The Divine Paradox
The Measure of the Soul
What is our measure and what our meaning, Beloveds? What do we hold tight when death draws near suddenly in the form of a near car accident, when we are certain, just for a moment, that we have witnessed death and by mere seconds escaped?
I know my answer. Mine is not important though. What is important is honesty—with me, with you, and undeniably with Him. You can fake it if you must, but know this: in eternity, fakeness has no cloister and is cast down into the outer darkness.
Alone, naked, darkness all around, family forsaken you for failing for the thousandth time—what do you whisper, little soul? Do not tell me, do not tell others, do not perform your answer. Instead, take that answer into a hidden room and allow silence to enfold it. Enter the dialogue that has waited for you since before creation, if this call resonates with your spiritual being.
Who are we, Beloveds? What is our distilled essence? Do not get me twisted—I am referring to who we are when all the crap cast as boasts is removed. I know my answer. The forge must be stoked to the hottest temperature tolerable prior to entering the crucible of kenotic self-emptying.
Life is mercy extended in an effort to teach the diminishment of self through the worth of love given and reciprocated. Family, under this lens, becomes the magnifying glass of our failures and capacities as we come into blooming. There will be those, as there are now, who destroy, pollute, and devour all that is precious. I say this as to children: have nothing to do with them. They are serpents disguised as sheep—or wolves.
You will know them at formation: the broken families, always their own; the hardened heart; the fake and false honey syrup that drips from their mouths like the asp’s venom. They are already among us, as has been the case since the garden.
They have absolutely zero part with us and are easily identifiable by their fruits—rotten and sick. Children cast out or run away as reeducation of sexuality fails and mercy is denied for image maintained. Love failing is proof of its absence.
The fruits are the dissensions, the quiet slithery whispers spoken amongst a congregation to breed quarrels, to entice sexual promiscuity both spiritually and physically. These are the dead walking amongst us—the damned—the springs that ever bubble ravenous greed and promiscuity.
We need be diligent and vigilant. The serpent is among us, actively whispering in our ears. He says solace. He says peace. He says chaos. He says self. He is the birth of lies. He and his slippery brethren congregate around the children of God—or where they once did. They never tire of the game of polluting piety and making of themselves a version a hundred times worse, introducing even more perversions till the true flock scatters and begins to warn the faithful: Do not enter organized religion!—unaware.
Do not enter unmature, without Christ fully formed within you. It is the gateway to many sensual pleasures and heresies that begin as specks of truth used strategically to lure the faithful like fish on hooks, before pouring the pooling, tar-like corruption of sin into the innocent infant of Christ.
But be not deceived; we are not without recourse. I paint a grim picture, Beloveds, but all is as Hope sustained and maintained within the Love—Yeshua Himself. He carried our entirety upon the totality of His confessed insufficiency to the cross and then buried it under the weight of His Love as embodied and Risen Christ. He is sufficient for all these things.
As children, all we need do is rest and refill in the rivers of the waters of life poured full strength.
Funny fact—incidentally, my last name is Waters. Divine foreshadowing... I am hooked.
I also wrote A High School Dropout and The Divine: When Dust Scintillates and
Star-Dust and the Suspect Seabag check them out.