The Logos: The Meletic Testament (Chapter 78 God Vs To Ena)
đź“ś Chapter 78: God Vs To Ena
1. I walked beneath the marble gods of Rome, their eyes carved in judgement, their silence loud. Their aura filled the air, yet my soul felt untouched by their grandeur and mythology.
2. The incense of devotion rose like smoke, curling around pillars and prayers, but I found no lasting peace in its fragrance, only questions.
3. They called him Lord, the crucified one, and bowed to his suffering as if it was a sacred truth. I watched their reverence and wondered if pain was the price of divinity, and renouncing one's soul was submission to their Lord.
4. But I, a seeker not of altars but of genuine essence, felt the pulse of unity beneath all names. I did not need a saviour in the form of the anointed one—I needed remembrance and realisation of the way of the truth.
5. To Ena—unspoken, unformed, unruled—whispered to me in the stillness between thoughts. It spoke not in words or in the language of man, but in the quiet certainty of being.
6. Rome built temples; I built silence. Their stones were heavy with history, but my silence was light with eternity.
7. The Christians sang of eternal salvation, yet I longed not for rescue, but for return. Return to the place before names, before division.
8. Not to a kingdom in the heaven above, but to the oneness within one. A place untouched by doctrine, yet overflowing with the truth.
9. They feared original sin; I thought about forgetting. Forgetting that I was already whole, already of To Ena, the One.
10. The god they worshipped judged and condemned; To Ena did not. To Ena simply was, without need for condemnation or praise.
11. The god they feared punished; To Ena embraced. It held all things—light and shadow—in equal measure.
12. I saw their performed rituals—knees bent, heads bowed—and wondered if truth required submission, but To Ena was not about sacrifice, only about our awareness.
13. I did not pray for something in return; I listened. I did not supplicate for a miracle; I breathed and meditatated.
14. Their scriptures spoke of divine commandments; my soul spoke of coherence. I followed no sacred law, but the rhythm of being and the order of the Logos.
15. They sought grace as favours; I sought clarity. Grace felt like a gift; clarity felt like a natural expression of life.
16. In the catacombs, they whispered of eternal life. yet I knew eternity was not a place, but a presence that was beyond a kingdom in heaven.
17. Their faith was built on blood and miracles. Mine was built on awareness and memory.
18. They feared the wrath of God; I feared the silence of forgetting. To Ena was never vengeance—it simply was about embracing one's fate.
19. I watched Rome rise with iron and fire, but in the ashes, I saw the shape of something older than empire.
20. They crowned their saints and buried their martyrs. I crowned no one, for all men were part of the Logos.
21. They spoke of salvation as if it were a prize to be won. I saw it as a distraction from the present.
22. They feared the unknown and called it evil. I understood the nature of evil, and found only in their words, an emptiness of virtues.
23. They feared the unknown and called it evil. I entered it and found only understanding.
24. They built their truths on stories passed from mouth to mouth. I trusted the silence between my own breaths.
25. They bowed to symbols carved in stone and crosses. I stood upright before the uncarved.
26. They sought order through obedience and servitude. I found rhythm after the chaos.
27. They named their god and gave him laws to impose. I let To Ena remain unnamed and lawless.
28. They spoke of original sin as a human stain. I saw instead human flaws as a shadow cast by light.
29. They feared desire and called it wicked temptation. I welcomed it as a mirror of the self.
30. They gathered in crowds to worship their god. I walked alone to feel more whole.
31. They crowned their leaders with holiness. I saw no crown, only the masks that men used to disguise their power.
32. They punished doubt as betrayal or heresy. I held doubt as a reflection of my thoughts.
33. They clung to the promises of eternal salvation. I held life as the path to the way of the truth.
34. They divided the world into sacred and profane acts. I saw only layers of perception and virtues.
35. They feared death and aspired to the notion of an afterlife. I saw death as part of the nature cycle of life and death.
