Ne Plus Ultra

We are the children of the light, and to those astral bodies in heavenly clutch, we belong to them. But we are shining creatures, living all along in our hopeful daze by and far underneath the vast star-chamber above. As nightly they shine down upon us, we shine back at them. We reflect our own unique magnificence in the beauty that each imagination will birth. We do not reside in this place of default but rather shift consciously into a residence of our dreams, limited only by the scope of one's fantasy. In each day's actions, we write into our legacy and into our immortality. We live within the splendor of our dreams and die in making a reality of nightmares. The choice of all that truly matters is ours; we should not be victims of circumstance. There is no place outside the mind in which the mind cannot control its emotional perception and response. Any machination devised by man can hold no lasting marathon in a world of magnanimous and righteous souls, for this is self-evident—that these are among the highest faculties to which man may ascend. A divine tendency blossoms from our affections and constant search for higher forms of expression. Like a spectacular aurora at sunrise issuing glistening arcs of light into the heavens, those spiritual rays beam out from us through every creative work of the imagination.

In the twilight hour of a vivid, misty morning, we awaken and rise to the new day. All possibility and potential arise with us; our minds are as fresh as the beads of dew that linger on every blade of grass.

To take the ink of a pen and the emptiness of a sheet of paper and fashion lines into letters, letters into words, words to sentences that ultimately form statements that produce images in the mind, evoking thought and emotion in the reader. To portray and transfer the evanescent through thought, through words, through expression. To bring space and time, Earth—its living, breathing beings by fin or by foot, by root or by wing, pursuits of passion, the famed, the forsaken, love found and love lost, the laughter of children, tears drawn and smiles raised. In bringing what lies first in the mind into this world from that, we stamp out the suffering of the smothered human will. Creation is the wind under the wings in which we soar. We grace the highest of life's peaks and become as gods to our creations that are so beautifully spawned from the tips of our fingers, incubated and developed first in our thoughts, balanced and given symmetry in our imagination, adding a richer fineness to the depths of man. Through innovation, we will not perish but rise up out of the ashes of yesterday's brilliant flame to produce a brighter light for the children of tomorrow.

The grand architect—avant-garde in form and fashion—has indeed breathed life into its intricate and masterful design. Through various abstractions and random chaos, perfect order is sung out in superbly timed tempo, keeping the pulse of life beating in harmonious balance.

Is it not within the nature of the volcano, the quake, the tornado to destruct... to recreate and resurface through chaos? And in each force being wholly within their nature, are they not then in perfect order unto themselves? Just as nature destroys itself and rebuilds, so shall we. Man's true freedom is to act upon his nature, but when this is forgotten or unrealized, man instead will be acted upon by the will of another. He becomes a slave to that will, and because this is unnatural and out of alignment with the true purpose of his existence, the malforms of the world are bred. When we fail to look within... then we are without, then do we suffer.

Power is too often sought before it is truly understood or deserved. And while true power eludes all who seek it prematurely, failure remains always present to greet those fools who knock on the door of greatness before having first earned invitation to the ball. Its rejection holds root in the stale soil of the status quo. Ultimate power is only attained through self-mastery and precise direction of the will. What be more powerful than the human will with directed purpose? The will sparks the works of man, and thought ignites the will; therefore, thought precedes all form. Beauty in form, through the curious and incongruous mix of elements—desires, needs, and various affinities, through applied skill and knowledge, reference of history and foresight through imagination, through all these combined elements. But first from thought; charging its way and forming throughout the mind in each electrochemical synapsis.

When we ask our deity to create means and ends for us and do not first ask these of ourselves, are we not circumventing our own capacity... our own ability? Did the creator not give the ability to create, to have the facilities to sustain a level of self-reliance, to hold a universal key so we may break free from the prisons of the mind? Are we so incomplete—so helpless? We are constantly calling upon external forces to aid internal needs. Everything we could imagine has yet to be by our own will. We do without when we expect more from what is already of perfect design: order from chaos. That which is already divine need not call to a higher divinity, but rather call upon the mind, for it will deliver in waves of unquantifiable measure.

Whether you meditate in the East or pray in the West, each of us is calling upon his own divineness in whatever name or dogma he chooses to define it. To call on inner energies or inspiration, to realize some guidance needed to bring us around into states of positive—that is amazing. Nature evolves to suit the needs of the natural, of life's ephemeral beings. We push ourselves to create and mold into existence from our own individualism, from what lies intrinsically within each of us—within our thoughts, our cells, our unique capacity to impose our will out of the depths of the mind, where splendid illumination is projected from darkness and shone brightest into and unto us—the light of the world.

We shall always remain of the stars; they illuminate through the distances and pierce through oceans of dark, watching over us as the eyes of distant fathers, those shining beacons, calling to us that we are of the light of many worlds.

—A