The Arcanum of the Reaping

 

The tower is the annihilation of what was. It is the result of what you are. Beings brutalized and destitute of divine grace. This destitution came from choice, from free will, from choosing on the path of darkness and in the mire of ego. The sample they had been given to experience was, in addition to being extensive and peculiar, and with some variables, it was a huge herd of pigs. And pigs, all who come beyond illusion know, don't appreciate pearls. They do not distinguish them from acorns and the pigsty in which they are kept. It was time to go the other way and she obeyed. It was not a mechanical process, because the soul has no sympathy for machinery. Going inside was a process she knew very well, because of the winding path she had experienced. Life hadn't offered her a highway. If at the age of twelve, she already knew that death was the elevation of the soul and heart to unconditional love, through her solitude, she was never afraid to go inside. Going outside was much more painful for her. But this time, this going inside was a total deconstruction. Because it meant that, by doing her best, she had always come to the conclusion of what her guides always told her: the human being makes pacts above, and at the bottom chooses to escape. If the path is one of ascension for all and if one's own free will was a guarantee and, at the same time, a reason to escape what had been accomplished, it was now time for the weighing of souls. God's mathematics. She knew people's souls, even with the clothes and immense make-up they wore to live this density. She've always known. Yes, her soul knew because it had been destined for the pain of being able to see it. And to assist in rectification. But hi deeds were constantly whispering in the ear of his heart: "Honey, don't get along like that, you don't change anyone, and if you save them occasionally, they will use you, they will pierce you without pity or pity." You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. Why the stubbornness? Because she kept insisting that if she could give them more love, if she offered them his perspective of the whole, she would always make a difference. And she did, she was right, but she did it the other way around. Just like the guides told her. They wore it, the matter was dense and obscured by the immature desires of humans. Desires and secrets, petty and miraculous jealousies, which were not appeased by her effort to add love to the whole. She was like that, but she couldn't change anyone to improve themselves. And then, in that return home, in search of her inner peace, in the osmosis necessary for the continuation of her greater mission, of the immense ones she remembered, blessed by the pain of turning her back on her conscious purpose, the process was now different. In the hanged man's position, the result was less beautiful and welcoming, less flowery and more factual. People had no salvation, but more than that, they always wanted to offer her in gratitude for the good she had always tried to do, all the evil and preferably with immediate effects. More Christ than Christina, all invariably found inner desire in their malaise, and with what pains. And the more pain they knew she felt, the more metallic and atrophying pain, the more contentment they felt and the more hopelessness in humanity they caused her. They were small and ugly. Thus, this return had the different hue of being in the sense of self-preservation. Her guides had always told her so, and she had refused to accept it. 

The remnant of this process, which had always been done to purify her constant and continuous will not to give up, despite the internal bruises, had now gained this definitive nuance. Help, yes, always, but only to those who truly need her help. And with the proper distances. Boundaries. Without giving up her energy and light. There would be no more imbalance between the amount she gave and the time she exposed herself, nor the constancy of this unconditional and one-sided love she had to the source. Awakening, like the great inner awakenings, is always painful, because it forces us to see the beings and the factors as they was, and to rethink the approach. This awakening had led her to the list. Not to Schindler's list, which would be a lifetime eternally painful and incomparable. All her acquaintances, whom she had grown accustomed to looking at as regenerable beings, only now mirrored her enormous disinterest and acceptance that they would not change, and if they did, good for them but she didn't really want to know anymore. Defeated. It had ceased to matter to her whether the pains they had experienced were justified and anchored in the now or in the meantime that life would prepare for them. She wouldn't look back. 

The list was extensive, significant. And it was in this exercise that she realized that there were not even her closest ones left, whose dull affection prevented them from looking at her with the eyes of love. There was no love, on the contrary, there was an absence of it in its most illustrative variants of interest and cruelty. Neither the progeny nor the blood brother was left. The list had their names, shaking, crying. Always trying the same unconditional love and receiving results always woven of betrayal allowed her to look, more and more, with more and more distance that was not particular to her, that it was not, therefore, personal, this imbalance of not improving themselves, it was characteristic of the human condition, of the affective misery and of the "big bad wolf "that they fed. Therefore, from the free will of each one who made up this mass that was human only by the name of appearance. A formality. In content, they were inhuman and mutant at their most real. I looked at each of those names, from those close to those who had circled sometimes closer, sometimes more distant. All different, but all the same, in a perversity that she had given up on changing.

She was now protecting herself. And distance wasn't just protection, it was disinterest and acceptance. This procedural difference took fifty years to arrive, fifty years to give up on changing what could only be changed by each one. But what were fifty years measured by pulse here on this planet, in this small space where she had moved, always with her chest open and overflowing with love for her neighbor?  It was half a century old, but more than that, it was her whole life of expectations to reach a different result, without having changed the way she did it. Always giving what was most beautiful about herself, her vitality, her dedication and her humanity. There were more like her. 

God had guaranteed the intervention, and his finger would weigh the souls of all those who had struck all kinds of blows. The structure that they had wanted to incinerate was now incinerated by the higher dimension, but with refinements of the unexpected and from this structure that it no longer wanted to preserve, all the lies, all the untruths, all the petty acts, so appropriate to those who suck the vitality of others with ulterior motives and always find in the other a kind of ladder of opportunism and bad faith to perpetuate themselves. The time for that was now. That for the source, fifty years of dedication and love for the cause of improving one's fellow human beings was a breath and that it would come now, as a breakthrough for all those who participated, consciously or unconsciously, in this process of stealing the light from a truly human torch. It was a time of justice and harvest. The harvest was urgent and necessary for the good and preservation of those who continually brought love, like water, to the inhospitable and distorted deserts of the earth. Of those who never gave up on this mission, they were continually being targeted. This harvest for the All will come with the Tower and with the goal of protecting the lightworkers. After all, each in his own skin (wolf or lamb's clothing), and in the eyes of the divine, the basic principles of the good of the whole were long ago being inverted into global inhumanity. In an unbridled escalation of the obtaining and subsidizing of values. It was not only by damaging those who worked to illuminate the whole, it was also in the attempt to extinguish the inner light of those who bore on their foreheads the sacrifice for the sake of the whole. It was not only for the purpose of not doing evil, but never to stop doing good, regardless of whom. And especially to those who wished us harm. These were the ones most in need of light. But in another way. No longer accessing our energy. And the cut had been made. It was, then, time to begin the harvest and distance the heart from this weighing of souls that, from inglorious to the name, no longer even the name of each one remained. A shapeless, dense, concrete and nauseating mass. The harvest began. And we just had to accept the equation of God. He is our Master, our shepherd and our conscience. And it was with His eyes that we came into this world! This was not the result for which I fought for fifty-five years, personally. Nor was it God's will. It was them choice!

-Father, do what only you know how to do! Our garments of Christ have already been incinerated! May your will be fulfilled!