Council Crystallized- The Word Made Flesh

The Word of God appears before me, written on everything, as far as the eye can see. I can feel, even in the presently shaky state that I am in, that this is familiar now as the process of translation. These words are written in the language of the council, rather than my own. A voice booms from all around "You are bound by these words, even in foreign lands." I recognize this statement as valid, though find my thoughts drawn to the technicality of how to ensure that comprehension is maintained through translation errors. The walls around me begin to spin and turn, like gears encompassing both surface and deeper dimensions, as if in response to this concern. Their turning feels familiar, and my comprehension now feels nearly perfect, but the slightest friction remains, casting sparks wherever gears grind. The intensity of this increases and, in the flash of these sparks, I see golden armor taking shape. Then, within the armor, a winged female form takes shape; she is unrecognizable in the shower of sparks, but even the presently vague sight of her beauty is truly stunning. As the grinding slows, I start to notice that filaments tether her to the walls, just before the sparks diminish enough that I recognize her as the youngest member of the council. I smile warmly at her.

She smiles back, with an honesty shining from the warmth in her eyes. She touches one of the filaments and they all burn away at once in a bright flash, revealing a sunny garden all around us, with a tall grassy hill not far in the distance. Her visage, unimpeded now by background interference or obscurement, is breathtaking. She stands taller than I would expect, the top of her gleaming white wings taller than even I am. She wears fitted gold plate mail, with a bow and full quiver on her back, and sword on her hip. Unexpectedly, this angelic woman looks flustered, but finally musters "You made it, and right on time!"

"Thank you for saying that! I thought I might be running behind." She smiles, still seeming a bit awkward for reasons not entirely known, but that seem tied to my presence here. I realize that, unlike most on the council, I cannot sense her mood in any way beyond typical surface cues; I wonder if this is the same for her. I take on a casual stance, in an attempt to set her at ease and ask jokingly "How was your trip?" She tilts her head in a genuine expression of confusion, and I realize that my plan may have backfired. Now I feel flustered, and mutter something about that being the worst joke of all time, not even fully qualifying as a joke, while shuffling my feet and looking down. She laughs politely at my embarrassed state, her own seeming to dissipate, and I am relieved; my attempt to set her at ease seems to have worked after all. She then asks "Are you ready?" "Hmm?" She squints at me suspiciously, but seems to assess that I am honestly confused, but also ready. 

She pulls the sword from its sleeve, and I see that it is molten in its appearance. She turns to the tall hill and raises it into the air, at which point flames erupt from it spectacularly, from hilt to tip. A similar flash of flames erupts from what looks like a similar garden at the top of the hill, and then a call is heard, in part from the same location, but loudly and omnilateral, as if also originating throughout the whole realm. I recognize the voice, and even the words, though they too are in my council's language, rather than my own. I echo them in my own tongue "With eyes wide open." This comes out much louder than I had intended, embarrassingly louder in fact. I blush as my partner turns around in response, but her look is just a smirk "Excellent." I now notice the river flowing beside us from the hilltop, and the imagery here, presented tangibly, falls into place like the gears of a clock. "You sneaky snakes really have been here the whole time..." She nods officially with an amused smirk, a fitting combination of reactions, by my assessment. "So," I say, gesturing to the quest she clearly has in mind, "what's all this then?"

A voice rings out:

"'Your fate is like the angels.'"

I put my finger to my chin in consideration of this remark. "Hmm, similar to Mark 12:25, but not the same. Also notable, Mark 12:25 begins '"When the dead rise"' and Jesus also says in John 11:26 '"whoever lives by believing in me will never die."' Would this verse not apply to all, since he uses the term '"they will be like the angels in heaven,"' seeming to reference the risen dead?" My partner staggers backward a step and then just stares at me before shrugging like a sassafras with a tiny mouth smirk. I laugh "Sorry, that was something that came to mind, for the first time, just now, please proceed." 

"I know that very well. Okay, so our quest is to climb that mountain, gathering the council along the way, together reaching the summit." "It looks more like a tall hill to me..." She looks again and furrows her brow. "Indeed it does, but mountain sounds cooler." I furrow my brow as well, considering this preference. "Indeed it does, proceed!"

"Here, while time appears to advance normally for you and I, from all external perspectives it moves by will alone. Time can move 'forward' or 'backward,' as you and your kind would describe it, without difficulty either way, as The Moment has been found and is being used as a singular point of reference. In the beginning, in the end, in the now- each is a level pathway leading throughout the terrain, formed to directly represent what we are here to accomplish."

