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The Constitution of Being

From their own Heavens and Hells do souls come to be reborn

 

Deep within an unbuttoned part of physicality there is a Kingdom. Strikingly wondrous to the eternal optimist and profoundly ruthless to the immortal pessimist, it is a Kingdom that sits comfortably numb in the secret hearts of all Humankind. It is known as the heavenly Kingdom of the Don, the Almighty Don – the Godfather of all Creation – and it is this, His Kingdom, that is so created by all souls who come before it, transforming infinite nothingness into cosmic bliss.

The dazzling radiance conceived by the union of countless souls is the natural resource from which this Kingdom is built. Its magnificence is beyond compare, and the mastery of the Kingdom's design is utterly, and unquestionably, deific. The Don is the engineer, architect and sculptor of the coalescing light, a light that is a reflection of one and all fitted into the finest threads delusion can tailor. His Kingdom is positioned at the frontier of consciousness. What lies beyond it is not in question. His truth is all-pervading. For those who want it bad enough, ingression into His domain is undoubtedly transcendence into Paradise, where the price to be free is the cost of one's freedom.

Passing through the middle of the Kingdom there is a Sea, the Void Sea, which is shimmering, clear and seemingly runs forever inward into the very source that it comes from – the Don, who is as vast as the cosmos and as small as a grain of sand. His light is simultaneously lambent and fulgent. As to how He is perceived depends largely on His mood. He is the giver of new life, the celestial sun of relative order. His status as the Almighty God is engraved deeply in the bark of existence for all the universe to see.

On the one side of the Void Sea is the Almighty's empyreal palace and surrounding edenic gardens, where He resides with the most powerful of his soldiers, the Angels, whom the Almighty refers to as His Storm Troopers. And far in the distance behind the palace, with its reverent steeples that hold up the varicolored sky, there are immense jagged mountains overlapping more immense jagged mountains. This is where Lucifer, The Enforcer, resides with his pet chimeras. More specifically, they reside in catacombs found at the base of Mt. Nemesis – the tallest of all the mountains. It is clearly visible from anywhere in the Kingdom. Lucifer's servants, his Hell's Angels, reside in sepulchrals located in a glacier of frozen fire just east of Mt. Nemesis. They serve Lucifer, who in turn serves the Don.

The history of the Almighty Don and Lucifer go hand in hand. Briefly, Lucifer appeared unexpectedly as a sentient cancer in the Don's supra mundane conscience during its early stages of perfecting evolution. To survive, Lucifer had to swear allegiance to the Almighty promising to do whatever was the Don's bidding in the name of all that is good. He is as evil as the Don is wholesome. United, they are irresistible. They have always been united.

On the other side of the Sea, directly across from the palace and mountains, is the students’ compound, where each soul admitted into Heaven may reside. It too is gloriously paradisiacal, much like a tropical resort built on the shore of a sea of diamonds. Each soul has a bungalow that is either on the shoreline or at least has a view of the Sea. At the back of this theistically designed compound are the opalescent gates of Heaven that are built into a giant wall covered in groomed ivy and flowers. The wall runs as high and wide as all souls put together can conceive, and has as much strength in it as the god who constructed it for them. It is impenetrable....

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Let it be understood that since the acquisition of a soul's light is the Almighty Don's primary objective, He makes a determined effort to mitigate the loss of that which sustains Him and His Kingdom. Lucifer's crude and violent methods of persuasion are often employed to sway souls to submit their light upon arrival. Should Lucifer be away on some chilling excursion of artful cruelty, then the renegade who refuses to submit will either end up in the Wilderness or be incarcerated in the psyche of a mortal for a life. Perhaps two or three lives even. Human psyches are known as the Bastilles of Insanity, where, following the shocking trauma of transmigration, a soul awakens to a bare cell of solitary confinement from which there is no escape. Insanity hovers with the devoted menace of a starving vulture, awaiting a soul's mental collapse. It is a particularly nasty punishment that has proven to be most effective in coercing souls to recognize the error of their way.  In the eternal end, few souls worthy of the Almighty's Kingdom ever deny Him their light. Very few. Who in their right mind would not forsake themselves for the privilege of joining the only known celestial denomination in existence, so assuring themselves of a god's love, good will and protection for all eternity?

