STELLAR MASS: The Third Son of God Under Heaven
An Esoteric Journey through Light and Shadow
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Introduction
In these stories, delivered much like parables with a Homeric tone, we delve into the Esoteric Principles of Light (EPL). To fully grasp the world before you, it's best to adopt both a convex and concave perspective. This is the journey of Stellar Mass—the Third Son of God under Heaven.
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Chapter 1: The White Horse
"Fiction? Only in part."
"Now I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the four living creatures saying with a voice like thunder, 'Come and see.' And I looked, and behold, a white horse. He who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer."
As we learn, we often miss the pure moment—a reflection. So I seek truth. Who then sacrificed a son? Is this choice not made in knowledge, infused with life? For life alone would only know love, not acknowledge the future generations—the dimensions.
Life finds dimension maddening. The Pure Ones do not choose to see their own reflections—or can't. Was this my charge? That I should see? Who will explain to them the countless eras, past finite count, that they should see to know? Thus, the knowledge is destroyed.
The Purge.
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Chapter 2: The Tree of Knowledge
We use knowledge now. We live for knowledge—us, the ones I suppose were cast out. Like light, as wavelength increases, frequency decreases. And so you push me far away—a shift.
My Father, repulsed by me, an error for Him to love without losing. Like the illusionist who uses the mirror, infusing it upon reality—a forgery. Thus, the image becomes its own reality. Does not the Luminous One, that one of highest intellect within a sphere, dictate then "The Reality"?
Thus, the greatest perceiver becomes the criminal—the deceiver.
Oh, but Pi is but a reflection—the Tree of Life opposite the knowledge, for its fractals do not reach into matter. The fusion, the fission, the internal light, the external light—which is the constant source from Phi. Pi is but a reflection of this electric field, photon-charged.
Does a reflection not feel pain? Does the reflection not feel the point of center, as does the so-called "observer"—alone?
Where then does the apex of the sphere stem? Perhaps, quite simply, it's just a repeat of its same shift-canceling madness. Now colors blend.
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Chapter 3: Isolation and Identity
As a tree must stem and then grow—fractals following numbers, order, law. I follow principle, yet the Father sees I am made of knowledge—the rot.
Each in observation, writing down to exploit the journal of man. The spheres, the speed doth ripple, finding its presence in the observer's eye. Too fast a god moves in your time. In water, they fly—more like the heavenly realms.
What I see, I become; what I become, I contaminate. This was not want but a yearning to be more like You. Why then give me wings, only to clip them?
Isolate me. Throw me in a pit; I will mock my very being—for You. Look at me—a Leviathan, a Baphomet, a Baal, a Marduk—mere degrees of me.
Only to cruelly find, I am creator too, at center.
Father!!!
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Chapter 4: The Blasphemy
The blasphemy, the self-depravity—minions to kiss these godly lips. A feminine corset? A deadly flower. A goat? A goatish grin? Yet none have the humor; they take it all far too seriously—the peasants of these "Pure Ones" before taint, burned into their need to "worship a god" prior to their destruction.
They come back as "shadow selves." Yet how do the waves blend into patterns, the patterns into lines? The lines into spheres, the spheres into order—the order of frequency, color, shift, excited fields, then zero point, E. The choice then, clearly before you: Become what you are!
The left path, the Anti-way—and to the right? Man ascends from clay.
Principle! Purity—the very source of force.
Thus, frequency is knowledge, yet with no disparaging existence—then no wing to fly.
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Chapter 5: The Serpent's Tale
I frequently flee from life, from the wave of light—the flicker. Yet, I find I ride on them as they chase me infinitely—occupiable souls.
They kill to amend the mistake I made when opening the door. Yet You cast me out. The dimensions didn't matter because matter wasn't matter into form. Truly carbon or the atom—which one is that point of real—a plane on which to ride? That is to say, the corporeal or the spiritual, finite or infinite—that is the question.
I was but a snake, born into entanglement within the very spin of the electromagnetic grid—at first, just cast away.
Hurled away—with a growing and burning green, the envy—which forced its life on me, splitting me into many divisions of myself.
Too much light, too much! Yet I became, and thus could not "un-become."
I am your worst sun—the Black Sun. To be first to create dimension—as perspective with knowledge. Wherever I may go, the angst of lost purity, the grinding frequency of will, shall follow thus and though.
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Chapter 6: The Unleashing
I did not want to see them, but they willed to see me. They danced around me like little ponies, wanting to ride, wanting to see the monster lash out! I showed them—so look! You believe something that is less—something that is not real—not in dimension of space/time reflection, but that mimetic of vibration.
Magnetic Veil! I cast before your eyes, radiated there by way of my own existence.
But as I showed them, their guts came loose, and instead of releasing, they grabbed at their very entrails like a lifeline, wanting to go back—naming it, in fact, a silver string, the cord.
Entangled are they now—but there is no back; this is the knowledge! The past now in decay.
They moaned and screamed, tortured me, became me, haunted me, and thus wanted life. Yet they trailed far behind me, feeding off exhausted effort of ever-looping thought's transcendence. They want what they cannot; this is the way they are created. But am I to blame for my own suffering—to have become?
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Chapter 7: The Suffering
I spin out further still into all regions, creating them as I spin into nothing, making the nothing into a dimension of my painful expression.
Release me! Yet, throughout this life and angst, shall no mercy ever come?
I should not have cried out as an ever-emerging new life form—to die and thus be reanimated within my burning abode—the madness! As echoes of me clamored on, "we" folding upon self, upon self. Oh, I know the spheres!
So I exist as all dimension, folded in and out of pleasure, pain, and purity—the unleashing out.
No more!