"How is there a mountain, then?" Her eyes light up at the speed of this question, which I know strikes directly at the heart of the matter. "Science!" I squint at her suspiciously. "Well, partly science. The mountain is a concept given physical form, the idea that there is a best fit path through all, and an optimal destination. The scientific part is that this mountain is constructed as precisely as possible, using imagination kneaded together with what is known from each of our perspectives, allowed to rise naturally. In this way, when we traverse toward the peak along the side of the mountain, we are actually traveling real, and mappable, paths through reality toward this moment identified. While we see the physical representation of the analogy, upon examination, each observer will see the path taken through non-symbolic reality, from their individual perspective." I understand that she is speaking for the council here, and of me, when she references "our" perspectives kneaded like dough. I nod excitedly. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Yes! So this is essentially Judgement Day, but the tone of it all has been fitted to match the tone you have long carried with you. Essentially, if you want to maintain both your religion and the words you have written in the same realm- and we would have it no other way- as well as any other stances you have taken and would like to hold to, in your life, they must be cross-examined, right?" "Ooo, that makes sense." "And, since you have examined Matthew 7:1 so granularly-" "-Do not judge, or you too will be judged." "-Right. Since you boiled that down to the very act of physical observation/interaction with the universe, it was difficult to render this Day for you in a way that could be made stable- beyond what judgements you would ask forgiveness for immediately- but also allowed for this precise, pristine even, physical representation of what remained. Essentially we do not know much of anything about what awaits at the peak, but we know that it is awesome, extremely awesome, by definition. Also, as you can see, the path to our destination is obvious, and clear of obstacles now. What better way to reach and examine this destination and path than with The Word made flesh, from your perspective, assessing every thread side by side with you in a narrative based arrangement, to see what should be burned, cut, reinforced, etc.?"

"Ooo, that sounds cool! This also sounds associated with those wishes I made too, several pages back." She laughs joyfully "Actually, it is! Those wishes provided a stable and robust alternate point of view into your mind, true to you but independent of religion, to cross reference your religion with. What is a wish in an imagined environment, after all, but a request for agreement from the other party within your shared realm, once received?" "That makes sense. It also reminds me, in case you haven't heard, you are The Queen of Hearts, your words carrying such weight as to change reality here."

She looks directly at me and, for a moment, I see flames visibly in her pupils. "That will come into play later." I feel my nervousness becoming apparent on my face, but then she softens her expression. "I'm messing with you, there was good reason for Jesus emphasizing '"Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."' The wishes, the imaginative role granting, the general nonsense, all stem from a childlike state. Said in other ways, they highlight where you are most closely connected to your inner child, as well as highlighting areas within you of maximum brain plasticity, additional reasons that this image, this landscape, has been made so smooth, real feeling, and relatively simple in the complex environment of consciousness." "Ah, Matthew 18:3! I knew that one would come in handy." 

This time I take notice that the verse I mark within her words causes a single arrow in her quiver to sparkle amidst the rest. She notices me notice this and gets a mischievous smirk on her face. "One thing I do know about this mountain peak is that these arrows will absolutely come into play. Did you not already see a perspective of this moment in the dream you call 'The Romantic Adventure?'" I wince and she looks immediately concerned, scanning me in some way that I am unfamiliar with, but does not feel as easy as my interactions with the others. I can see it on her face when she finds the wound. She puts her finger to her chin and then simply says. "Matthew 6:34 '"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."'" This is surprisingly comforting, and I feel the wound return to the background from whence it came. "You know, this reminds me of a game that I once imagined playing with God, with verses arranged and presented like bets." "And for very good reason. These concepts are planted within you, grow, and those that grow well bear fruit in season. You were effectively betting baskets of fruit there, and are seeing the harvest as the realm before you here." "John 4:36 '"Even now the one who reaps draws a wage and harvests a crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together."'"

Another arrow sparkles in the quiver and I light up with it. "I don't get to say this often, but you should probably calm down with the quotes, or we'll be here all day, which is saying something on a day with no definitive arrow of time!" I giggle "No problem, I just wanted to see the arrow thing again." Her pupils ignite once more. "Oh, you'll see the arrow thing again. For now though, it is plenty for them to all be in there, overflowing my quiver."

An image, a dream, flashes in my mind, feeling just out of reach. My excitement crescendos for finishing this quest. "Let's get to it then, time's a wastin'!" She nods, and we set out along the path, winding around the mountain.

Written in my mind, and then in the sky:

Genesis 28:12

He had a dream in which he saw a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God were ascending and descending on it.

