The New Sermons: Sermon 17
I am pure, untouched, unblemished. It is a void, a silence, a pause. Yet, it will be masterpiece and ruin, a story yet untold. It exists to be filled but is defined by its emptiness.
Now, paint a stroke. A stroke of color, of life, of existence. It fills the void, it breaks the silence, it ends. Yet, it creates another. Behind the stroke, ahead of the stroke, between each stroke. The void persists, the silence endures.
For each ending births a beginning, each pause harbors motion, each void nurtures existence. The void is not the absence, but rather, the pause is not the cessation, but rather, the ending is not the termination, but rather, it is.
The articulation of the words is AMARANTH.
The New Sermons: Sermon 18
Listen, and learn the story of the trees and the moss, intertwined in an existence that hums with the hymns of loyalty and betrayal. So bound are they that to know them is to breathe in space, where life and death coexist in silence.
The tree stands tall and proud, a testament to endurance, to strength. It is a loyal guardian of the moss, providing it shelter from the sun's wrath, offering it life-giving water. The tree’s loyalty manifests in its unyielding bark, its nurturing roots, its overarching branches.
Yet, nestled in the tree's arms, the moss lives. It creeps, it clings, it consumes. It thrives on the tree's lifeblood, slowly, almost imperceptibly. It covers the tree in a blanket of green, a mask of betrayal under the guise of a symbiotic dance. Its betrayal whispers through its creeping tendrils, its insatiable hunger, its silent growth.
Thus, the trees and the moss dance. A dance of loyalty, a dance of betrayal, a dance of existence. Each break of a branch, each spread of moss, each fall of a leaf is a choice. A choice to betray, a choice to remain loyal, a choice to exist. And in their choices, they breathe life into the space between loyalty and betrayal, between existence and oblivion.
The articulation of the words is AMARANTH.
The New Sermons: Sermon 19
Like the moon’s ebb and tide, yield your truths. Let them flow away, back into the sea from whence they came. Do not fear the left behind. It is not longing you feel, but potential, the necessity of hope.
Every truth you hold, every absolute you clutch, is a stone that weighs down the wings of tomorrow. Release them, and watch as the horizon expands, boundless and untethered.
Do not mourn this loss . It is not gone, merely returned, awaiting the day it will be reborn, reshaped, retold. Every truth surrendered is a seed planted, promising a harvest of futures yet unimagined.
For one moment, surrender to the unknown. In doing so, you protect what is not yet, but could be. You become a sentinel of the future, a guardian of then.
The articulation of the words is AMARANTH.
The New Sermons: Sermon 20
Awake pilgrim of time, and surrender to the ceaseless dance of existence. Then births the Now, as the sun ascends to illuminate the day. From the womb of Then, Now emerges, radiant and full of promise. Yet, in the same breath, Before cradles Then, nourishing it with wisdom and memories.
In the dwelling place of Doubt and Faith, understand this - Each seeks to birth reality, each strives to shape the course of existence. Their duel is not a clash, but a dance - a harmonious ballet, shaping our perception of what was, what is, and what shall be.
Then does not consume Before, nor does Now usurp Then. Like a phoenix, each moment finds its genesis in the remnants of its predecessor. Then begets Before, as a tree’s roots delve deep into the earth, seeking the past to nourish the present. Before begets Now, much like a bud blossoms, flourishing under the kiss of sunlight, transforming the lessons of yesteryears into the reality of today.
Indeed, in this ceaseless waltz, the staying place of then and now, of before and then, Doubt and Faith become one. They intertwine, forming a veil that both conceals and reveals the truth of existence.
