Just there, on the very edge of the horizon, the eye can be seen. It was known to the ancients as the all-seeing, the all-knowing, the all-powerful eye of deity. It was the eye that peered at us as it dipped below the horizon. It said, “I am traveling to the Underworld to battle unmentionable monsters, and you must fare as best as you can until I return. Behave while I am gone. Do only what I say.” And so ancient man hid himself, afraid of the night, cowering in fear over the monsters, waiting for the return of the brilliant disk.
|The all-seeing eye.|
But man was misled, and who can say whether it was purposeful or not? He inadvertently gave away his own power. The brilliant disk never traveled to the Underworld at all. That was a lie. It was man who traveled. Every evening, the great eye watched man as he traveled away to a place it could not go. It should have been made known that the golden orb said, more accurately, “I see you. I know you. As you head into darkness, I will watch you and wait for your return.”
It was, and always has been, man who travels from one world to the other and then back again. It is man who heads into a world where the other cannot follow. It is man who sees of one realm what cannot be seen by the deity of the other realm, whichever realm that may be, and there is more than one. It is man alone who goes beyond the two-dimensional archetypical world, and even the angels cannot follow him.
Heading into . . . what lies beyond duality, into the “I Am.” But how little he knows.