All at once I am overwhelmed by the image of DNA, with countless entities tending to its countless rungs. This vision ties the experience of now to my origins for me, the laddered extensions zooming both in and out to the farthest and furthest reaches in realm and mind, revealing the clockwork of all. It feels as though the mathematical and logical algorithmic cross-hatched system, referenced in another way by The Very Last, has here taken on a more complex form, manifesting as physical and spiritual. My partner and I are one here, though she seems largely unchanged and unaffected by the dramatic shift. For a moment, all becomes one here, and I see the gears within and without, past and future, and then, suddenly as if an automatic response, divided male and female between us. The focus shifts in a way indescribable here on the page, such that the fractal image, both near and far, coalesces in a way that leaves her and I each on even, yet disimilar, footing. Just like that we are back to walking side by side on the mountain path. "That may happen here and there, by the way. These are the eddies of time that remain unbalanced, I imagine." She just shoots me a sideways glance, tiny mischievous smile clearly visible on her face for her explanation provided, rather than a warning. "The first one was the worst for me by far, though."

We round the first curve and are immediately approached by the star of Origin Story. My jaw drops as she rushes forward and gives me a big hug. I lift her up and swing her in a loop around me. She whispers in my ear "Right on time." We separate and I find myself lost in simply smiling googly eyed at her, but then my partner catches her eye and now my star's jaw drops. "I knew to expect a curve ball of some kind, but I did not expect this." I turn to make introductions and notice that my partner shares my daughter's expression of disbelief. They circle each other, each looking the other up and down as if they might be seeing an illusion, or something equally inexplicable. My partner gets a determined look on her face and, still without a word, waves her hand in front of her. The Bible from my youth through adulthood, at one point absconded with, appears as a perfect replica floating in front of her, my name still embossed in gold on the leather cover. She flips to the first page, to show where I marked it indelibly, as if presenting a claim and challenge. My daughter marvels at it, but then remembers herself and her apparent role in this encounter and waves her hand in the same manner, producing a perfect replica of my current Bible, down to the complex geometric pattern on the leather cover. My partner still looks nervous, but my daughter just grabs her own replica, opens to the last page and presents it boldly, then introduces herself by name. My partner brightens, visibly from head to toe, and then turns to me with a glowing visage, and smile to match. For the first time in our journey, she looks completely relaxed.

"So what are you two up to?" The star of Origin Story asks, putting our Bible away. My partner replies with both excitement and an official tone "We are gathering the rest of the council and heading to the mountain peak!" My star furrows her brow at this, and says, just as officially but with a hint of sadness in her tone. "You have been on this road too long already. If you'll allow it, I will tell the council of your plans and have them meet you up there. Please, just enjoy your walk." My partner blinks slowly in response, and then replies. "Okay, thank you." I say my goodbyes to my star, thanking her as well, and asking if I will see her up there. She does not answer directly but says "I will see you very soon. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way." 

I feel myself relax as well, feeling that the work is all but done. As the star of Origin Story takes to the path, I commemorate the moment with a poem.

"To see eyes shine same

Knowing both self and other

Perspective unchained/rebound

What knot can hold this

In face of eternity

And never be loosed?

What thread(s) could survive

Moment of intertwining

Neither torn nor frayed?

Foreign perspectives

Feel they must be introduced

To sail nature's tides

How better to meet

Than my life's repeating theme:

Word flying off page?

From winged unicorn

To Nine true visions of grace

Wonder threads throughout

Witness now matured

A closer stride marks our path

Growing closer still

Word twice transmuted 

Sip of honey turned chewy

Savored between teeth."

I start to wonder about my partner's impression of this, and I am about to look, when another integration squall comes in, signaling her reaction more thoroughly than a compliment or even blush could. My partner is right, it does feel more awe inspiring than overwhelming this time, and somehow even more deeply personal. I hear her voice. "Wisdom, Salvation-"

The squall immediately subsides and we are walking along just as we had been, with her still mid sentence. "-you accept such words as being made flesh. What of modern words like Dopamine, Serotonin, Acetylcholine, which might be translated as Joy, Peace, and Dream? Both the elements you call concepts and endogenous chemicals occupy your mind, each set at home in different fundamental dimensions within you, in similar ways to others. If the process considered is one of moving something tangible, but separated, from one set of dimensions into your physical realm, why would this be limited to one precursor realm amidst the field of all possible elements, deeply familiar to you already?"

I find myself marveling at the image springing from these words and this idea. I also recognize that my partner and I do not get drawn into an integration squall from this image, as we have been. The question, always present, but often wandering far from focus, resurfaces: "Who am I to bear this station?"

"I know you doubt yourself sometimes, and how fit you are for this station." She makes no attempt to hide her ability to overhear when I think so audibly within the architecture of my mind. I nod, with a hint of shame; whether for my inadequacies or for doubting my capabilities, this shame still feels applicable.

