Wednesday. A few minutes after 7 am. I am still, sitting on the train as it makes its first stops on the way south. Red Line this morning, so I can sit here and type. I don’t have to hurry to get to work on time, I’ll be early even though the red line takes longer if I take it all the way from Howard.

Full moon today. Not sure what time or when. I feel a strange detachment, not from the moon, or the world, but from my worry. I’ve been cycling through moments of complete distance from the world, and moments of complete submergence in the world. It’s been going on for about 36 hours now. Since Monday evening.

I’ve seen my own true face, and I am beautiful and one. I feel a perfect resonance of discernment, clarity absent of judgment. I feel the Will to act precisely, but with no emphasis on time or sense of urgency. I feel like a singularity in the temporal cube, instead of a body suspended by it. I feel the light of the Divine in every cell of my body, and I vibrate with it.

Today I have information I did not have yesterday, and for a time last night I struggled with it. Today it does not trouble me. Later it will again. Normally this vascillation would concern me, but I have an understanding that it is normal, an adjustment to a binary mode of perception, that I exist in reality, and apart from it.

The stops are moving by quickly this morning. Berwyn now. A sense of impatience comes from the people getting on the train. They want to move. They are driven by time and don’t see it. I’ve had this perception before, but never as clearly. When I began to spend time in tiphareth I began to see people like puppets, and in many ways it was very uncomfortable. As though they were zombies being manipulated by strings which they could not perceive. The perception now is much kinder, and I am not afraid of applying it to myself.

The strings have become forces, mathematically ideal energies pressing upon the people around me, and upon me. I’m uncomfortable with the mechanistic viewpoint that is my instinctive recognition here. Partly because I prize divinity too highly to embrace a clockwork universe, and partly because I recognize that the mathematics behind the universe are only geometric in appearance. In study and action they are functional, which means their output is variable.

Thy sky is very blue. It’s interesting. This morning I was laying in bed, and I looked out at the blue sky. And my traditional thought “Ugh, sun” was a hollow echo. I’m not particularly excited to see all that blue, and to feel the sun on the back of my neck as I type this. But I’m not investing in my preference for clouds. I’ve always wondered how it is that people who achieve great influence could resist using it frivolously, to enforce their desires upon the world. I see now, it’s because a function of harnessing that force and perceiving a way of giving it form removes a person from investment in the smaller things.

This is not to say that I am one of those people. I am not. But I can see the function there now, where I could not before. But I can also see the danger, and I have a startlingly clear perception of the history of that function. I can see when a mage has touched that light and brings it back. I can see how he works to change the world to fulfill his will. I can see how the worlds resistance or compliance can both taint that light.

Growing beyond the Demiurge has a tendency to make one believe that he may affect without being affected. And at the source this is true, but we live and work here, and even the creator/prime mover did not remain wholly distinct from what he created. Eventually the reflection of that light, even in Eden, strikes the eyes of he who created it.

The train is full now. I feel a little claustrophobic. Or perhaps agoraphobic. My stomach churns a little bit. The girl to my right is wearing a wrist brace, she has relatively minor RSI, and she thinks she can overcome it. It will get worse, and eventually she will give up, thinking her effort futile. She’s looking in the wrong place, trying to keep her habits but support herself with an external aid, when she should be changing the pattern that causes the injury. She is operating a touchscreen with the tip of her index finger moving side to side and up and down at a bad angle. She thinks this is okay because it’s not causing pain, which is mostly thumb and third finger driven at the moment. She might one day curse God for her suffering.

We’re all a lot like that. I am worse, far worse. I have the talent and skill to see where I’m injuring myself, and I keep doing it anyway. I have the knowledge to heal myself, and I don’t. Instead I wallow in this flesh, blindly trying to hold on to the idea that it will all work out. It will of course, but not in accordance with my desire. Instead of using my talent, I accept the small changes, the restrictions of movement, the inabilities and disabilities that grow so slowly we barely realize them, until one day we struggle to walk up the stairs.

I suggest to myself that I am being overly harsh, but it is not so. I feel no judgment of myself for this, at least not at the moment. But I see it as plainly as I see the woman with her wrist brace. Chicago and State now. Only a few more stops to go. Starting to come down now. Starting to feel invested. Tears are likely today. The expenditure of this perception on the mental has it’s reflection upon the emotional, and they will balance themselves. It is joy, even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.

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