The Tap of the Wand:

The Making of One
 

Tree of Life in the Crown Diamond, flanked by futuristic justapositions of the Diamond in a circular motif
All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable.
 

At one level or another, all things that appear are in states of vibration, as are every element of which they are comprised. Nothing is solid, stationary, dead. All things are fluid, in states of transition. With treble in counterpoint to bass, Creation is a symphony of light and heavy notes woven into the swirling thrum of life.

What I've become and am yet becoming knows this to be true; for I'm certain I was resting in the place at the center of all things when I heard the call, "Let there be." An answer was imperative.''

The call had not been a request, as for permission. It had been an irresistible command. There had been no hint of compulsion. nor any threat of imposition; and yet the call was not a directive that could be followed or ignored by choice. Willpower was not in play, neither in the caller nor the called. It had been a command, a captivation, an enchantment. It had the draw of a magnet.

All things are lawful, but not all things
are constructive to character and the spiritual life.
 
The captive of an immobility that I had not fathomed, I found myself moving; and with me moved the context of the captivity of which I had been unaware. The valence conjured by the command stimulated awareness of the contours of my limitations, and I became aware of differentiation as I embraced the command and genuinely welcomed the prospect of a pilgrimage from a theoretical past to an existential future. I had not understood, however, that the present was no longer mine— indeed, that it had never been mine, and that I had never been alone.

Looking back, it might be said that the hidden place from which I and my companion had come was like the nirvana to which so many aspire— a quiescent tranquility, or a state of being that is conducive to tranquility, if you will.
 

Truth be told, any notion of tranquility did not occur until the crest of that which is to be, as we become, was upon us. To be tranquil is to find rest within chaotic environment, and therefore tranquility is somehow contrived and maintained. The rest for which I now hungered would not come with tranquility, but with congruence.

Before the call came, the place where I lay hidden simply was: no thought was involved. Its reality had no material sense, nor did it consist of a cognizant sense, if that makes any sense. It had been with me, or I was with it; and through me, we had been summonsed, called forth to let there be.

I am thinking that, together, we comprise no more than a moment in the dream of a dreamer. When we were called, we were less than the shimmer of an imaginary spark, but we must have been some kind of radiance; for we were alert to its subtleties, and we were called forth: not to follow, but to let there be.

As we relaxed into that call to let be, we began to glow in our becoming; and the heft of the changes we could measure added impetus and urgency to the challenge, fomenting a zeal that transported us beyond what was required; and we raced ahead, falling behind. As we now are, we understand that the excess was to be expected, and so was its consequence.

 

All things are lawful,
but we must not allow ourselves to become subservient to their influence.

 

After momentum overextended the tether to all we knew to be and suspected of our becoming, we snapped or were snatched backwards. Lamenting the tranquility we had known before we answered the call to be, we became unhinged; for we find that that place is no longer where it had been, or if it is, it's now hidden beyond speculation.

Turning back and forth in the arc of this captivity, we consistently crave places we have just fled or from which we have recently been expelled; but, alas—like that ever-more-distant place of tranquility—none of these places is as we had, just recently, expected them to be. In our frustration, therefore, we lose track of where we are or were; and we forget, momentarily, that we were called to take root in a place to which we were being drawn, a place where we could let there be.

We admit that we have sprung forward and fallen back so many times that we no longer know which is the way, or even which way we are going. Our pauses seem shorter, now, and familiarity is fading. We may have lost our way.

We take solace in faith that, whatever our opinion of where we are might seem to be, we will be reshaped by our presence as it unfolds in response to the command that we should let there be. Our turns and our returns are but beats within the drumroll of our progress. The ever-so-familiar paths are not the same, but they are not so different that the distinctions we make or perceive are meaningless.

We side-wind back and forth, like a serpent on a pole.

 

Expressions

 Emblems
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