Book 2, Chapter 8: The Author in the Flesh

Will life ever be ok again?  That is the question I see in their eyes as I stroll through the devastation and starvation of my people.  Will life ever feel ok?

The answer to that is three tiered:

First, you must play the part you are given.  You are here that I might walk among you and fulfill my role.  I am your purpose.  This life you view as painful is in fact ordained to be.  Acceptance of this fact, should you have the awareness to understand, would alleviate the burden of that question from your minds.

Second, although the question is begging an answer from the future, it exists in the past.  It remembers a better time and with that entitlement is implied.  There is no time, but that in which you live.  You deserve no better than what you have now.  All else are memories, which are corruptible and the future, which for you, does not yet exist.  You are entitled to nothing.

Third, you could choose to be like me, thus nullifying the question.  You could choose to rewrite your own story and live in my example. This is no easy task and few have the knowledge to succeed.  There is someone that dwells here in this plane that has taken up my mantle. That I exist now, having returned from Abidaba to dwell again in the flesh, well, this is to my credit.  Yet, there is someone who has helped it along.

I walk among you and you do not recognize me, so your eyes do not light when they see me.  Once, I lived as a Queen among you.  My body was a beauty to behold.  Now, I walk in rags in an unimpressive frame, lined with the hardness of the years.  From time to time, I have come to see you, but you have not known me.  Now, I am here, fully and completely indwelt in my old Recorder.  You will come to know me once more.

First, I must see he that has brought me to my full power.




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