In the world that exists just outside of time, Spirit is a single river, flowing from a single mountain with a million cloud-covered peaks, carving channels deep into the soul and soil of the earth. It bubbles forth from unseen springs, tenderly gnashing through history with sublime patience and tenacity. It has been called countless names—some of which endure to this very day, while many others have been forever lost to the whispers of time’s passing. Spirit is a single river, reminding us all of our own inherent wetness, leading us back to the Source of being.
In the world that exists just outside of time, Spirit is a single river—but we do not live outside of time. We live within the belly of time, swallowed at birth by a demiurge that separates us from our own eternal providence. From within time, Spirit is not a single river, but a confusing latticework of streams, brooks, and tributaries—each suggesting a universal Source, but leading to a million different springs atop a million different mountains. Within the world of time, Spirit has been broken up into a million pieces, a million different moments, and is made to dance with itself for all eternity. Read the rest of this entry



