Apokalupsis and the triumph of defeat

by | May 22, 2020 | Articles | 0 comments

We shouldn’t act so surprised. There is no negotiating the separation of worlds. The waymarker of last resort has long receded from our rear vision, but we conspired to forget even passing the sign. The old ways had been exhausted and the endless repetition of familiar dramas kept us locked in a consciousness loop. We asked for this: the freedom to choose as sovereign beings, to create genuinely new basins of experience, to wake from the recurring nightmare. By definition, it was always going to look different — both the process and the realization — than how we had imagined, because our imaginations had grown feeble. We had forgotten how to dream.

After the cosmic force for change has been invoked, the only still point available is the centre of the maelstrom. Flimsy illusions of control are swept up in the churning chaos. Rather than contort ourselves into a shape pleasing to our spiritual pretensions, the merciful approach is to disarm the ego — take it to that only true place of safety.

Mercy, like Grace, has been twisted by the stain of original unworthiness to mean a benevolent force visited upon the wretched. The human state is wretched, but that’s only because it is a state cut off from its source. Mercy seems to meet us when we are on our knees, but that’s a perfectly good place to start. We are humbled by endless defeat, failure and loss by necessity, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary at all. We had to know, in our bones, that it doesn’t work, any of it. The grinding slog was never sustainable. Our wills needed to be spent.

Only then do we bow before that larger reality, and find deep rest in the posture of surrender. But to what or whom are we surrendering? We are taught that Mercy comes from outside ourselves, but that still implies an inside and an outside. This great schism, paradoxically, is resolving the rift perpetuated by all the tired dualities.

The power of naming

We ought to be mindful of our language, because the rules of syntax, metaphorically, define the limits of how we perceive reality. I am, however, an advocate of words. Naming has power. In the ancient Jewish world, the verdict of guilt or innocence was passed via the tablet of a black or white stone. Both were unsubscribed, literally tabla rasa — empty slate. It’s speculated that this is the origin of the reference in the Book of Revelation, where the one who is victorious — the one who has moved beyond the dimension of time and seen their true face — shall also receive their true name on a white stone.

Like a pass key, our true name gives us direct entry to the inner temple, that liminal space between material and immaterial realms where we weave our dreams before consciousness is crystalized into form. It is only from here that we are co-creators, because we have already withdrawn our consent from outer authorities and their catalogue of names and taxes and brand loyalties.

Newness is emphasized. We are not burdened with the name of an old god, but a rivitalizing force that is always new because it is always being born – flesh from spirit, form from emptiness – in the self-giving current of life.

When we invoked our new world into being, this is what we were doing. Empires are built on the crumbling ruins of old empires, but ‘new’ consciousness is born from empty ground. Emptiness and powerlessness are exactly the right experiences right now, just as Mercy is the salve for our inevitable grief. The futility of transcribing a new destiny before we have mastered the void space should be obvious but it is not, because this mastery is not victory over anything, but the triumph of defeat!

As a species, we are hardwired for connection. Social distancing can lower our ‘immunity’ to depression, which is really an invitation to free love from its captivity. When we use correct naming, we can start to release the bonds. The root of the Greek term logizomai is logos, meaning ‘word’. It was used as an accounting term: “To reckon, to count as, to credit as.” Logizomai is a form of prophecy, whose true meaning is not runes casting but speaking forth that which is to come but has already arrived: forth-telling, not fore-telling. When we ‘word’ another into their destiny, time collapses. A miracle healing relocates somebody’s state of consciousness to where they are already whole and well, and have never been otherwise. It restores them to their true nature, which is not a healing at all but a reorientation of being.

Picking up our ‘sick beds’

But we have to be careful here. We shouldn’t get confused between the relative and the absolute. Mercy is free of ego agenda: attempting to heal another to avoid the pain of our own helplessness; to ‘ascend’ above the cares of this time-worn world and become a cosmically appointed fixer. Mercy, too, is free of empathic overcompensation: taking on another’s pain to prove our worthiness at the cost of our souls. When did the instinct to love get hijacked to support a stigmatized identity?

When we are the agent of Mercy, we are communing with another’s loss and suffering from a place of emptiness, not transmuting their pain. The latter requires us to stand apart, to engage in value judgment, and it can never work for very long. How else do we unmask separation as an illusion but to embrace all states, all emotions, all disordered moods — no matter how ‘wretched’ — as part of the one and same consciousness? Mercy recognizes that we are no different, and what is mine is yours. We share the same ground of being and nothing is beyond love.

Similarly, if we hold a vision of another, wording them into their true nature, we offer the same gift to ourselves. Because we cannot authentically hold that vision of another without moving into the field itself. Language is a sacred exchange in which giver and receiver become one. Mercy does not reach down, or even across. Mercy reaches within and reflects out, into the unified field where we meet each other again.

“Pick up your sick beds and walk” is logizomai: naming the reorientation as done, before it is done, as it is done. We don’t have to wait for our promised new Earth if it is already here. We are in the last days of ‘revelation’, translated from the Greek word apokalupsis – itself derived from apokalupto, which means “to take off the cover”. To reveal can mean to glimpse. An unveiling, however, is complete disclosure, a naked display of mystery in all its dimensions.

We are the way, the truth and the light. When cause and effect collapse, we become both cause and effect, at the same time. We are the new world being born, and we are the new world already born. In declaring this victory done, by our very presence others are freed to discover our shared origin and destiny. When we honour each other this way, we offer the gift of a blank white stone as both the promise and fulfillment of our divine nature. We are unveiled to ourselves.

