderer, divvying up creation like candy after Halloween.  Dark from light. Chocolates from licorice. He from she.  Orchids from Brussels sprouts.  What’s good in me from what’s bad.  This God disarticulates the universe It’s made, pulls it apart bone by bone, tossing each to disparate corners. Our empty wrappers rattle in late afternoon wind.


“…Every kingdom divided against itself is laid
waste, and no city or house divided against itself
will stand.”
— The Holy Bible, Revised Standard Version, Matthew 12:25

The body never forgets its severed limb.  Lost twins pine for their vanished cell mates.  The more we individuate, the more refined our discrimination, the more we yearn to reunite with all from which we find ourselves cut off.

Still, it is only a dream, this prolonged dismemberment.  Candy and bones.  Fissured map of the globe.  Lion.  Hunter.  Bear.  Time as a measure: before and after.  Only a dream being dreamed by an infinite mass of shimmering energy.  No beginning and no end.  Each particle indistinguishable from its whole.

Awaken and remember:

We are dream and dreamer

and we are shining.