On Resignation

A new strength have I found in my resignation and solitude. Verily, too often does one's solitude become a prison. We ourselves are jailer and cell and musty stone. But it is with chisel and hammer that we pave the way to higher paths. Yet for that, much patience and endurance is needed ― and even calloused hands.

A bitter and vengeful heart have I found in my breast. Too long have I lived in the marketplace amongst the calls of the street trumpeters and the humming of poisonous flies. The danger of the lonely one is not that his kindness kills, but that such generosity often turns on itself like the scorpion with its tail. His danger is that he learn to throw his compassion like a stone into the well of abandonment.

Is it not irresponsible to resent the resenter, when our responsibility speaks most honestly of our folly? Yet we always have too much self-consideration: look, how the slug praises his shell, when he himself is filth and poverty and wretched contentment!

Is it not difficult to be responsible when no one takes the stand, especially when we are alone? How weak we are when we hesitate, as butterflies fluttering before adamant crowds! We condemn those who send us to the cross; such is the folly of our best wisdom.

When bitten, one seeks to bite in return. However, my hardened hide has taught me to tolerate even toothless nibblers: such gape-jaws are innocent in their nibbling. But piranhas and paragons one should avoid, particularly if one has thin skin and gentle blood.

And towards my enemies who nibble and spew, how can I not find joy in my humble sarcasm, which is not wounded by their words? Upon the peak of tall mountains, does one not see such toys for what they are: a playground and gymnasium for the spirit?

Does Ding Dong teach you of solitude? Does he teach you penance and passion like wild flowers? But such flowers of virtue only grow on pure soil, upon high mountains of ambrosia.

Your best virtue amounts to nothing if you are clumsy in such fields: even an inconsiderate action is enough to crush one's virtue.

A vengeful heart I have found in my breast, palpitating with the venom of so many flies. Only a dragon cannot perish from such venom. Therefore, the disciple must learn to forget and pass by much.

Should one go against such wisdom? But folly demands that we strive to know how to love, and our wisdom is our best folly. I have found resignation in my folly as my best wisdom. Truly, it is absurd to strive against mountains!

But one must become a climber of mountains, and not a talker of it. Verily, too much talk has infected even the mind of this clown, and I would soon resemble the parrot with its broken wings of the spirit...

A new strength have I found in my resignation: not to despise the despiser, but to love out of my great contempt. Out of my love and height shall emerge true compassion, though it strike both friend and foe like lightning. For it is a bridge toward new shores and hopes, a rainbow of consolation after long storms.

Well shall I mask such compassion, for those who would not welcome it. There is nothing that teaches men to bite more than the bite of conscience. Therefore, beware of your good and your evil! You weigh scales far above the multitudes, and they never forgive you that you break their old tablets and abaci.

It is better to teach the dumb than the deaf. The illiterate always seek to understand your words. But with the deaf, only your warmth and not your words are weighed. Although one cannot hear our words, they at least can register the happiness of our face, and muffled kindness. Through the gift of words, such benediction can penetrate even hard shells.

Too long has Ding Dong sat among the deaf, who do not have ears to hear his wisdom, and that is: my folly is my best wisdom. So who is more foolish than I, that I may delight in his instruction?

Too long have I sat in resignation amongst dull stones, and many a knife have I broken on them – to the resentment of both parties.

I have been a beggar with too many riches, stolen from caves of vast mountains, stolen from the very dragon's nest. Enchanted are these treasures, and painful is my heart that I have had none to take them as gifts.

Such gifts are meant only for the unselfish. Too greedy have I found all buyers, without resignation. They do not want to accept Ding Dong's gifts, so had I to resign to the poverty of too many riches.

Is not giving a need? Is not receiving mercy? But merciless have I found all buyers now: they are too poor in their riches. They resent all mountain air and mountain freedom, this crisp immortal air of the spirit.

The bleeding and the sick and the poor of spirit, thus do my hands reach out to give to those who suffer more than I. Their suffering is the suffering of poverty, and mine the suffering of too much wealth.

A new truth my resignation taught me: to love those who do not love us, to love when they do not give us pity. For everything human wants pity and consideration.

Too considerate and too hesitant has been this clown, to profess what he has always taught in words. Although one enters the circus, one need not be a clown in order to be heard.

With happiness and bright colors of resignation, I resign my proud head to the guillotine. May the catastrophe of the executioner be cruel and quick!

Is not love of our enemies more noble than our worst contempt? But one must be rich enough for that. Rather than competing with dull stones, it is best to climb high mountains.

Far upon the horizons of the spirit my will has willed, towards fields of sacred lilies and ambrosia of the spirit. Such clean air saturates my bones, and makes me giddy with hope. Wafting upon such breezes of happiness, my wings have only known the joy of stretching, and the humble test of dignity.

High above this muddled city of despair have I flown, and far down into the depths have my eyes searched for prey. Too many are the poor in spirit, who boast too much of having spirit. Maimed and pretentious are these sick ones; my honor demands that I only hunt for fresh lamb.

So shall I descend like a hawk upon my enemies. My talons shall bear them to my happiness; but if they do not like such heights, I cannot resent them for that. But at least shall I have the joy of testing my strength.

High above the smog of polluted minds have I flown to the future. Within the most recessive and secret isles of life have I found my ivy wreath of happiness. But the brainsick have always been there to pluck at my wreath, to test the sincerity of my resignation.

