I have been in communion-with a number of Fae, both visible and invisible. Their interests and natures are essentially aesthetic. They helped me see beauty and truth and goodness in the Covid-Mystery; even though all the materialistic medical science has it wrong.
Obviously there are believers, even among “scientists”, and other well meaning folk. But a “belief” is not knowledge, or knowledge’s gateway: understanding.
There are very bad people in the world. They rise to power and wealth everywhere, by cheating and murder if necessary. As many have said; Property is Theft. For aboriginal folk – it is madness to believe one can own the Mother.
The Dramatist Supreme is that very Person. We are Her children, and She has the Whole World in His Hands. A marriage between the Art of Karma and the graces of Divine Providence.
The descent of the immortal human being into the world of Matter is spiritual ritualistic art, such as only Gods&Goddesses can Conceive. The most ephemeral and original Reality imprisons itself in a world of life and death. Of number and illness.
Our human freedom is a splendor of becoming, Seven times Seventy trials in Matter. The turning point involved the Mother being forgotten, and the Father and the Son turned to pious abstractions.
All that exists tells a story. Seven Billion fiery sparks, each one’s freedom the legendary Beast from the Abyss of the unknown, unformed, and yet to be made.
To abstract this beauty into the words “the evolution of consciousness” is understandable, yet to fancy these concepts as knowledge is folly.
I read today that bees (apparently) stung a large group of penguins to death. Those fleeing danger pile up against the borders everywhere, not just humans at the Texas-Mexico “fence”.
Seven billion stories, if we just count the humans. A world full of ugly horrible terrible selfish seas of troubles, and the Mystery does not just go along with our follies, They actually encourage them.
Each individual biography a holy work of art. Living art. Passionate art. We are all unique, our personal madness ours to invent. Oh, yes, of course … there are rules: What goes around comes around.