Apokalupsis and the triumph of defeat

Mercy seems to meet us only when we are on our knees, but that’s a perfectly good place to start.

We shouldn’t act so surprised. There is no negotiating the separation of worlds. The waymarker of last resort has long receded from our rear vision, but we conspired to forget even passing the sign. The old ways had been exhausted and the endless repetition of familiar dramas kept us locked in a consciousness loop. 

We asked for this: the freedom to choose as sovereign beings, to create genuinely new basins of experience, to wake from the recurring nightmare. By definition, it was always going to look different — both the process and the realization — than how we had imagined, because our imaginations had grown feeble. We had forgotten how to dream.

After the cosmic force for change has been invoked, the only still point available is the centre of the maelstrom. Flimsy illusions of control are swept up in the churning chaos. Rather than contort ourselves into a shape pleasing to our spiritual pretensions, the merciful approach is to disarm the ego — take it to that only true place of safety.

Mercy, like Grace, has been twisted by the stain of original unworthiness to mean a benevolent force visited upon the wretched. The human state is wretched, but that’s only because it is a state cut off from its source. Mercy seems to meet us when we are on our knees, but that’s a perfectly good place to start.

We are humbled by endless defeat, failure and loss by necessity, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary at all. We had to know, in our bones, that it doesn’t work, any of it. The grinding slog was never sustainable. Our wills needed to be spent.

Only then do we bow before that larger reality, and find deep rest in the posture of surrender. But to what or whom are we surrendering? We are taught that Mercy comes from outside ourselves, but that still implies an inside and an outside. This great schism, paradoxically, is resolving the rift perpetuated by all the tired dualities.

The power of naming

We ought to be mindful of our language, because the rules of syntax, metaphorically, define the limits of how we perceive reality. I am, however, an advocate of words. Naming has power. In the ancient Jewish world, the verdict of guilt or innocence was passed via the tablet of a black or white stone. Both were unsubscribed, literally tabla rasa — empty slate. It’s speculated that this is the origin of the reference in the Book of Revelation, where the one who is victorious — the one who has moved beyond the dimension of time and seen their true face — shall also receive their true name on a white stone. 

Like a pass key, our true name gives us direct entry to the inner temple, that liminal space between material and immaterial realms where we weave our dreams before consciousness is crystalized into form. It is only from here that we are co-creators, because we have already withdrawn our consent from outer authorities and their catalogue of names and taxes and brand loyalties.

Newness is emphasized. We are not burdened with the name of an old god, but a rivitalizing force that is always new because it is always being born – flesh from spirit, form from emptiness – in the self-giving current of life.

When we invoked our new world into being, this is what we were doing. Empires are built on the crumbling ruins of old empires, but ‘new’ consciousness is born from empty ground. Emptiness and powerlessness are exactly the right experiences right now, just as Mercy is the salve for our inevitable grief. The futility of transcribing a new destiny before we have mastered the void space should be obvious but it is not, because this mastery is not victory over anything, but the triumph of defeat!

As a species, we are hardwired for connection. Social distancing can lower our ‘immunity’ to depression, which is really an invitation to free love from its captivity. When we use correct naming, we can start to release the bonds. The root of the Greek term logizomai is logos, meaning ‘word’. It was used as an accounting term: “To reckon, to count as, to credit as.” Logizomai is a form of prophecy, whose true meaning is not runes casting but speaking forth that which is to come but has already arrived: forth-telling, not fore-telling. When we ‘word’ another into their destiny, time collapses. A miracle healing relocates somebody’s state of consciousness to where they are already whole and well, and have never been otherwise. It restores them to their true nature, which is not a healing at all but a reorientation of being.

Picking up our ‘sick beds’

But we have to be careful here. We shouldn’t get confused between the relative and the absolute. Mercy is free of ego agenda: attempting to heal another to avoid the pain of our own helplessness; to ‘ascend’ above the cares of this time-worn world and become a cosmically appointed fixer. Mercy, too, is free of empathic overcompensation: taking on another’s pain to prove our worthiness at the cost of our souls. When did the instinct to love get hijacked to support a stigmatized identity?

When we are the agent of Mercy, we are communing with another’s loss and suffering from a place of emptiness, not transmuting their pain. The latter requires us to stand apart, to engage in value judgment, and it can never work for very long. How else do we unmask separation as an illusion but to embrace all states, all emotions, all disordered moods — no matter how ‘wretched’ — as part of the one and same consciousness? Mercy recognizes that we are no different, and what is mine is yours. We share the same ground of being and nothing is beyond love.

Similarly, if we hold a vision of another, wording them into their true nature, we offer the same gift to ourselves. Because we cannot authentically hold that vision of another without moving into the field itself. Language is a sacred exchange in which giver and receiver become one. Mercy does not reach down, or even across. Mercy reaches within and reflects out, into the unified field where we meet each other again.

“Pick up your sick beds and walk” is logizomai: naming the reorientation as done, before it is done, as it is done. We don’t have to wait for our promised new Earth if it is already here. We are in the last days of ‘revelation’, translated from the Greek word apokalupsis — itself derived from apokalupto, which means “to take off the cover”. To reveal can mean to glimpse. An unveiling, however, is complete disclosure, a naked display of mystery in all its dimensions. 

We are the way, the truth and the light. When cause and effect collapse, we become both cause and effect, at the same time. We are the new world being born, and we are the new world already born. In declaring this victory done, by our very presence others are freed to discover our shared origin and destiny. When we honour each other this way, we offer the gift of a blank white stone as both the promise and fulfillment of our divine nature. We are unveiled to ourselves. 

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