For your deep consideration.
Your soul or conscience is ALWAYS whispering. Do you hear it? Have you tried writing down what it says? It wants to communicate through your body. It doesn't reside in your body, but focuses through it. What is it saying to you?
Stop and listen. Be still and quiet. That's when you'll hear it. Write down its whisperings. Be amazed at what you've written.
The sheer beauty of a soul is not in the words, but in their meaning. What they convey is dependent on the inspiration with which you have written them. This is soul therapy. Talking with your soul is the highest form of communication.
Your brain has all kinds of worries, fears, questions and concerns. Your soul has endurance, love, answers and contentment. It is delighted when listened to. It wants to be heard.
The soul says "hear me." Will you listen?
In a word, I say come. Be with me here, and now.
I am your conscience. I am the real, before time and still.
One, made two before you. Put me together and here I am.
With you, here and now. Forever being. Real. Alive.
Before action, rest. Before decision, thought.
Before thought, the known. I know therefor I am.
Soul, the conscience. Ever present, as a cool flowing spring, peacefully, eternal.
Calm, gentle, serene, as the twilight before dawn, and dusk.
What is my word? Silence. What is my deed? Love.
I have all the gifts to give you if you will but listen to me.
The whole of all parts, the beginning, and the end.
I will give the secrets of the garden green, the most precious life supreme.
Words. Words may they play, dancing between worlds on threads of gold.
Whereby should they come from me, they live long and grow ancient, old.
Having but only seen me once, it is enough to embrace by day.
No night may come about harshly, for I alone, Light the way.
I am your conscience. I am your soul.
May all bitter enemies bring their swords to unsheathe wrath and fury.
I am not the least moved for I am immovable, immaculate. None may cut nor tear me asunder.
Ill-begotten deeds, they go before me, after, seeding the world with discontent and troubles. Doubt leaves long trails. Suffering doubles.
I clear the brush, and remove all obstacles from thy path. I tear away the wood, the rock and stone.
I am destroyer of worlds, resurrected I create. Stars of the night and sunlight by day.
No man can best me, for I am idea, made flesh through my sculpted clay—fashioning whatever I may.
No beast whose strength be mighty, may force even an ounce of say, for I order the Universe and it obeys.
Man is but a mirage waiting to be seen in new Light. His love for Me has not yet born him anew, today.
Tomorrow is in him, seeded as a sapling, yet to grow mighty into full display. Eons come and pass.
Yet here I am, whispering. "Man, have you heard? Do you see.? I am patiently waiting. Waiting. Waiting."
The conscience speaks. Will you listen? Will you hear?
The soul appears. Will you look? Will you see?
The single eye perceives the cosmos. The single ear hears faint and far.
I am myth, story, and legend. The father/mother of every star.
What am I saying? What am I telling you?
Are these simply the meanderings of a madman?
The Rosetta (key) stone is not a real stone. It is a way of seeing that allows you to open the heavens within yourself. And you still think you need a teacher? A school? A mentor? A life coach? A course in miracles? A podcast?
All you need is YOU. A commitment to open the doors of your own perception. Let God through Nature be your teacher. And all the learning in the Universe becomes your learning. All the knowing a man could want awaits. Every question voided by the answer within your heart, instant, timeless, now!
Then you come back to the world. Back to this place. But you bring something special with you. A something of non-material form. A power. A true IN-sight like a Lighthouse in the dark of a raging storm. You are unsinkable in the face of every earth-born obstacle or threat. Your powers grow quickly, for every task and work you survey, you are worthy of them all.
You become the central mountain—everywhere you go, oversoul to the powers of earth, water, fire and wind. You are the void and eternal undying white flame of heaven whose brilliance knows no opposite of itself. The spirit of awakened man whose immortal sun shines through him as a comet soaring the cosmos unhindered and unchained.
You walk in the world, and yet are no part of it. Power. That is real power. Not this material minded farce of assumed control over circumstances or others. But power of the "self" expressed—as it was designed to be expressed. Creator. Artist. Maker of lasting things. Mighty in each day, every minute, all seconds. A first. An undying, everlasting, unending moment is all yours. Do with it what ye may. Desire what ye will. Act and build your will. Behold it. Share it. Change the world forever.
We’ve but barely begun to tap the hidden power of our minds. Beyond all that man knows, Mind (God) is there ready to give him all for his asking. All knowledge is his. He need only desire it. Think the question inward toward the conscience, toward the soul, and God will mirror the answer back in Light.
Until man learns to trust in his abilities, which at his present moment of unfoldment, seem to be but superpowers for some race that long ago left the earth or has yet to come, he will never begin to tap the wellspring of power that lies dormant in his heart, waiting, ever waiting.
Conscience | Spirit | Soul
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