Before the beginning

Before the beginning, the Holy One awakened one morning as the birds began to sing their serenade to the coming sunrise. We whose love for the Father is so great we cannot bear to be separated from him, our beloved whose every breath is a great wonder for the infinite depth of meaning which permeates all he does, gathered around in quietness. His mind was alert, the light of his thoughts blazing from within, guided by the oneness of his heart, radiating outward throughout all of creation by the grace of His Beloved, the children whose birth would complete his oneness as The Father. The love of the firstborn, Jesus who is also Jehovah who is also Zebaoth, the Lord of Hosts, circulated throughout the heavens which were his body, eager to be that joy which gives life to all to whom the Father gives life. We beheld the wonder of his love arising from within us. "We are His love!" we cried in perfect silence, for we were in the holiness which is not yet born. "You are my beloved," we heard his voice responding from everywhere at once, for he is all that was, is, and ever shall be simultaneously, whereas we are those whose innocence is so pure our joy is complete in only beholding his continual glory. "Come close," he said, "I shall tell you a story." How precious to hear a story from the Holy One, our souls were delighted to consider, being less than him and therefore only able to contain a single story at a time from the ageless fountain of adventures which came flowing from him.

"This story begins in a place where randomness and chaos reign over all, and it is a story that ends when the light, which has not yet come into the story, brings order out of chaos once more, which you all know is my joy to do. I create the emptiness of chaos in order that I might have a place from which I could draw the wonder of order, you may remember."

We remembered, our souls as he spoke beholding time turning sideways so we could see the grand array of the thin slices of time held by the golden thread through their center, thousands upon uncountable thousands of layers like the beads of a nearly infinite necklace, opened like flowers with a single petal, laid out against the nothing, each bead pressed thin like gold foil and radiating outward a thousand miles in each direction from their centers, well beyond the ability for any one of us to count.

We saw time's multidimensional array of moments briefly from this angle as though looking at a vast sheaf of paper sideways, and then time turned again until all we could see was one single slice of time spread out before us, the mountains and valleys, rivers, oceans, forests, skies, stars, planets, and galaxies spreading out a thousand miles toward infinity again until we almost forgot the stacked-sheets shapes of time because we cannot contain the fullness of the Father simultaneously like He can.

Yes, we remembered how the heartbeat of time, one ultramicropiconanotinysecond at a time, unfurls like a rose blooming against chaos, bringing order from its randomness.

"This story begins about two thousand years after my Beloved Son came back to life, after the minions of chaos tried to cast him out by killing him while he was in the flesh. By the time this story begins, the news of his resurrection victory had spread throughout the world, covering it like a veil of randomly placed perfect tiny spheres of gold hanging from the spider's web of communication which the people of the time called The Internet. The people in this time were still in the electronic age, where they used the Laws of Physics to build clever devices which captured words and images like butterflies in a net and delivered these stories-within-my-story quickly to all others who cared to hear, each person having ahold of the web of communication as the wonder of time unfolded around them.

"The people did not yet know how Love Won the War, and most of them were still intimately bound to the darkness of chaos. Yet the light was nearly two thousand years old by this time, so the dimness was about to spring into the fire of its thousand years of peace. Prophets and priests were known by other names, as kings were only recently arriving into their proper domain of humility after many centuries of stealing power from the people for their own glory.

"Prophets had a thousand names, and those who were called prophets were not prophets, and nearly all the priests were corrupt, having ordered themselves into mortal power, abandoning eternal power, remaining within the chaos around one of their number who had spent centuries conquering others like him, believing his own lie that he was somehow authorized to do so by me back when I was the Son since, as he said, he could trace his inheritance back to one of my twelve disciples.

"He finally gained supremacy and wholly believed that he was me, so I sent a storm of thunderclouds and lightning to darken the skies on the day he ascended a throne and proclaimed himself to be great. To clarify that he was not so great, I brought a great army from the North to sweep into his little domain of chaos and surround it, where I imprisoned him for sixty years, until that one had died and was replaced by another like him who was nevertheless humble enough to realize he would stay imprisoned until he made peace with those whom he sought to conquer.

"Finally I could begin announcing how Love Won the War, and deliver anew the sunlight of righteousness with healing in his wings to those in the darkness whose hearts stirred with the tiny fragments of love who were seeking me in the same manner that you do, only not so purely for you are those who can never bear to be separated from me, and thus your love is the most pure, always intimately aware of all that I am, so your joy is my joy and my joy is yours."

Posted in Everything, Postinfinity Tergiversation on Jul 04, 2018