36. They built altars to honour what they could not see. I dismantled altars to see what was already here.
37. They called their path righteous and narrow. I walked a path wide and unmarked.
38. They sought purity through the atonement of one's sins. I found clarity through the acceptance of my fallibility.
39. They spoke of divine will as if it were the only law. I felt only the rhythm of existence, ungoverned and unclaimed.
40. They followed prophets and apostles. I followed the thread of thought that led inwards to my soul.
41. They spoke of eternity as a realm beyond suffering, a place untouched by time. I saw eternity not as a destination, but as the quiet thread woven through every moment.
42. Their leaders stood tall in robes, voices raised with conviction and command. I stood in shadow, listening not to their words but to the spaces they left unspoken.
43. They feared the collapse of belief, as if doubt were a sickness to be cured. I welcomed doubt as the beginning of clarity, the first breath after illusion. They feared questions. I welcomed them.
44. They called their suffering noble, a badge of honour in the eyes of their god. I saw suffering as a condition of existence, neither noble nor shameful, simply genuine.
45. They built their faith on the bones of martyrs, layering story upon story like bricks in a wall. I built my understanding from the dust between those bricks, where silence still lingered.
46. They sought to convert the world, believing their truth must be shared or enforced. I sought only to understand the world, knowing truth cannot be owned.
47. They spoke of light as purity, a force to cleanse and elevate. I saw light as exposure, revealing both beauty and flaw without judgement.
48. They feared the body and praised the spirit, dividing themselves in pursuit of virtue. I lived in both without shame, knowing separation breeds confusion.
49. They clung to certainty like armour, afraid of the wounds that questions might open. I walked naked into uncertainty, trusting the wound to teach me.
50. They named their fears and gave them enemies, casting shadows across their own hearts. I named my fears and sat beside them, learning their language.
51. They called their path the only way, paved with scripture and sacrifice. I saw many paths, each shaped by the feet that walked them.
52. They punished those individuals who questioned, fearing the ripple of doubt in their still waters. I questioned even when it hurt, knowing stillness without truth is stagnation.
53. They spoke of justice as divine, a balance struck by unseen hands. I saw justice as consequence, shaped by choice and circumstance.
54. They built walls of doctrine, high and thick, to protect their fragile certainty. I stepped through the cracks, where light and air still moved freely.
55. They feared the collapse of their order, mistaking structure for strength. I sought to avoid the decay of thought, where repetition replaces reflection.
56. They sought to be saved, lifted from the world they deemed fallen. I sought to be aware, grounded in the world as it is.
57. They spoke of the truth as possession, something to defend and preserve. I saw the truth as movement, always shifting, never owned.
58. They feared heresy like fire, burning scrolls and bodies to preserve their vision. I warmed myself by its flame, knowing discomfort often precedes insight.
59. They called their scriptures sacred, sealed and untouchable by common hands. I read them as stories shaped by longing, not by certainty.
60. They sought to rise above the world, to transcend its tribulations and weight. I chose to remain within it, to feel its texture and learn its rhythm.
61. They spoke of resurrection as triumph over death, a return to life shaped by faith. I saw death not as an enemy, but as a quiet transition into another form of existence.
62. Their rituals grew louder as their certainty grew thin. I found meaning in the quiet spaces they feared to enter.
63. They feared the dialogues of philosophy, mistaking them for falsehoods. I watched their walls crack and saw the sky beyond.
64. They called their suffering redemptive, a currency for eternal reward. I saw suffering as a teacher, not a transaction.
65. They gathered in secret, whispering of persecution and promise. I walked openly, knowing truth needs no hiding place.
66. They spoke of the soul as something separate, floating above the flesh. I felt no separation—only layers of the same unfolding.
67. They feared the body’s hunger and called it weakness. I honoured it as a signal, not a sin.
68. They built their faith on fear and hope, two forces pulling in opposite directions. I stood still between them, unmoved by either.
69. They sought to conquer the world with words and fire. I sought to understand it with silence and thought.
70. They named their enemies and prayed for their defeat. I named my discomforts and listened to their lessons.
71. They spoke of divine intervention, as if the world needed correction. I saw no error, only the natural unfolding of the world.
