8 June - (Air) Liber LXV, 2:62
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62. But these thy prophets; they must cry aloud and scourge themselves; they must cross trackless wastes and unfathomed oceans; to await Thee is the end, not the beginning.
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62. But these thy prophets; they must cry aloud and scourge themselves; they must cross trackless wastes and unfathomed oceans; to await Thee is the end, not the beginning.
What can I say... I read this passage this morning, and I totally got it! I have been saying something along these lines for a number of days now, but especially yesterday.
I identify with these guys, these prophets—crying aloud, scourging themselves, crossing trackless wastes and oceans, with the possibility of arriving at some place where all there is left to do is wait. That I am imbedded in this illusion is no mystery to me.
That this journey, and this waiting even, are perhaps illusions is a concept I can grasp intellectually, but not experientially. And yet, I am open on this point because I cannot say if there is this breaking forth of light in the north of my spiritual universe, or not. The images can be interpreted as my bias dictates.
It is my job to make pizzas. All I can find in the refrigerator are old trays of red sauce and meat. My interpretation of this image is complicated by the fact that I cannot be certain if the materials are in fact faulty, or the fault is just in my ability to see them for what they are—perfect.
Love and Will
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AUMGN
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I've been, er, waiting for this verse for several days... knowing it was coming, watching for the discussions to wind toward it.
It is possibly the line from LXV that I most often have quoted to students over the years. It applies especially to the Knowledge & Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel.
Every time I read it, the verse has the power to move me: Even in the beginning, it's true that "to await Thee is the end, not the beginning."
It's the end - an end in itself. It is also the perfection of the preparation.
But waiting is not passive. It is expectant. It is watchful and focussed. (The word "wait" comes from an old German noun mean "a watch," i.e., a sentry's shift. A waiter is watchful (if he or she expects a decent tip!) It is a discipline of expectant vigilance without lust of result.
Wait for it...
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"Wait for it..."
I remember receiving these words back March
I'm so moved right now I'm practically in tears.
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Truthfully I have not read this beforehand. I was not expecting it either.
I believe I understand it (somewhere in my heart), but do not truly understand.
If the end is not the beginning then what is it?
This caught my attention though.@Jim Eshelman said
"I've been, er, waiting for this verse for several days... knowing it was coming, watching for the discussions to wind toward it.
It is possibly the line from LXV that I most often have quoted to students over the years. It applies especially to the Knowledge & Conversation of the Holy Guardian Angel.
Every time I read it, the verse has the power to move me: Even in the beginning, it's true that "to await Thee is the end, not the beginning."
It's the end - an end in itself. It is also the perfection of the preparation.
But waiting is not passive. It is expectant. It is watchful and focussed. (The word "wait" comes from an old German noun mean "a watch," i.e., a sentry's shift. A waiter is watchful (if he or she expects a decent tip!) It is a discipline of expectant vigilance without lust of result.
Wait for it..."
I am not sure if I am getting it right but let me ponder this idea. If I cannot command the mountain and I cannot go to it to talk to it. Then it is I that must endure all these trials, rituals and etc. to the end which is when the mountain chooses to talk to me or I accept it as part of me…. Yes I believe that I am stubborn. Now I see or think I see that the angel will not talk to me because I think I am worthy, but because I have let go of what I was or am, and I am ready to listen to what will be.
Am I at this level now? No
Will I be at this level someday? I am not sure, but I will work at it.
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A few weeks ago I had a realization that I was not who I thought I was. Sounds cliche but this is what I mean by that: I was given a name at birth. I constructed an identity based on that name. I believed I was the name. And then one day, I was not that name or that identity anymore. I was something else. I AM something else and I AM NO-THING at the same time. And from this no-thing-ness which I AM, I wait for a word to BECOME. Surely this waiting in nothing ness was not the beginning as I had once imagined to be.