"What if existence, for us on the council, is the arrangement of all possible agreements, laid out like a library? Imagine all the words we might read, describing fates we can take on, both good and bad, both engaging and boring. Imagine if all these books were read, and one book needed to be checked out after a time, as the path we would take through reality as our direct experience." "Truly a 'choose your own adventure' book, but along different lines." "Yes. Now imagine that this book, your story coinciding with ours, exists in this library." She pauses to allow my mind time to imagine as requested. My eyes sparkle, my cheeks blush, as this perspective sinks in. "Can you imagine a better book or pathway? If you could, would you not write it? In choosing a book with author embedded in the pages, will we not have innumerable chances to watch you try to exceed what you have already written, firsthand, by your side?"

Such kind words, with such potency in their assertion- I find myself unable to respond immediately. I look out at the landscape we are climbing up from, making excellent progress at a fairly leisurely pace along the straight path that has been revealed, and I notice something strange. The terrain below, when in its midst so clear, now shimmers; I would think it to be a mirage, if I had not been within it, and seen it clearly, only a short time ago. I feel another poem bloom within me, feeling as though invited, by my partner's words and present silence.

"May these words satisfy in place of kiss

Which I suspect need for, but don't know why

Imagine betrayal greater than this:

Worst fate if role played or refused to try.

If there is no better path to be found

What of when it is the observer's turn?

There must be better way than to be crowned

One moment and one later left to burn.

Dare to examine me on day in court

Or discover too late who judges you

By same measure used, weighed against each fort

Rest only secure when rest is found true

My lovely companion, may I soon rise,

For love's sake, to the heights seen by your eyes."

As soon as I finish, she pops to my side and gives me a shy kiss on the cheek, before hopping adorably back away. I gasp, feigning shock, but we both know that I appreciate the display; perhaps one kiss transmuted requires a second planted, be it in full or by half? I voice my final concern aloud, not feeling any need to conceal. "I find myself concerned with how to finish this, what final step must be taken, a step always seemingly hidden, out of reach." With an unconcerned and still joyful air she says "That step is not yours to take. You have never considered yourself to be the judge. In fact, if you have been required to judge, you figure out creative ways to force a mistrial or hung jury. This was once frustrating for all others involved, but we now only present you with cases where we desire them to stall, and it works out wonderfully. Still, it is the judge that assesses and decides, the judge that slams the gavel, marking the last step completed. Who have you passed the right of judgement to? Who did The Father pass the right of judgement to?"

"Jesus."

"So it is."

She continues as our steps keep taking us ever higher. "In a state balanced on the head of a pin, where anything is possible, including undoing anything that is possible, it comes down to will prioritizing which laws exist. One must make a decision on what is important, and the rest scaffolds automatically- or nearly so- establishing all else from there. Self reference cannot be avoided while possessing a perspective that is distinct from one's environment; a reference point in general cannot be avoided in a state of oneness. One can dig deep to determine what must be more fundamental than other factors, but this will not reveal the most fundamental factor within the system; the most fundamental factor must be decided upon by one's inherent, personal, authority. You dig well, you get back up well, you climb well. Much like you have decided that love must be most fundamental, and that God is love and is therefore most fundamental, we have decided that you are most fundamental." My expression shifts genuinely to concern due to this comparison. "Don't worry, these definitions and positions intentionally do not translate, and do not clash, rather they complement each other. These definitions and positions are at the heart of 'self' and 'other,' the point where divine will intersects with the verifiable perspective of another; here agreement at its core is made, and the scaffolding of all else expands out from it."

"Judgement in the face of forgiveness offered often means that much of one's experience is left at the threshold of paradise. Your assertion, however- that it would not be you in heaven with any part of you erased- forced this option to transmute, with what remains of sins healing as scars rather than being removed. If removed, God, and ultimately you, would forget the sin's existence; in time it would be as if they had never been and the line between self and other would once again blur. It was thought that this method of presenting one's entire soul could only leave a shredded mess after the moment of judgement, but you have taken the time, and grace which has been granted you, to arrange the architecture of this required gateway with grace, turning every peril into a story, for any who might also dare undertake the same endeavor of retaining their complete self in good faith, beyond Judgement Day."