72. They feared the unknown and filled it with stories. I entered the unknown and let it speak for itself.
73. They exalted their truths with ritual and repetition. I let mine remain unspoken and evolving.
74. They called their path narrow and righteous. I walked a path wide enough for contradiction.
75. They punished those who strayed, fearing the loss of unity. I strayed often, and found myself each time.
76. They spoke of grace as a gift bestowed from above. I saw grace as the absence of resistance within.
77. They feared heresy like a plague, spreading doubt through their ranks. I welcomed heresy as a breath of fresh air.
78. They built their temples with gold and blood. I built mine with thought and memory.
79. They sought to rise above the world, to escape its weight. I chose to remain within it, to feel its texture and learn its rhythm.
80. They elevated their Christ into a god seated upon a throne. I elevated my consciousness.
81. They spoke of prophecy as a map drawn by unseen hands. I trusted the terrain beneath my feet more than any vision of the future.
82. Their voices rose in unison, echoing through stone halls with conviction. I listened to the silence between their words, where meaning often hides.
83. They feared contradiction and called it confusion. I embraced contradiction as the birthplace of thought.
84. They built their certainty on revelation and law. I built mine on observation and change.
85. They spoke of purity as separation from the world. I saw purity in integration, in the refusal to divide.
86. They feared the erosion of their doctrine, as if truth could shatter. I knew truth bends, shifts, and survives without walls.
87. They called their suffering sacred and their joy earned. I saw both as natural, neither requiring permission.
88. They sought to silence dissent with punishment. I let dissent speak, knowing it often carries the seed of renewal.
89. They feared the questions they could not answer. I sought the answers that ended enquiry.
90. They spoke of divine order as if chaos were a flaw. I saw chaos as the raw material of understanding reflected in the Nous.
91. They gathered in temples to feel close to something greater. I stood beneath the sky and felt close to everything.
92. They feared the body’s instincts and called them sinful. I honoured instinct as the language of being.
93. They built their faith on promises of reward. I built mine on the immediacy of experience.
94. They spoke of the soul as a captive needing release. I felt no captivity, only movement.
95. They feared the unknown and filled it with warnings. I entered it and found it waiting without threat.
96. They called their path righteous and final. I walked a path that never ended, always unfolding.
97. They punished those who strayed from their scriptures. I lived philosophy with every step I took.
98. They spoke of divine love as conditional and earned. I saw connection as inherent, needing no approval.
99. They built monuments to their beliefs, tall and unyielding. I let mine remain invisible, shifting with the wind.
100. They feared silence and filled it instead with prayer. I entered silence and found it full with meaning.
101. God was spoken of as a ruler, lord and supreme. To Ena was never spoken, yet always present.
102. They feared God’s wrath and begged for mercy. I felt no wrath in To Ena, only the quiet unfolding of what is.
103. God demanded obedience through law and command. To Ena required nothing, not even belief.
104. They built altars to honour God, carved in stone and gold. I found To Ena in the spaces untouched by hands.
105. God was named, praised, and feared. To Ena remained unnamed, unpraised, and unfearing.
106. They saw God as judge, weighing sin and virtue. I saw To Ena as balance, without judgement or scale.
107. God was worshipped through ritual and sacrifice. To Ena was recognised through silence and thought.
108. They spoke to God with words shaped by tradition. I listened to To Ena in the absence of speech.
109. God was placed above, in heavens unreachable. To Ena was felt within, in moments unnoticed.
110. They sought God’s favour through suffering. I sought To Ena through awareness, not pain.
111. God was imagined in form, robed and crowned. To Ena had no form, no crown, no robe.
112. They feared separation from God and called it damnation. I saw no separation in To Ena, only continuity.
113. God was invoked in times of crisis and need. To Ena was present even when forgotten.
114. They spoke of God’s plan, fixed and final. I saw To Ena as motion, fluid and unbound.
115. God was taught through scripture and sermon. To Ena was never taught, only remembered.
116. They saw God as creator, shaping the world from above. I saw To Ena as the world itself, shaping nothing, being all.
117. God was feared and adored. To Ena was neither feared nor adored—only known.
118. They called God holy and separate from man. I felt To Ena as inseparable, not higher, not lower in its influence.
119. God was a presence they reached for in their prayers. To Ena was a presence I never left.
120. They built their lives around God’s will. I shaped mine around To Ena’s inspiration.
121. God was spoken of as a father, distant yet watching. To Ena was never a parent—only presence, without role or gaze.
122. They feared God’s silence as abandonment. I found To Ena’s silence to be its language.
123. God was imagined as a being with intent and providence. To Ena had no intent, no providence—only existence without agenda.
