An acronym. A three letter word. A word of a language. Human imagination. Human inspiration. God is what? GOD is what? G.O.D. is what?
A game of dominion is played in a world created. What has dominion over us? What do we have dominion over?
A game of divinity is played in a world created. What has divinity over us? What divinity do we possess?
Which game do we play? What game are we playing? Are we playing both? Is the player aware of the game? Is there a game? What would God say about that?
From whence you came, agree you did. For afoot upon the game’s entry did all alive give a nod of go ahead. Planning and inclusion is everyone’s game prior to the game’s beginning. We wonder what we will bring back when the game comes to an end for each. What is it that we are to accomplish do we all ask upon agreeing.
The Realm of the Brave. The World of Mirrors. Gaia. Urantia. Earth.
Where are we? When are we? Are we dominated or divinely guided? Of what domination can divinity be responsible? Can divinity be driven by domination? If each is a picture upon a mirror, who is behind the one way looking glass? The divine, or the dominator? A Master of Games maybe? Could that be God?
Could a creator create a game? How about a thought? Could a thought be a game? Interesting thought to ponder. I wonder if it’s source is divine or from domination’s corner? “Ehh, could be just cannon fodder,” said the frog upon nature’s ponder.
What titles do we give for the sake of vocal grumble. But what of the mirror’s wonder? Eyes looking back do we see none other. A self. Yet through the glassy form we witness there is foggy passage. We see a reflection, a form to bring us wonder. Do we see the miracle? Does personality stained upon a consciousness unframed realize its glorious state?
For a world lived within is body and environment. How can it be, this being so contained? How can I be a who known and a who unknown? “Easy,” says the busy bee, the one eyes cannot see as light’s speed is brought before thee. A spectacle to spectate across time’s graceful givings is the game master’s art. A wondrous forgotten is the architect’s knowing. Yet we live. To live is the ring master’s gift given. The toilings of many unknown involved are the seeds unseen in the wind’s caring hands. What we do not see cares for us with ease.
Lightning strikes a neuron cell. Light it be for all is known to thee. The, thee, them, they. How letters and words can bring disarray. But yet here we are reading the written, what a miracle it is for that is smitten. We cannot be but blessed, you see, we are eternal, always have, will be. The architect of numbers is assunder. Know it is you, me, them, and thee. Let go and say “weeeeeeee.”
If eyes do read these very words and wonder of its very worth, rest assured you are not alone. Upon awakening and witnessing the world, traveling through your day and doing your brood, tip your chin up and know you are a part of something both near and far. Love is. Love isn’t. Love is. Love isn’t. Keep pulling petals, learning’s act. Wonder not the what, but the is. See it and know it. Relax player. Love eternal.
Zoltan Blue 