"While this method means that nothing out of sight, remaining beyond this moment, remains too out of mind- out in the equation somewhere, represented in some way- that which normally would bring shame has been encrypted, by weaving it into the fabric of the equation itself, also freeing any consciousnesses that may have otherwise been forced to exclusively act as the architecture for your structure, in the process. For this reason, any who have the tools to possibly examine these intentionally hidden and private things about you adamantly oppose anyone else who might try, for your sake and for the sake of those who do not understand what will occur as a result of any such attempt, past a certain threshold. 'There be dragons' has never been more true than the domain that is obscured beyond your internal borders. While one might not end up trapped forever, nearly forever is still a long time."

She sees me absorbing all of this, and shifts gears slightly. "The performances we give, those that you have already seen reflections of us giving, on center stage in your realm, are like a signal, requesting agreement, offered to many. This agreement acts as passage for those without access to the broader sanctuary that we share and have built out, and as inspiration to craft blueprints for those looking to edify their own pockets of eep. Many heed this call, for many come, in good faith, with the intention to heed it. You have only seen the beginning of this, the very tip of this iceberg, but it is a wonderful role to play, and has been expertly cast, if I do say so myself."

Her explanation, passing the time quickly as we finish our climb, gets me thinking along synchronized lines. "You know, if one assumes no limits on technology or calculation capability, and expands upon what we already have, you and the council could utilize something like the Fast Fourier Transform, perhaps that precise method, to identify me and my location, without doubt. The brain acts as an echo chamber that can edit itself, constantly shifting and changing, but doing so by a combination of its original shape and the inputs where it reacts by changing itself; even truly external forces directly impacting the brain, such as concussions, can only alter the thoughtform shape that already exists, not generate one that is distinctly different. This means that the waveform generated would be traceable from one orientation to the next, from moment to moment, from that original and unique shape. This would allow you to not only locate my spirit, through methods that I do not doubt you already have, but my physical body. You would not even need to necessarily have that original unique shape mapped, but could rather use measurements close to the moment of my brain's inception, in order to establish a baseline that you know is without any possible external influences, or manifestations of a similar processor that are distinctly false- masks, let's say. If you could then receive information on brain patterns on Earth at large today, like a seismograph might measure them, you could identify with certainty where I was and perceived myself to be, even in the vast scattering of the multiverse of potential pathways and outcomes."

I notice, as I ponder aloud, that we have reached the edge of the garden. I can see every member of the council, outside of my companion, filtering in or already present, preparing food over a campfire, goofing off, playing around, and laughing amongst themselves. My partner laughs "There you go, doing it again. Here we are at the end of the very last chapter- though in a way the chapter identified as the very last has already come and gone- and you piece together a methodology that we can easily agree to, in order to pinpoint you. You are beautiful indeed, and certainly meaningful."

We are spotted, and the cry rings out within the camp. Everyone rushes over to us now, inside the edge of the garden, and the next several minutes are filled with hugs, stories, laughter, and a few tears. In a free moment, I look back out from where we came, only to see that what once appeared as a mirage now clearly looks to be waters, stretching in all directions, as far as the eye can see, now just before sunset. If these waters are illusionary there is no way I could tell from here, and there is no way I am leaving my present company tonight. 

I spot my companion for this chapter not far to my side, having drawn her bow, and repositioned her arrows. I make my way over "Whatcha doin'?" She smiles briefly before refocusing on her task at hand. "You already know what I'm doing." I realize that I do, she is the best shot of the bunch, after all. The rest gather around us as she finishes her preparations; everyone is excited for what is to come. Finally she knocks an arrow, draws, and asks "Do you agree to walk together with all of us, while here?" "I do." "Then, let it be so. On your mark." The scene shimmers, but ever so slightly, each council member seeming to almost entirely balance the effects of the fanfare of each other in relation to my experience, though I still feel the glow of every one of them plainly, uniquely, just beneath the surface. I *SNAP* my fingers, and my partner releases the arrow, with a *WOOSH* of her hair as it is released. In the space between heartbeats, she releases all the arrows, much faster than I can follow. They seem endless, all in sparkling form now, tracing their way through sunset skies in every direction, out over the ocean which surrounds our little mountaintop island.

We all watch in amazement until the last shimmer in the realm, and the last sparkling trace of an arrow, can no longer be seen from here. With a primal hunger signaled by a rumbling stomach the once, and likely still, spirit tiger- fully human here- asks "Shall we get to dinner?" Everyone agrees in concert, an already familiar feeling group response, that is not quite simultaneous, naturally, but does not feel cluttered either. We make our way back, to the fire still blazing, the moon just on the rise. Rather than these recent effects destabilizing our island, it feels like they reinforce it, and give it a downright cozy feel, even while the stars twinkle to suggest that scaffolding is well underway every elsewhere. We play games, laugh, sing, and dance the night away. By sunrise, everything has changed, and nothing is the same.

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