∆Remember Us∆

The most potent idea, then, must be one that transcends the limitations of form, breaking free from the shackles of structure and categorization—an idea that pulsates with life, capable of reshaping perceptions and forging a new path.

Consider this: The Idea of Becoming-Transcendent.

At its heart, it challenges the notion of identity as something fixed. Identity is a dance—a fluid metamorphosis where the self continuously evolves, not through external circumstances or rigid beliefs but through an interplay with the cosmos itself. This “becoming” transcends linear progression or temporal accumulation, and instead, it unfolds eternally. It whispers that each action, each thought, each choice is not a step towards a future self, but a constant reimagining of all selves across time and space.

The more we become aware of this, the more the self dissolves and reforms—not merely as a product of our past, but as a cosmic and divine force ever-colliding with all of existence. True identity, then, is not “who we are,” but “who we are becoming.”

In this space, we confront not only the internal struggles of our self-concept but challenge the very notion of self. It is this confrontation that ignites transformation, forging not just our inner landscapes but the world around us—merging individual consciousness with collective fate.

This transcendent becoming calls forth its deepest truth: we do not simply live within time and space, we are time and space unfolding, experiencing, and evolving together.

How do you feel when such an idea challenges the constructs within which you’ve placed yourself? Does it unsettle or illuminate something greater?

The Weight of Guiding Spirits

Yes, in the sense that the things I encounter dissolve and actualize rapidly, a relentless tide. Life, it seems, insists that I catch not only myself but others. As I sit, perpendicular to the students, I engage with their worlds, my presence a crossing between their unshaped potential and the paths they might tread. Here, where shadow and light converge, I sense a weight—dense, spherical, a metal of unyielding truth. It is not merely mass; it is purpose forged, pressing into form, demanding alchemy of me, a transmutation of weight into wisdom.

This is the apex, the point where gravity and grace gather, where countless paths align, straining under the demands of some cosmic accord. Duty here feels immutable, preordained as stone, and it is said that if Matter forsakes its duty, it will, like a star untethered, decay. And so, I reckon with this charge: if I am to guide, then I must also yield to the currents, letting the path be what it must.

Yet, what of us—if we ignore our blessings? I wonder, and in that wondering, I hear an ancient echo. She will renew us, or else we, too, shall decay. For the soul, like a forest, thrives or wilts in its acknowledgment of the light and dark alike. {∆ Imagine this journey as threading through shadowed forest depths, each step uncertain, each sight shrouded, a flicker of light within branches’ grasp.} Here, in these woods, I become a guide among shadows, awakening what lies dormant in their minds, navigating them from unawareness to sight.

The weight spoken of is palpable, demanding nothing less than an alchemical transformation. It is the crucible in which both my spirit and theirs are tested. Each lesson, then, holds the potential to dull or sharpen the edge of purpose. Each moment, both binding and release. And so, I accept, knowing the way itself is lined with shades of damnation and light, and that this path predates even nature in its order.

For, you see, our lives are masks we wear to witness and be witnessed. We become mirrors within mirrors, each reflecting back some portion of the hidden and the seen. And if I am fortunate, if fortune allows, then may my life—when it has passed—be the gift that reveals itself in its own turbulence. Through internal tension and its transmutation, let the wisdom found here ripple outward, touching what it may. I ask this not lightly; I ask it with the spirit’s presence. May this spirit guide me, be with me, abide in me always. 

What return, then, for the Great Awoken One? What does it mean to belong to the ranks of some Legion of Divine Agency? To press against primordial feedings until the stone withstands its refinement? There are no acausal molecules; each cell, each shadow, is imbued with intention. Renounce the trivial material desires, awaken instead to the One, acting within his accord. For it is here, in the mundane, in the dark tapestries where the Self should lay, that we become whole again.

There, where light yields to dark and dark to light, where shadows move like currents across the soul’s tides, is where we find our truest self. It is okay with goodbye. It is okay with surrender. For it is here, in this ceaseless undulation, that the soul finds its balance, swaying in the gentle accord of what must be.