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As we move along the unfolding of our timeline in this incarnation, expanding to fill the seemingly invisible parameters of our greater being, the one which spawned us in the first place, at least in the dimension where ‘first’ is relevant, our consciousness shifts its focus, suddenly and surprisingly, showing us more locations for its exploratory curiosity than we ever, in that old, boring version of sanity, suspected.

One of those locations is the sentient being beyond the death of ‘Gordon’ who happily inhabits his afterlife, living to the hilt all its joyous possibilities, while exercising, from time to time, that regret/remorse function, which, by its very nature, illuminates some of the actions, attitudes and decisions this ‘I’ is currently negotiating, to be something less than, say, optimal or ideal.  I feel him looking at the ‘me’ in motion through the days interactions, weighing this present against many pasts and finding increments of improvement balanced against many instances of backsliding, behaviours cultured and sophisticated propped like hats on the heads of the primitive and savage.  I feel him amused by the many trajectories making their marks of assumed achievement according to the cultural norms of the day. He sees, if not completely without prejudice than at least a minimum of it, the relativity of all seeming accomplishment, not to mention the comedies of pride in their ownership.

In ‘my’ perception, which of course, is always partial, I felt his lack of judgement to be more successful than my own, and the progression between the two to be a path that not only would I follow, but one that I could not possibly avoid, regardless of the fears and doubts that might litter my steps.  Obviously I am, as we all are, an actor improvising his lines in scenes already staged, during epochs stoically endured for the eventual delivery of their goods. We knew it would be tough, but when we got here it was almost overwhelming in its oppressive tendencies: whether nature, in all its unstoppable powers, or kings and their consequent armies demanding and controlling, or merciless scything of plagues, we fought a losing battle on all fronts until an early demise was fancied if not exactly invited.

And the paradise from which this post-mortem Gordon peruses the amusing dramas of the many pasts he participated in, either as supporting cast or star, is much the same as the one we all pass through, on the way to the heavens of the blessed which religions promote and propagate, or the featureless ocean of light in which true divinity not only reigns but can be reined by any who might make the effort to merge, which when done, is no effort at all.  The paradise of pleasures proffered and accepted, of joys inhabited and expressed, of desires gratified after long denial, it’s all there basking in the glories of the inner radiance which illuminates all forms, natural and architectural, galvanizing the tendency among residents to call it home, and to dream of it fondly when absent in the rigours of incarnation.

Does he look forward, this post-mortem Gordon, in anticipation of adventures, challenges and karmic resolutions not entirely to his liking?  Does he see the great game continuing on until all options are exhausted, the players played out, the ambitions defused with achievement? Well, as I can, from this limited viewpoint, envision such, I am sure he can also, and probably with more convincing detail.  He has, as I feel out the shadow cast backwards through time from his curious retrospective gaze, moved his focus of consciousness into the sphere of the Monad, losing his self in the delights of reunion, becoming what might pass for ‘a time’, something more than a being endowed with sentience, something more like a sun with its assemblage of planets, only then to return to the persona picked out for the late twentieth century, that menu of attributes that makes up the ‘me’ from which this writing emerges.

 

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