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Towards A Better Life

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Promise Land


Beastly Decimal

1,138 views

Promise Land

11/18/2015

And they say you'll never see the promise land. That your brittle soul will halt, right there at the end, with the smell of grapes foretelling the taste of fresh squeezed wine and the air of limitness time about you, space enough to hold your praise for Hashem, your smile shining more happily than modern men dare chance. They say love will flower before you, but not within you; you'll see God's symbols, but you won't understand them; you'll see the garden of majesty, but you shall not enter. You will never dance in this Garden. Not because it's beyond you, outside of your potential, outside of your scope. No, you'll never taste the fruit of the Good Tree because you will never outstretch your hand. You will refuse yourself the promise land, and the worst bit is that you will not even realize what damning deed you've done.

A fate awaiting many, a fate I thought was mine. Cursed all of time to behold the flower of my potential, the greatness implanted within me by He who beholds all and knows everything, to taste it's sweetness but deny myself, last minute - a ritual act of self-denial, self-relinquishment. "I relinquish my throne," I intoned non-verbally so many times; the rhymey story-book tale is becoming clear, and I would have sat here in my own stool, playing the fool as punishment for not being the King destiny has laid out for me, relishing in my self-abasement until the trumpets sang and I ran out of time. That was my plan, but the grotesque plot drew to an end, and for this I must thank the Mighty Lord, working through one of his chosen children to liberate my spirit from the monstrous parasites that fed upon it.

For this deed, Solo my good sir, I commend you.

God works, and we can but marvel at his inventions, marvel at the scope of the plot he's sculpting and feel gratitude for the role he's assigned us in the making of his masterpiece. Further praise must be paid for his generosity in letting us chosen few see a part of the view he sees, letting us paint the landscape with our own soulful ambitions, in accordance with his Law, by will of the Story He's crafting at every angle, by his leave. Nothing is without purpose, nothing acts autonomously without His leave. No red leaf falls without consent of the Master, no wounded prince stands tall without permission of the Master. No man speaks without his approval, no action is taken but that it filters through his plan first. The dream is ours, and he is the Dream Puppeteer. Or Conductor. Or landscaper?

Whatever.

I smell the PromiseLand, I feel the promise land through the tips of my fingers, I feel it singing the nodes in my brain as they try to compute and dissect this new infusion of 'faith', belief in the strong and unseen and conviction that this force flows within me, guiding me to the Prophet I always knew I was meant to be. The Garden of Tranquility, so foreign from the Distractive Wasteland where I once fed myself and made myself at home. It looms before me, everything I never thought it was, possible as I never thought it'd be; right here, my mind recalls every half remembered dream and scribbled words that dawn only now, this instant, as prophecy given to me, Stranger Elias, King of all that speaks and feels and breathes within himself, champion of his other half, the Lord of Gemini.

And I thought I'd never see the promise land. Well it's here, and I realize now in this moment that the promise land isn't the wine, it's not the warmth, it's not the smell - it's the innate God-given capacity to enjoy these pleasures, to righteously deserve these pleasures. The promise land is not a place to which you go; the promise land is a state of mind in which you //live// and //love//. The love felt is for everyone and everything. It's the love given by a man who has enough to spare; he isn't stingy with his affections, and so he finds his soul completed, forming connections with others stronger than ox blood, hauling the fate of the world (his world) behind him. Possessed of strength, willing to do whatever is required by life and Nature of the Great Grand Plot only He can see in its entirety. And the samples of the story He allows me to behold no longer scare me. I can walk without temptation or tentative step through these dawning revelations and take hold of the new world, more beautiful than could have been revealed or believed if I'd known it two years ago. I can walk into my own regal shoes and take possession of this view, take possession of my own burgeoning insight, and name what I have found the Promise Land.

Is this what they call the Promise Land?

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