The Mirdad Mysteries week 2
Achieving the perfect equilibrium
Quotes from The book of Mirdad, chapters 3 and 4
Though each of you be centered in his I, yet are you all encentred in one I – even the single I of God. God’s I is God’s eternal, only Word. In it is God – The Consciousness supreme – made manifest. Without it He would be a silence absolute.
By this Word the Creator is self-created. By it the Formless One is made to take on a multiplicity of forms, through which the creatures shall pass again to formlessness. To feel Himself, to think Himself, to speak Himself, God needs not utter more than «I». Therefore «I» is His only Word. Therefore is it THE WORD.
When God says «I», nothing is left unsaid. Worlds seen and worlds unseen; things born and things awaiting birth, time rolling by and time as yet to roll – all, all, excepting not a grain of sand, are uttered forth and pressed into that Word. By the Word all things were made. Through it all are sustained.
God’s Word is not an echo in the void, nor a cancer in the throat, nor pimples on the tongue, except for those devoid of Understanding. For understanding is the Spirit Holy, that vivifies the Word and binds it unto Consciousness. It is the rider-beam of the balance Eternal, whose two pans are: the Primal Consciousness and the Word.
The Primal Consciousness — The Word — The spirit of Understand, behold THE TRINITY OF BEING, the Three which are One, The One which is Three, co-equal, co-extensive, co-eternal; self-balancing, self-knowing, self-fulfilling, Never increasing, nor decreasing. Ever at peace. Ever the same. That is THE PERFECT BALANCE.
Man names it God, although it is too wondrous to be named. Yet holy is this name, and holy is the tongue that keeps it holy. Now what is man, if not an offspring of this God? Can he be different from God? Is not the oak enswathed within the acorn? Is not God wrapped in man? Man too therefore is such a holy triune; a consciousness, a word, an understanding.
Man too is the creator, like his God. His I is his creation. Why he is not so balanced as his God?
Man is a god in swaddling-bands. Time is a swaddling-band. Space is a swaddling-band. Flesh is a swaddling-band, and likewise all the senses and the things perceivable therewith. The mother knows too well that the swaddling-bands are not the babe. The babe, however, knows it not.
Man is too conscious yet of his swaddles, which change from day to day and from age to age. Hence is his consciousness ever in flux. And hence his word, which is his consciousness expressed, is never clear and definite of meaning. And hence his understanding is in fog and hence his life is out of balance. It is confusion thrice confounded.
And so man pleads for help. His agonizing cries reverberate throughout the aeons. The air is heavy with his moans. The sea is salty with his tears. The earth is furrowed with his tombs. The heavens are deafened with his prayers. And all because he knows not yet the meaning of his I, which is to him the swaddling-bands as well as the babe there-in enswaddled.
In saying «I», man cleaves the Word in twain; his swaddling-bands the one; God’s deathless self the other. Does man in truth divide the Indivisible? God forbid! The Indivisible no power can divide, not even God’s. But man’s immaturity imagines the division. And man, the infant, girds himself for battle and wages war upon the infinite All-self, believing it to be the enemy of his being.
In this unequal fight man tears his flesh in shreds and spills his blood in streams. While God, the Father-Mother, lovingly looks on. For he knows well, that man is tearing but the heavy veils and spilling but the bitter gall that blinds him to his oneness with the One.
That is man’s destiny: to fight and bleed and faint; and in the end to wake and bind the cleavage in the I with his own flesh and seal it with his blood.
Therefore have you been cautioned – and very wisely cautioned! – to be chary in the use of I. For so long as you mean thereby the swaddling-bands and not the babe alone, so long as it is for you a cribble rather than a crucible, just so long will you be cribbling vanity, only to gather death, with all his brood of agonies and pains.