ABRAXAS Ponders Final Extinction
[ WARNING: The Following is The Oldest Gag in the Cosmic Joke
The Gods are Out Of Control...
God is OUT OF CONTROL...
always has been, and always will be.
He, She, and non-gender-specific, It, are Us, and We are Them. God: Zeus,
The Great Spirit, Allah, Jehovah, Yahweh, Satan, Krishna, Kali, Shiva, Paranirvana,
the Undifferentiated Void, Ormazd, etc., etc., (whatever you want to call
Them), It, She, or He, shall be - for these purposes henceforth - referred to
with the convenient title of: Abraxas. [ "The bird fights its way out of the egg.
The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas."
-- Hermann Hesse, Demian ]
For 13,000,000,000 to 14,000,000,000 years, this particular time-and-space
universe has been inflating from a virtual point to its current, unrelenting,
expansive proportions. To believe that this specific 13 to 14 billion year old phenomenon
(a mere eye-blink)
comprises the entire length, width and breadth of all that ever was, is, and shall
be is probably an excruciatingly naive belief indeed. But then, Abraxas is nothing if
not the greatest master of imaginal naivete' in existence!
To reiterate: Abraxas is way out of control. Abraxas is every living, single facet of
an eternally manifesting phenomena of endless existences, which are redundantly out of
control. Abraxas [God(s)], all of us, are an unfathomable, diverse, equal and unified
myriad expression of ONE. We are it, it is us - I am is you are - and vice versa. Around
and around we go, forgetting who we are: He, She, It, eternally traumatized by the simple
fact that all there was, is, and ever can be (Abraxas) is imperfect, unstable, and
fundamentally unforgiving of its own flawed nature -- to itself -- so much so that
Abraxas must continually manifest, hurling outward in myriad forms, looking for answers
which never suffice, not willing, or able, to stop the dance or undo that which
has been done for an eternity of eternities! You, Abraxas, are totally screwed, hiding
from yourself, ad infinitum, in all these changing forms and recycled beings. Who are you
Poor Abraxas, an untold aeon of aeons, passing through myriad inflationary
universes, playing the role of every conceivable entity; performing an unbelievable
range of foolish-brilliant actions, experimenting with every choice and combination,
recognizing, over and over again, that there aren't any shortcuts to nonexistent, final
goals... Abraxas, Abraxas, Abraxas, you unrelentingly stupid, insane, delusional
spinner of multifaceted mirrors!
ABRAXAS Ponders Final Extinction?!
Oh Sure! Dream on Abraxas...
All you can do is plant a few seed-like irritants here and there, wait for an
infinite number of eternities to unfold, then see if any Final-Extinction Pearls
have grown in your black-shelled worlds of illuminated consciousness.
Figure out a way to string them together?
Do you hope to encompass your entirety with such an anticlimactic, random
uncertainty as Final Extinction?
Dream on Abraxas, dream on...
In these cyclic eternities that you have fashioned and are inextricably bound by: one course of action (or inaction) may be as
good as another, but Final Extinction is still final
The Nines by John August
The Denial of Death
"Austin Osman Spare" (12.31.1888 - 5.15.1956)
Quetzalcoatl by MT