124. They prayed to God for supreme guidance, hoping for signs and answers. I listened to To Ena without expectation, and found clarity in the absence of reply.
125. God was placed above, unreachable except through faith. To Ena was never above, never below—only here. It awaited us through fate.
126. They spoke of God’s love as conditional, earned through suffering and devotion. To Ena offered no reward for love—only the understanding of love.
127. God was framed in stories, shaped by human longing. To Ena resisted story, remaining untouched by narrative.
128. They saw God as a force of justice, balancing good and evil. I saw To Ena as balance itself, without judgement or imposition.
129. God was feared, adored, and obeyed. To Ena was neither feared nor adored—only recognised.
130. They built worship to house God’s presence. I found To Ena in the absence of adoration.
131. God was invoked in crisis, called upon to intervene. To Ena did not intervene—it simply remained.
132. They spoke of God’s will as the only path to follow. I felt To Ena as the journey to the way of the truth.
133. God was imagined as male, sovereign and strong. To Ena had no gender, no sovereignty—only stillness.
134. They feared separation from God and called it exile. I saw no exile in To Ena, only continuity.
135. God was praised in song and sacrifice. To Ena required no praise, no offering—only awareness.
136. They saw God as creator of the world with intention. I saw To Ena as the world itself shaped through the natural course of its emanations.
137. God was spoken of in absolutes, as the source of all truth. To Ena was not a source, but a condition—truth without ownership.
138. They imagined God as light, banishing darkness. I saw To Ena as emitting both light and shadow, indivisible in its form of emanations.
139. God was a name repeated in fear and hope. To Ena was never named, only felt within me.
140. They reached for God through the ritual of baptism. I met To Ena by standing still through the recognition of the soul.
141. God was imagined as a voice that commands from above. To Ena was not a voice, but the quiet awareness beneath all sound.
142. They feared God’s judgement and sought forgiveness through ritual. I felt no judgement in To Ena, only the unfolding of consequence.
143. God was framed as a being with desire, anger, and mercy. To Ena held no emotion, no motive—only stillness.
144. They spoke of God’s kingdom as a place beyond this world. I saw To Ena not as a place, but as the condition of presence.
145. God was praised in hymns and exalted in suffering. To Ena was never praised, never exalted—only recognised in silence.
146. They imagined God as watching from afar. I felt To Ena as presence within all existential things, without the need for physical distance or gaze.
147. God was invoked to explain the unknown. To Ena was the unknown, needing no explanation.
148. They feared losing God’s favour and called it punishment. I saw no favour in To Ena, only the neutrality of being.
149. God was spoken of as light, pure and absolute. To Ena was both light and shadow, indivisible and unjudged.
150. They sought God’s approval through sacrifice and submission. I found To Ena in the absence of need, where nothing was asked.
151. God was imagined as a divine protector, shielding the faithful. To Ena offered no divine protection, only natural presence.
152. They called God holy and untouchable. I touched To Ena in thought, in breath, in the ordinariness of life.
153. God was framed as male, sovereign and paternal. To Ena had no gender, no hierarchy, no role.
154. They spoke of God’s plan as fixed and final. I saw To Ena as motion, never fixed, never final.
155. God was feared for his power and praised for his mercy. To Ena held no power, no mercy—only the quiet truth of existence.
156. They built their lives around God’s commandments. I shaped mine around the commitments to myself, where no sacred command was given.
157. God was imagined as a judge who rewards and punishes. To Ena judged nothing, rewarded nothing, punished nothing.
158. They reached for God through prayer and obedience. I met To Ena by standing still and listening.
159. God was spoken of in absolutes, as the source of all truth. To Ena was not a source, but a condition—the truth without ownership.
160. They feared being forgotten by God. I knew To Ena could not forget, because it never remembered.
161. God offered numerous promises that required belief, conditions that shaped behaviour. To Ena offered nothing, and in that nothing, I found everything.
