Journey in a Broken World- To die in truth- my only desire

(Journey in a Broken World)

Article by Marc Aupiais

I still remember when I decided to logically prove my entire religion- I still do- but then I was only beginning it. I showed that our every desire was proportionate, or improportionate mimicry of the mediator of our existence- Reality- that we either love and admire our Mediator, or else envy and despise it- and either admire and befriend it- or attempt to usurp it hatefully.

We often think of Reality as something misty, or indefinite- perhaps rightly so- in some cases. We cannot define it entirely without aid- often it seems a mystery- that which we know enough about- to be fascinated by.

When I pray to Dear Saint Philomena- the child Martyr- forever frozen in time in countless images, and such beauty shown in my mind, and heart- such a boldly beautiful heart, and body and soul; such youth and vigor- yet wisdom in youth, and fascination with True Beauty! When I do so- I am admitting the truth that God has honoured her, and am pleasing to him in this action.

Oddly- the more I live, believe, and manifest in truth- the more pure, the more refined, and healthy my soul feels. The truth not only sets you free- but is freedom itself- the cloud we float on, the pink and purple and blue smoke which carries us on the back of a steam train- as we amazedly realize that in morals at least- the impossible is made but easy, or oft simply viable.

I use my sorrow, and combine it with hope to clean out the faults in my very existence- within my unseen part- my conductor to God- my soul.

Somehow- truth is like breath- like cool mountain air, or snow upon my cheek. It encompasses my self in light and in hope- in protecting it I become a warrior of epic danger, not through violence- but though using the truth itself. When I hope- this warm steam, or smoke perhaps- becomes like a river, sustaining me- and pulling my heart along, and I float effortlessly down- even past rapids- always pulled beyond all enmity into greater currents of hope through truth.

Now- when I die- what do I have- I do not have my human form- my soul perhaps- but what truly do I have- the ultimate treasure I desire is not to ask God this or that- we will know these things- but rather to drink from the fountain of truth, to drown in her endless lake- her ocean- to float on her pure white wings, and speak and be nothing but truth.

When I die- my comfort is in that God is the Truth- he is our mediator, our existence- he is Truth- the frame, the bubble in which we come to be. I dearly love truth- and this is the pull within that we must always hear. Faith without reason is but superstition- it is worth less than an illusion of being. Reason without faith is hardly reason. Faith is the light by which we know the source of all things- the pregnant truth, whose imagination gave birth to the world.

And so I dive deep into the well of truth, into the lake within the well- surrounded by a high wall. I once thought these infinite steep walls but- the confines of a well, yet the closer one comes- and the more one falls from their side into the lake- and by mountains within, the more we see they are boundaries to an infinite universe- a nation beyond all and every map, a just land beyond impossibility itself, and encomapassing all who live within its grasp. The well has become a lake- fed by a small stream- which gradually becomes infinite- and I dive deep- having long since ceased to breathe- and push my way upstream always forcing my way forward. I have learned to breathe in and out truth- and air itself is not the same- nor is water- as compare the infinite living water which is truth.

Let us not aim at what is purely of benefit- nor aim at living just but inches within the border of truth- next to the waring nations nearby- except should we be assigned as a border post handler- even so- let us buy the best estate- in the very center of truth- and cover ourselves in blankets of truth, closing curtains of truth, and lying in the bed of truth- while allowing the truth to rain on the roof of our small infinite house from beyond, as we bow down to the living word- and worship our nation- the mediator of our existence- God himself whom we must adore.

The Substance of true beauty

(Journey in a Broken World)

Article by Marc Aupiais

Sometimes when one is in a place- one senses a presence, whether it is other people, who soon show themselves, or animals- or something one truly does not have an explanation for from experience, but which our soul and body says is there.

Now intuition has many forms, sometimes it is memory, sometimes our senses knowing something too complex to explain in individual thoughts, and sometimes it is something deep within the essences of our nature telling us something.

When praying- Catholics have been known to feel the tugging of intuitive truth, and this is often how we explain the answering of prayers. The more we delve into the intuition, and trust it- the more our form is encouraged to perfect this sense.

Now, whether the culmination of past experience, or else seeing pictures or images which should be there, but are not, or perhaps the results of memory, or any other thing, I have had such interesting experiences before- and will tell of the result of them. No, it is not seeing things, but sensing things that we speak of- knowing as though from expirience- even when we do not know from the physical.

To me Saint Philomena is not the image we often associate with her- that of beautiful images of the young beautiful girl. She may well physically have this form- but when I pray- images enter my mind- once I saw her as nothing but blood, with but a bit of flesh or bone floating within it- and it scared me, another time a image entered myself, of an old lady- with gray hair- longer than time itself, looking down on me like an old seer. My thought of this image within- was firstly lowly, fearful and humble, but understanding surprise, and secondly a realization of true beauty- in her aged form was a softer beauty than in her powerful youth- the beauty of one who exists- despite all in opposition- the beauty of a soul who will forever fulfill her purpose- the beauty of one in true happiness.

What is the source of these intuitive thoughts- to me it matters, but to Mother church- all that matters is that they are free from moral and doctrinal error. I don't know if they would say that of this or not- I do know that to me beauty is that which is what it is designed to be- that which is perfect and natural- where the limited, though oft seeming dynamic, simplicity of the borders of what is natural is what is moral!