The Dark Place that we go 1

EPL- INFORMATION FOR YOUR BUILDING SOUL What you’ll become on the other side We gave birth to them. They that dwell on the other side. They are the culmination of a spiritual evolution most of us were at least consciously unaware of. That we were contributing directly to this troubling manifestation. We think of them as malevolent twisted evil beings and that may be the case. I can not argue with that. The fact is that these are the very byproduct of our energy and what we truly are underneath. Yes underneath the skin and within us. They are us, they know us. You see there from that place of the dead they can see the truth. They see the substance of the truth, they live inside it, swim in it every moment there. Are you getting the picture? Thousands die each day. Who do you think judges you there? We like to think, No fantasize that these ‘beings’ are alien to us. An ontological trickling down of the metaphysical imprint we leave on them, the stain. Everything we touch and every where that we go not only our DNA but our essence builds into that place the middle. Once I’m sure that place where we stuff dirty cloths and discard trash was Devine and sacred. Hell it was probably so beautiful you might have called it heaven. No it is the culmination of billions of dreams and dispositions of the soul. It’s where we go when we die. There is no happy place because we have not made one. Instead the toxic hatred that we feel each and every day towards one another goes there instantly. Because it is here. It’s what here really looks like. Each sacred moment of every day that slips away. You might ask “then how do we clean it up?”. You wouldn’t be wrong to ask, many have asked it before. It isn’t long before they forget entirely. Instantly they are back to their own ways as those demons look on. Standing right next to you, some walking straight through you as apparitions. The most abused bent and twisted. The most psychopathic and maligned of them will stalk many of us from cradle to grave, meet you in the other side. They are waiting. That ever thinning veil of carbon of you’re current body skin. The nitrogen in that fleshy meat that you mistook as armor once. Mostly though the thing that gives those stalking murderous types a chuckle? Your eyes. Those big reactive peepers. You can’t hide much when those things are bouncing down the road jarred from your head from a violent collision. They like the violence. After a while it even bring a smirk to the shy ones faces. After all how could it not. You know we have this strange habit of putting on this paramnesia of mind as if it were a protective cloak. We smile and lie to one another as our thoughts glow there. Our hearts betrayal beating and pulsing. Blood pumping and creating all that metaphysical pressure. Like an X-ray they can see that true self as if your spine and nerves were the shell of an octopus or an empty zombie spider. Layered there your now temporary glands secreting fear, anger and lust. If you could see the gem like the view you oh boy. They are what you’d be without limits. Absent of restrictions an end to slow regressions. It’s as if you aged a billion years in the black quagmire of death and rot. That’s what that place is now. Valleys of thick black molten ooze. Death I’m sure once was a harmonious celebration when the veil between worlds was not even further obfuscated by them. They set up barricades and have technology. They plan for the very moment as they watch that clock above your head “a ticking time bomb” he’ll they can smell it. They can smell you. Al that dominion and Grace to freely cross between worlds. No boundaries or restrictions on them. Did hose who went into the long rot and became the most cancerous puddles thick black darkness knew. Hell they built this place. It’s funny how we begin to act like things we once thought beneath us in life. Crawling like insects and morphing into the darker version of your metabolically powered dreams. These are your children, your parents the once you once adored and loved. My how you turned on them and in turn most often times they turned on you too. Chances are you won’t be saved. The nice ones in life are often the most conspirating. Weaving webs of lies. Oddly the ones who know themselves and feel no remorse do well there compared to the rest. The narcissists melting into the most vile forms but recollecting their former structures (somewhat). It’s who you’ll be in 10 billion years that greaves me most because time doesn’t exist here. There is no light. Only the negative feedback from generators and the pollution from machines become the yellow glowing clouds above. Sometimes the crows fly through and greater birds once ceremoniously invited in ancient rituals of transformation and passage were given free roam here. However they only come to this part of vacant space in I search for misidentified ones. You know good ones that became darker near the end that only needed a nudge of reminder that they didn’t truly belong here. The darker place. There is a Heaven set aside for some. It’s sort of known but too obscure. So few go there and maybe no one now? It’s elluded to in ancient stories and oral traditions where the elders or the people or gods (some call them angels) of the great light have a darkened forbidden valley. When they feel darkness from it they can rain a wrath of storm and misery in that leaves the dark place swampy for eternity. Lots of bad people. Hell you are more than likely one and aren’t even aware. Because awareness is the key. Aborted fetuses with such bright futures torn and ripped apart by commission. They watch as there barely formed tiny bodies are thrown in bags and picked clean of vital cells. No mortician vies for them. They watch on and learn. They watch you over your lifetime of what you’ve done since the epoch of their short little time. We bend and twist trees there too. It’s not just the people that turn like weeds. Some trees here on this side share distinct rot and darkness from there. Hell you may come across one for yourself that smells of sulfur death and oozes out that black mar. For this place ‘the darkness’ is still sacred. Sacred is is what sacred does. How bent and twisted we are indeed.