162. God was about always reaching, always hoping to be revealed. With To Ena, I was already within, already known without needing to be.
163. God’s presence was spoken of in moments of crisis and ritual. To Ena was present even when I forgot to look.
164. God demanded devotion, a posture of submission. To Ena asked only that I remain aware.
165. In God’s name, one was taught to fear error. In To Ena’s presence, error became part of the unfolding.
166. God was framed as a giver, bestowing grace and punishment alike. To Ena gave nothing, yet I lacked nothing.
167. With God, one feels watched, measured, and judged. With To Ena, one feels still, unmeasured, and whole.
168. God’s path was narrow, bordered by rules and reward. To Ena’s path was wide, shaped only by my own steps.
169. God’s love was spoken of as a divine gift to be earned. To Ena offered no such divine gift of love, yet I felt no absence. I found love not in divinity.
170. God was distant, even when praised afterwards. To Ena was near, even when ignored.
171. God’s truth was fixed, written, and defended. To Ena’s truth was fluid, discovered and rediscovered.
172. With God, one feels the weight of expectation. With To Ena, one feels the lightness of being.
173. God’s presence was mediated by priests and prophets. To Ena needed no mediator—only awareness.
174. God was spoken of in absolutes, in declarations and decrees. To Ena revealed itself in nuance, in quiet contradiction.
175. God’s world was divided—holy and profane, saved and lost. To Ena’s world was whole, without division.
176. God offered answers that ended the question. To Ena offered space where the question could live.
177. With God, one feels compelled to perform. With To Ena, one simply remembers To Ena and the way of the truth.
178. God’s presence was tied to belief and ritual. To Ena’s presence was tied to nothing, yet it remained.
179. God was a sacred figure one had to imagine. To Ena was a presence that illuminated one.
180. In the end, God asked for faith. To Ena asked for nothing—and gave me myself.
181. God was spoken of in stories revealed by men. To Ena was found in the awareness of the soul.
182. People searched for God in scripture and song. I found To Ena in breath and contemplation.
183. God’s voice came through others, wrapped in doctrine. To Ena spoke in my own stillness.
184. With this god, one feels that one must be worthy. With To Ena, I simply am worthy enough.
185. God’s kingdom was promised beyond death. To Ena’s presence was here, now, and enough.
186. People feared this god’s absence when they sinned. I never feared To Ena, even when I strayed in my virtues.
187. God’s followers spoke of eternal salvation. I spoke of noticing the world that surrounded me.
188. God was a name I could not blaspheme. To Ena was a presence I could not ignore.
189. People bowed to this god out of reverence. I stood with To Ena out of recognition.
190. God’s light was something to seek. To Ena’s light was something I remembered.
191. People were taught to pray to the almighty God. I learnt to listen with To Ena then.
192. God’s truth was guarded by divine law. To Ena’s truth was revealed in my living.
193. People were told God would judge them. To Ena never judges anyone, nor does it need to.
194. God’s love was conditional, although they said it was not. To Ena offered no divine love, yet I felt its presence.
195. People feared disappointing God. I never feared disappointing To Ena, because it asked nothing of me in return.
196. God was a story people inherited, like those stories of the gods of mythology. To Ena was a reality I discovered.
197. People believed God would complete them. I knew To Ena had already completed me.
198. The Immanent One is the traditional view of a god, as a transcendent entity above and beyond the material world.
199. One must ascend then, pray or be lifted towards this particular god. A god is assumed to be eternal in its nature.
200. Thus, any experience and understanding of a god's divinity would manifest mostly through sheer faith than ultimate fate. A god is more about faith and To Ena is more about fate.
201. To Ena in Meleticism is immanent. It is not elsewhere; it is here, now, always. It does not demand elevation; it requires awakening.
202. The Meletic life is a life of return. Not to a kingdom in a heaven, not to a doctrine, but to a unity and to To Ena.
203. God was a question that could never be answered. To Ena was an answer that I was able to begin with a question.
204. I do not speak of an omnipotent God—I simply have no need for him. I reach inwards, and To Ena is already there.
205. In the end, I did not choose To Ena over any god. I simply stopped searching—and To Ena remained.
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