"The Finest Poetry is What We Write in The Hearts of Others, in Imitation of What God Has Written Upon Our Own."

God Poet Transmitting.......

Nature is the material extension of God. The Spiritual Sun is black to mortal eyes. Krishna is called The Dark One. Krish is Sanskrit... meaning to draw the plow. He draws us to him. It is as Christ said, “I will draw all men unto me.” Christ and Krishna are the same force; the personalization of God as The Attractive One; he draws us... like a plow.

In the mystery schools, and... it doesn't matter if it was Eleusinian... Egyptian... Pythagorean... or which and whenever. One of the final revelations was that... ALWAYS and FOREVER... there is but one God immanent. It matters not what the religion is... the culture or location or period of time. There is one God, and the idea of variance that men with clouded minds argue and contend over, and go to war over... is that ignorance upon which The Separated Mind is based.

Once your mind is no longer separated, you will understand. Until it is unified in the one mind, you will not understand, and no one who is informed of this truth is going to be speaking to you either, except at their peril... which... for whatever their reasons are... sometimes seems unavoidable. (grin)

Everyone who is sneering... snarling... tossing their weight about... howling after the blood of others, and all those forms of bad behavior we see going on around us every day, IS... out in The Cold, and... will remain there for so long as it is necessary for their suffering to burn out. I will make language obey me! Heh heh.

We can feel sad for the souls caught up in and wrestling with nightmare, but it takes a remarkable finesse to pull them from the waters without being pulled down with them instead.

It has been a long time coming, but... the time has come. It was inevitable that the time would come. Israel and her fellow-traveling footpads... have come to the bleeding end of a bad run, and NOTHING, and... NO ONE... is going to change the outcome. The Word has come down, and God's Will shall be done, as is ever the case.

It was necessary for it all to take place in front of the eyes of The World. This awesome and bottomless arrogance has been fed for many years from The Pit. Arrangements were made with invisible entities. Fees were paid in the blood of victims. On and on it went. On and on it goes yet... in The Middle East... in Hollywood and New York... in London and in many locations around The World... fealty to The Darkness has been celebrated in human torment, which is the food of demons.

What has been done has not been done by muscle and bone. It has not been physical industry that brought their fortunes along at such a clip. It is the fruit of dark deeds done in secret. It is the despicable bounty of countless murdered children, and people who got in the way. Justice has been delayed for so long, it can appear that what there is... is Justice, and that is not so.

From countless roads and narrow paths, humanity has traversed the moments until now. All along the course of them... the stage was being built. Heaven and Hell are both going to open and claim their own. The Old Age is passing away.

We are in the last gasp of its death rattle. It is wheezing like an emphysemic smoker chasing breath. The Old Age is passing away. Ages are no less mortal than any other thing that comes into manifestation. Its time of residence is longer and that is all.

Those whose intentions were to bend the ways of The World to their profit are going to find that they have been left with nothing but dust. The Treasure of Sierra Madre Flu is going to claim them one and all. Their hubris has grown to such a size as to imagine it can blot out the light of The Sun. Indeed... they are working on that very thing. They hate The Sun. Many of them do not know why, but they are like Gollum. Soon they will find their way to the only location they can abide.

They are going to find themselves in utter darkness, where the only music that will be playing non-stop is that of their wailing and the gnashing of their teeth; strings on the one hand... percussion on the other. It is fitting... is it not?

It has all been foretold again... and again... and again; engraved in stone and printed on paper that has all been reduced to grains of sand on the bottom of the sea... long... long ago. Ecclesiastes is one of the more recent examples of foretelling.

Some people think they came here with a contract to improve The World. Strangely enough, The World was not improved at all by their efforts, despite their longstanding efforts to take credit for everything good that happens and to reward each other with the symbols and currency from institutions they hollowed out from the inside; like that recent Nobel Prize for some bullshit about wage disparities between the sexes.

It's a fine idea to come here thinking to repair The World. Unfortunately that seldom happens. Things go up and things come down here... temporary conveniences and periods of comfort notwithstanding. The real idea is not to improve The World but to improve yourself, however... I understand why a Materialist might see it differently. This world is a temporary and ever-changing affair. Its very nature is... CHANGE.

The World is a proving ground and you get to leave once you have provided the necessary level of detachment and purification. As long as you think you are going to make a difference here, pigeons will be shitting on your statue in some park where it is no longer safe to go.

I am NOT saying the whole effort to do Good is pointless, far from it. I am saying do Good and only Good whatever you may do. I am also saying do it and forget it. You don't get a gold star for doing Good. It is your duty in the first place.

Do Good and Good will follow you. There is something to be said for that, as far as a progressive ease of passage goes, but... never forget, you came in here with what you brought in with you, and you take what you did with that... while you were here... along with you when you go. Everything else is going to turn to sand at the bottom of the sea.

One of the reasons that Poetry is considered a high art is that no real poet gets paid in material terms for what they captured during a walk with angels, and no one who hasn't been touched by angels writes any real poetry. The finest poetry is what we write in the hearts of others, in imitation of what God has written upon our own.

Social reformers are among the greatest mass murderers The World has ever known. While trying to make The World a better place... if that even was an objective... they turned it into a killing field; the best-laid plans... etcetera.

You contract with God... or you contract with The Devil while you are here, and The Recording Angel keeps the score. Look around you and see this at work... near and far. The best of us are hidden among our fellows... right down close to the common Earth... occupied in a secret industry to change the hearts of others by example... looking neither right nor left, and certainly not looking back... eyes fixed upon the further shore where The Great Companions await.

Anyone seeking recognition here is a fool, and... will be proven so. Anyone looking to make their mark... will leave a mark... and later they will bitterly regret the time it is going to take them to rub it out.

As Dennis Hopper said to Christopher Walken in True Romance; “if that's a fact... then tell me... am I lying?”

People lie to themselves all day long. They have to do so in order to keep up the pretense that they are headed somewhere worth arriving at. Entire nations lie to themselves, especially on the way down. Sooner or later... destiny comes knocking. Destiny is the sum of whatever you did to get it to show up. Such destinies are now about to come to term. Time will tell and we shall see.

End Transmission.......

Some links await at GAB=