As much as you talk of prayer and scripture, when are you going to release yourself to it? When are going to let go? Whatever it is you think you are now, this is it's first and last age.
There is nothing in speaking it or passing along the writings as such if your heart isn't given to it. The more you try to shape it or mold it, the more it escapes you, and the more that strong delusion sets in. The more that manna is changed to something of ill-effect, having lost it's goodness.
The truth is beyond you. It's not what you think! It's not what your logic dictates. It's not the resemblance of your desires or learned suspicions, which are of men. There is no divinity in you. There is no light in you. You of singular walk. You (and I) are not Christ! You (and I) are an earthen vessel. Nothing more. Nothing less.
So let go! Let it all go! Accept for a moment that all those words spoken on an eternity of sabbaths really do mean something, but your teachers understood not. Accept that perhaps the right way really is narrow and few there be. Accept for a moment that perhaps you really aren't standing. And accept for a moment that all your foundation is formed on sand.
There are no ascended masters my dear. Those are demons. And your tearchers? They are liars, robbed and scented, dwelling now or soon, in sheol, having followed blavatsky into the ditch. Their cruel directors whispering to them from groves and high places.
There is no denying the word with what you think!
The word, perfectly lovely, bringing joy and song to the chambers of my heart. It permeates all things of manifold frequencies. It's field, powerful and kind, working ever so lightly. In it, I've always believed. And in spite of my failings, I'll die believing.
Under it's influence, I can say of a truth that I love you. I always will!
He knows I'm speaking of him. And he knows I'm sorry.
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