The first father sowed fiery love..
Riffing on Eternity #11
The Chaldean Oracle said, “The first father sowed fiery love in all creatures.”
Who was that first father? And how did he sow? Was this like planting? Is it seminal? Is it an intense generative act? And then there is the fiery love - not gentle love but alive with fire, like the sun. Is the first father the sun? Generating our lives and the life of all - not only in this material plane but high in the ethereal spheres beyond form. And all creatures hold this fiery love, meaning that we are all given this power of the first father, now and everlasting, down through the eons and cycles of living beings right to our own physical lives now, past, present and future.
Like Afrofuturism, platonic futurism can now envision a new working of all these systems that have for cycles since the crushing of Platonism and Neoplatonism by Christianity. This crushing was like the crushing of grapes, and it has produced a very fine, very old, very exquisitely aged wine, now ready for us.
It is right on schedule, ready to meet the times when it is needed the most.
The first father knew exactly what he was doing by giving to all creatures his seed of fire, and from that, for us all to know him. It is simply a matter of looking to the light and heat, and following this. Like the game of looking for a hidden object, following the cues, cooler, hotter, for near or far. We are blind, we can’t tell, but somehow our inner senses help us find the way. Not only can we see in reflection or in a sort of echoing way that there is a fire somewhere, outside us and inside us, something we bounce from side to side, echolocating when we can’t see, something we feel as hotter or cooler, and then there is the eventual crash of thunder, a sign that we are near.
The thunder indicates the flash of lightning in the distance, a low rumbling or a loud crash. Even with eyes closed, this flash can be perceived in the margins of the viewpoint, on the sides, not head-on but peripherally. The circumference of the circle, the boundary of the sphere of view.
Here, at the edge of time’s space, the images project themselves on the surface of life’s bubble and are seen in reverse from the inside. Even when the bubble seems to open to allow us to peek through for a brief time, the swirling surface seems chaotic and indecipherable to our limited eyes and minds, with such poor, pathetic vocabularies of being. Dazzled and numb, dumb and fuddled, we can only stare. It makes no difference with eyes open or closed, for this is vision, not seeing, and this is real, not unreal.
The material of life has been transmuted or appears so when, in actuality, the stuff of life has shown its sources, opened its veil, and revealed its empty shell, on which the higher soul has projected all that seemed to be reality. This material that had seemed so genuine and unquestionable is now shown to be a farce, a game, a built gesture barely holding together, for it is empty of intrinsic reality.
More of my notes on Plato study here, at Riffing on Eternity.