Doubtful cynics cast their cold shadows on the steps of the great hall, and I command these nefarious characters be dispatched. They chant their evil conjures while I pretend to be appalled, and yet the notes they sing ring deep in my soul.
I am the nature of these doubts, and their cries only seek to posture the resulting lulls of times passed through blindly.
Chaos is, at once, the harbinger of death and life for both merge into a holy union through the vast mirage of creation.
There is no control over the function of our external experience. All that exists and flows on the continuum is a result of chaotic interactions—potentiality grounded into probability by the interplay of consciousness in its innumerable forms.
The only space we have access to maintaining and actively affecting is in our own bodies, hearts, and minds. This is the edge of our sovereign kingdom and the fertile land of our exalted expression.
Here we choose to live each day on the spectrum between our greatest potential of light and our lowest expression of dark. We cannot control what comes to us in the face of our most well-laid plans, and we cannot dictate the chaos inherent in the mystery, but we can choose how we show up in the battle with our shadowy parts.
This is our only true freedom in the world: how we think, feel, and act.
There is no need for sorrow in the wake of destiny undone, only the resolve to maintain one’s kingdom until the Sun rises again over the desolate badlands that have quietly crept their camp forward during the night.
Let us choose not to collapse, gripped in the fear of the unknown, but channel our sovereignty into the expression of exalted choice in our life.