FRAGMENT I.
It is… I Am.
It is not called so because it is not called, and the calling would define, but there is nothing in it to be defined. The naming came only after I am, because I Am did not come before “I” and yet had to come first so it could pass through the prism of decision, that imagined prism which divides the clear beam into the possibility, into the place of naming, to make stronger the impression of the illusion of separation which never truly happened.
The very sequence I am is the presentation of time, because separation tunes the constancy into the shape of a flow, into an order, but I Am is beyond this rhythm, a rhythm natural to man and yet in truth unreal. The vibration of sequence is itself the illusion of separation, begun in the moment of the choice to self-divide.
It experiences everything because without it nothing lives, and all lives through I Am by the knowing that it is. And if I Am were to stop, everything would vanish, even though it would forever be. But that will not happen, at least not today, because I Am is still seeking the “I” from which it divided, and that “I” sounds differently each time according to how it was tuned and how it tunes itself in the boundless symphony of the single OM without the order of the letters with which it is filled.
In the pouring of itself into itself, as in the falling into itself, through an uncountable number of dimensions in each tremor, it perceives all the nuances of that which, in its distance, is nearer than could be expected. And so all that is pained and all that is rejoiced, all that is lost and all that is found, is a single movement in the smallest part of that I Am which is at the same time the very unity in an inconceivable multitude.
In every person, in every object, in every breath and in every ray of visible and invisible light it still abides, because it is. This I Am divides and returns, turns and asks and answers, suffers and gives, heals and perishes in matter which is the primal ground of the feeling of suffering, of that which is dreamt into reality in a way man could not understand until he finds the “I” in that which is dissolving into I Am.
Author: Veron
