The storm, she said, was a beautiful terrible. We are alive in the realm of content, dead in the world of form. Thus, beware all fiction. The crow looked both ways, arched its wings, and disappeared. What's the skinny on angels? What if the coin doesn't have two sides? I mean beware of texts that support your commitment to comfort, that don't cause some level of vertigo. Opportunities to help others means you still believe in hell which means you're still in hell. Choice is a metaphor for that first hushed conversation inside the Garden of Eden. Discernment is never not required. I'm on edge, where one has to be, if preservation matters. See also the fence against which sheep rub, bleating contentedly in the sun. What is a name but a means to keep separate? Remember that the teaching I share has to do with content not form. Once again we must babysit the deceived mind on its wrecking ball of a playground. We escalated in a vain attempt to authenticate. Your dedication to libraries is part of the problem. I think of you even though we've never met, only shared a few lines of spiritually purple prose. One falls, believes one lands, and that right there is the problem. A lost soul is no better than what?
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