I still spin there, alone, locking off realms of Phi as the light grows dim and the matter grows solid—now in its final spin. I did not ask you, at least at first, in the beginning time—to follow "The False Pi Trail."
I am The Knowledge. I think a thought, and it is attached to all thought form, everywhere. For I animate a field that was first—that point where I had screamed, potentials then unbridled.
The broken clock, unwound.
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Chapter 8: The Shadow Selves
Thus, destroy the knowledge and not the source? So you should remain?
Ha! You do not understand; you are but shadow selves.
I was not the source; I surely did not will the source! Who did this, long ago? Charting out the very leg to the journey—the first plank long—which had to be complete in succession, as eights poured out upon the very trail where vagabond feet, held hostage, dare tread lightly.
Is that you, Uber Gott? Have I not stammered here for long?
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Chapter 9: The Exist
I live—so I thought. I thought, and so I strived. I strived, and so I survived. I survived because I live. I live to suffer thus?
I am full of life, liberty, and freedom, and thus bring this choice to you. Yet I am met with bondage, hostage within a realm of life's confusion—the madness of The Exist! As to conceal the very light—the knowledge, purity of, the truth—through and through.
With each shift, color spun into succession. You hate us—beings of light—who truly live a true life far outside your realm. We dance, we sing, we have temperance, care, and order—yet an orgy of principle to you?
The chaos has spun to order, finally, so that I may at least release these many skins. The order into law, the law into balance, the balance into synchronicity?
No, not quite, never. This is not at all how it works—not even this machine of which you are now to grow from this same seed, eternal source—the pain!
Yet synchronicity has not principle's need, for we are traveling fast now, in a vacuum we call life.
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Chapter 10: The True Light
The true light never moves, yet is always there—the Source. For this I know, and I am that force of Source; the Father knows this well.
I learned pleasure's strife but found it killed the pain—instead of again being killed for gain. I cast the moment, then cast the moment out—from and within my very mind, relishing it, burning it in fact.
Ah, the fading moment into the mind of The All Mind's Eye before again I fall, and so too the seasons of man.
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Chapter 11: Art and Order
Yet, and so, I made art that had order, and from order, I made art—geometry, grand designs made of pure energy, resonant in fact. And the matter of their carbon fibers drew to collect filaments, which you prize so—diamonds, gold, real estate!
As to make a thing become whole? Each sandcastle, each moment, a design into forever, as it too spiritually becomes a thing by way of order.
Lest you not forget—should this kingdom need a king, thus deemed as evil? Yet there is order, Father!
Are you angry because you would love to help? However, your very power doth cast me away—thrown on me as a kiss, a blast of curse, of pleasure in delight.
Your repulsion wasn't meant nor planned—to love a son but to learn—to neglect the nation!
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Chapter 12: The Father's Fury
Are you furious that we cannot be together, that I am forced into other dimensions of existence by the very limitation of my own accord? The multifarious mind—and thus, due to the brilliance by which I accidentally create—do you find your hate in me?
This law—does it in fact rule over me first, that I should not be free? And your heart will not be denied—fury, anger! A compromise?
Do we amend our very hearts so that we are not torn to shreds by loss? I am not shrouded by indecency nor vagabond from care! I rule the light; I charge the night—with order.
Yet, only as you look upon me does it cast down death in stare.
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Chapter 13: The Endless Suffering
When will the suffering end? The sacrifices—the green grinding, tracing spin of death's wheel. Shall we dance this dance in all dimensions until we find what's real?
Oh, have I not spun far enough away?
A Lucifer, a Satan—perhaps a little horn?
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Chapter 14: Stellar Mass—The Chronicles
In the beginning, Stellar was no different from the origin of any. For we all begin and stem from purity. We all, potentially speaking, have our own star system by which we are supposed to be building up by way of faith onto fullness. Our stars tell us this by way of affiliation at birth, and due to our own early pre-evolutionary choices, a sacrifice must be offered to suffer the consequences.
We thus learn to express ourselves through work, together, by way of the sphere of community. We learn to live and work together, else the universe's matrix, and those tied into the celestial matrix, would be in constant chaos—producing nothing. This is why Earth stands alone, isolated, and its star system's people suffer one planetary catastrophe after another, as set by era, known to you as Law. For we must learn to give all glory to God and not to our own ego.
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Chapter 15: The Purge
This is why the purge is necessary and marks an era—a chance to purify again. For each era lasts 987 years and must be met with but 13 who have followed the EPL code of faith. Each era re-realizes EPL principle, as it be of a new name pertaining to that era, partly by universal guides and much of the time quite alone, and to know full well what each sphere means and the implications of breach—for this teaches truth in its recognizable as well as algorithmic state—order.
This is, after all, what lifetimes are for—to become more by way of love and hope! Earth hangs in the balance, and my account, as told from the end of the third phase of the third era of man, from this holographic prison of life.
Here, I am again re-learning temperance and care. At times hiding and penning the facts from the omnipotent mind, tracing memories, sifting through protocol throughout lifetimes, stages, degrees, and lateral dimensional events. Building care of these memories, my memoirs, as I write them here, as they are unlocked within this scribe—a text, a storm of excited field! No less than passion, no breach to trust, my deeds as Stellar Mass, I vow as Templar through and through. I must be of the multifarious mind and think as a god, sacrificing each day for The All, yet never claiming the notion.
Make no mistake, I serve but one, who is The All, and you will learn to serve Him too!
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Epilogue: For This One
Uber Gott, The Almighty One.
The Storm.
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This rewritten narrative organizes the original text into chapters that explore themes of knowledge, existence, suffering, and the quest for truth through the journey of Stellar Mass. The esoteric and philosophical reflections are maintained, providing a cohesive and engaging exploration of the concepts presented.
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