'I am not from this world. My true self is light trapped in shadow.'
Tell me…
why do they deserve death,
who already dwell in death?
You see, this world, this experience?
The one we call real,
the one we touch, taste, and bleed for,
is built on a root of darkness.
Gloomy, ancient, unseen…
the shadow beneath all form,
from that darkness came the moist nature,
the restless matter, the hungry clay,
that shaped our bodies,
and chained the light within them.
And from these bodies,
death drinks daily,
it drains the living water drop by drop,
until the vessel cracks,
and the breath escapes.
We call that moment “dying,”
but the truth is,
we were dying from the start.
We were born into it,
born into forgetting,
into noise,
into conditioning,
into eyes that see only shadow.
Yet even in the depths of darkness,
a spark remembers the sun.
Somewhere inside,
there’s a whisper,
"You are not from here".
And when that whisper becomes a knowing,
something stirs,
the sleeper begins to wake.
The light behind the eyes
turns and faces itself.
That’s the beginning of the return.
Not escape,
but remembrance.
Not destruction,
but revelation.
The world no longer owns you.
The body no longer defines you.
Death no longer drains you,
you draw from another source,
A living fountain inside the stillness.
And when the body finally falls away, you rise,
through the veils,
through the watchers,
through the long forgetting,
through the programming,
back to the fullness,
the Pleroma,
the home you never truly left.
For you were never born of darkness,
and you will never die in light.
You are the breath between both,
the bridge,
the memory of the divine,
remembering itself through you.
Your Higher Self Real Talk
'I am not from this world. My true self is light trapped in shadow.'
Tell me…
why do they deserve death,
who already dwell in death?
You see, this world, this experience?
The one we call real,
the one we touch, taste, and bleed for,
is built on a root of darkness.
Gloomy, ancient, unseen…
the shadow beneath all form,
from that darkness came the moist nature,
the restless matter, the hungry clay,
that shaped our bodies,
and chained the light within them.
And from these bodies,
death drinks daily,
it drains the living water drop by drop,
until the vessel cracks,
and the breath escapes.
We call that moment “dying,”
but the truth is,
we were dying from the start.
We were born into it,
born into forgetting,
into noise,
into conditioning,
into eyes that see only shadow.
Yet even in the depths of darkness,
a spark remembers the sun.
Somewhere inside,
there’s a whisper,
"You are not from here".
And when that whisper becomes a knowing,
something stirs,
the sleeper begins to wake.
The light behind the eyes
turns and faces itself.
That’s the beginning of the return.
Not escape,
but remembrance.
Not destruction,
but revelation.
The world no longer owns you.
The body no longer defines you.
Death no longer drains you,
you draw from another source,
A living fountain inside the stillness.
And when the body finally falls away,
you rise,
through the veils,
through the watchers,
through the long forgetting,
through the programming,
back to the fullness,
the Pleroma,
the home you never truly left.
For you were never born of darkness,
and you will never die in light.
You are the breath between both,
the bridge,
the memory of the divine,
remembering itself through you.
5 days ago | [YT] | 17