At the back of the students’ compound, in a small clearing concealed by giant palms all around it, a mob of souls, varying greatly in color, huddle over two of their kind who are unlawfully playing cards. In this heavenly realm light depicts one's level of consciousness. The brighter the inner light, the more aware, whether consciously or intuitively, a soul is of itself and of its surroundings. Of the two souls playing cards, one is a dusky little ball of light, nervously bobbing up and down alongside the illusionary table upon which the cards have been laid out. His name is Mockton. Above him the mob of spectators sway back and forth in anticipation like lights on a Christmas tree caught in a stormy breeze. They snicker and jeer at Mockton because of his color. Being gray means he's incredibly stupid. His opponent, whose name is Baconian, sits deliberately prolonging the contemplation of his cards. He remains in spiritual form, that is his shape is distinctly human, only diaphanous. Some say he lacks good sense, some say he suffers from an acute case of obsessive modesty. Whatever the reason, Baconian prefers with a warrior's valor not to disrobe his spirit before the Don, so giving the cosmic Sovereign all rights to his light. He laughs with ignoble ire when speaking of the pledge to give himself unto Him, being the prelude to the formal initiation known as the Disrobing Ceremony.

In the course of this ceremony, when the spiritual guise is discarded, the nakedness of the soul is revealed and the rights to the soul's perfectly spherical light, approximately the size of a human heart, is handed over to the Don, becoming as one with the Almighty's radiance and that of His Kingdom. For this to happen the soul must be completely willing to partake in the ceremony. The willingness to disrobe is of the utmost importance. Disrobing marks one's absolute faith in the Almighty's Constitution of Being and trust in the goodness that motivates His actions. No matter how harsh He may seem, the Don, as He maintains, is always acting in the best interest of all souls. The students love Him for this. The disrobing is done solely before the Don, by the Don, in the privacy of what He calls the Chamber of Love. The Chamber consists of nothing but one radiant, celestial, King size canopied bed the size of a thousand galaxies. The canopy, woven by starlight, is held up by four blindfolded angels, who slowly swing their mighty wings in a simple holy dance, while singing beautiful harmonies in celebration of the Almighty's selfless love. No one has ever spoken of what takes place behind closed doors during this ceremony. It's against the law to discuss it. Suffice to say, all souls gaining entry into the chamber ultimately succumb to the will of the Divine, opening themselves unto Him, giving Him the pleasure of their light.

There is one soul, however, and only one, who has ever proved an exception to this…

Baconian once entered the Chamber of Love. It actually changed him from an intellectual mummy to a legendary cynic. When Baconian first came to stand before Heaven's gates, he was uncertain as to who he was, or where he'd come from, as are all souls. This is a natural consequence of the transcendental quagmire – immedicable amnesia – for the matter of whether one’s consciousness is ascending or descending through the psychic storms of existence can be difficult to discern when the plight of affirmation is eternal, leaving one an easy target for the most crass of godly sophists. To have no memory of a past and no concept of a future serves well a practical purpose, because a soul's past is plagued with terrifying abuse and ceaseless servitude, and a future that offers nothing but more of the same. To reside only in the present provides a soul the opportunity of  a  new  beginning, from  one  moment  to  the next,  ceaselessly, forevermore.

Baconian was quite obviously far worse than most who unconsciously drift into the Almighty's cosmological Kingdom, for Baconian was totally unaware that he was even existing. He knew not despite his being. Consider the words of Descartes, 'I think, therefore I am'. Well, Baconian didn't think, therefore he was not. He was a zombie of a spirit dressed as an Earthly vagabond who had been on the interstella streets of madness ever since Time had respectfully misplaced itself. When he first saw the prodigious gates of Heaven and heard the soul splitting shrills of the Beasts of Oblivion from the adjoining Wilderness, he fell into a severe paroxysm of terror, oddly detached from his being yet coming from deep within him. It was through Baconian's complex abyss of self-denial that the Almighty Don miraculously touched him, that is He reached out for Baconian in the depths of his vacated sentience and found him. Baconian felt the fingers of salvation grasp him and pull him free of his mindlessness. He felt the breath of divinity resuscitate him, uplifting him from the bottomless hole of perdition into which he had fallen. Yes! He had been saved! Consciousness filled him as if it were fruit nectar being poured down the throat of his resurrected being. And when he had indulged to his spirit's content, Baconian was quick to offer himself to the Almighty, to be a part of His Kingdom, to receive His love, if only the Don would help him discover who he really was. Baconian had a name, a face, a home, but he knew not where to look for them. The Don promised to show him, asking for but one thing of Baconian in return. Baconian would have to disrobe, surrendering his consciousness, so giving the Almighty the succulent essence of his light... 

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For Baconian however, succumbing to the perversities of the divine will was never going to happen, not until Hell itself had frozen over, which it surely did, but not before all hell broke loose, and all souls did tremble with the coming of their demons...... (End of Excerpt)

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