The Soul In Suffering as Solace?

My friends, my fellow beloveds—

All is for you. All is for Him in me, in you.

This is a reflection, a trembling question, not a declaration.

Please understand: I am just Dust, grasping Dust.

Let us enter the cradle by the grave, shall we, family?

Downloading Eternity

Saturday. Such a day.

The sun high, the sky blue, marbled with stringy white filaments of sleepy clouds—straining, suspended.

A day like this leaves the soul softly shaking with remembered warmth: the scent of home, of apple pie cooling on the counter, of those Thanksgiving afternoons when love felt plentiful and near.

It seems at times that the inner being—who we are when excised from flesh—holds its own memory of eternity, a before where belonging was tangible, known, and understood. There are moments I swear I know a thing before the thing could be known. The soul, perhaps, in constant communion with You.

The body, our physicality, wraps itself around the incorporeal in a cradle of flesh, singing a soft lullaby to soothe the soul back into sorrowful somnolence.

But what if the body is a buffer against the brutality of existence?

What if the soul, alive and fully aware, would experience pain far worse than death while inhabiting this body?

What if I told You that this—this ache, this awakening—is what it takes to truly live?

What if sanctification itself is the process of awakening the soul, like a newborn first aware of eternity?

It’s like connecting to WiFi and starting a download. You get the app first; then, for full performance, you need the additional data.

So I suggest this: sanctification may be the soul downloading eternity—its bandwidth limited by our internal FIOS.

Our limitation is the difference between inactive participation (kicking and screaming) and active communion (joyfully walking with You).

If a soul were to walk from day one fully awake, absent a buffer in the form of a body, its cry would echo through creation, inspiring stillborns to martyrdom across the ages.

The anguish would be so complete, the darkness so total—it would be like going to sleep in a warm bed and waking in a burning house, body already aflame, pain so total it transcends language.

The soul’s first defense in such suffering would be dissociation—self implosion. Perhaps that is what we call sudden infant death syndrome.

Or perhaps such a soul would look like You, Yeshua: aware from day one, perfect from perfection, born of the Pleroma.

A soul so transcendent it walks to the cross with a smile and a chuckle.

A soul so alive it carries hidden tongues of fire beyond Words—

The Way.

The Truth.

The Life.

We are all being awoken to varying degrees of glory. Some will blaze like Him. Others will fade unseen and unknown—but only in this life.

In Eternity, they are the Great Ones: the giants, the forerunners, the cloud of witnesses who walk with us still.

The saints made holy by suffering unto death.

The soul refined as metal in the furnace.

The body, the sheath.

The worth, the hidden interior.