Such lunatics even wear business suits, and seek to drown me in legality and polemics. But if I must resign, then it shall be without benefits.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Scribes and Pharisees

Thus do I speak unto you of the Scribes and Pharisees, you lovers of truth. If you would venture into orders and groups, needs must you arm yourself with these reflections and words.

Or do you seek to enter Gnostic groups, without armaments and reflection? While divine symphonies emerge from the orchestra, know you not that even many a criminal has learned to play an honest tune?

Or do you expect the angels to be present with their harmonies? To forgive and to bless with their knowledge?

Instead what is common is friction and contradiction; for even upon beautiful buildings are much weeds and corruption.

The worst villain I always found to be one of knowledge, for such souls should know not to kill. While not killing with a hammer, one kills with a smile, which deals much worse than a hammer.

The worst villain I always found to be one of knowledge, for with knowledge comes power, and contradiction. One’s knowledge generally contradicts one’s being. Most only have too much knowledge, and very little understanding of their knowledge.

And on the same note, it is not bad that they know little of the truth, but that what little they know they know badly. The Pharisees have always known too little of the truth, and when you demonstrate the sun of your knowledge to them, you anger them that they know it badly.

If this clown had the choice to live between sheep and goats, he would prefer goats, for at least their coarseness proclaims itself honestly.

Who can condemn these goats when they are innocent in their babbling? But the sheep, stuffed with too much knowledge, always declare, "We are bah-bah-better than you."

These sheep with their meekness hide razor wool, and many would feign humility so that they may sheer with their razor humility.

Such meekness would cut the face of a god, for in its pretension, it thinks itself a god. Thus do I speak about the Scribes and Pharisees, who are filled with too much knowledge.

At least the ignorant are honest in their dishonesty. Their dishonesty announces itself clearly like sounding brass. But the silence of the sanctimonious kills in its irony, for their very doctrine unveils their shrouds.

The silence of the sanctimonious is louder than words. I almost cannot bear that beautiful tunes would come from such bagpipes.

Tiring is this wailing, which calls itself divine. Such beautiful screeching is only fit for funerals, and truly, it has not been the first time that someone died from such noxious tones.

“Knowledgeable and kind am I,” speak the sanctimonious, "and just. That which does not conform to my justice is shame and guilt.”

But do you want to be limited and defined by these hypocrites, you lovers of truth? Painful it is to be placed between a “yes” and “no,” as if one does not understand “yes” or “no"!

Stuffed with knowledge and sanctimony are these erudites, who curse with their blessings. When light shines upon these dusty tomes, they do not look upon their own pages for their guilt.

A dictionary are these bookworms, crammed with too much knowledge. And yet they do not have the knowledge to revise their own lexicon, and for true humility lack a definition.

No, I do not like these Scribes and Pharisees, who condemn with their sanctimony, and bless with their maledictions. To those who invent their own virtue, such priests only offer the fire and the stake.

Is it not shameful that they want to fit your ocean within a bottle? Or that they pollute your fountainhead of wisdom with the inkwell of reasoning? But they are not worthy of your knowledge, which you have wrought from too much pain and solitude.

The wisdom of my folly will always mock the folly of their wisdom. Whenever they strut, I always hear the creaking of floorboards and musty windowpanes. Allergic am I to the dust of such ancient maledictions. Their coffins speak of putrefaction, not holiness.

While affirming themselves mature, many remain yet children, but without innocence. Under beds of pretension hide many monsters, and yet these children ignore that they are their own monsters.

So if you venture into such spiritual company, be warned of these sanctimonious ones. Many of the strong have swooned from the stings of such gadflies, and for their honor suffered terrible injustice.

But let your justice shine freely and with strength. There is more honor in confessing to such executioners that one is guilty, even when one is not. However, one must have much courage, and a fearlessness of death.

But are you willing to die in both your pride and your shame... your poverty and your riches? Can you become a sacrificial offering unto the sun?

Can you live amongst sheep as amongst wolves, when you yourself rage as a wolf and are dying of hunger and thirst?

Can you admit before the council that you are a heretic, even though your justice shines through open eyes? But my brother, these hypocrites do not understand your justice, and so they always seek to put you to shame...

You have heard it said of old: two wrongs do not make a right. But verily I say unto you: a wrong shared is half right. He who has ears to hear, let him hear!

And better to be wrong in one's right than right in one's wrong. But the Pharisees do not comprehend you...

O divine paradox! Do you not see that the very hand which beats you offers you your eucharist? If you would prove the temper of your justice, you must accept both sides of their hand, with equal and honest fervour.

But if it is comfort you seek for in groups, it is better that you remain in your cave. There at least one has the solitude of one's eagle and one's serpent. Upon high mountains with strong air does one remain far away from the rabble and unclean.

Whether in the marketplace or in the temple, do not look for comfort save but from the sun. The sun will always shine upon your happiness without malice. But amongst the hypocrites, you will only have enemies who turn green with envy.

With the Scribes and Pharisees, who squeeze the mosquito and swallow a camel, there is only sacrifice and the dagger. But beware lest you become weak from the loss of too much blood. You cannot absolve them through the innocence they shed from you; therefore, flee into your solitude, where the air is raw and strong.

Tempered and strong is the honor of the just, which bears even the heaviest malediction. But remember that even tempered and strong blades have become cracked and worn from too much malediction. Do not attempt to whet your scythe upon such dull stones. How could you expect to reap a harvest of wheat from such a garden of thorns?

Although every thorn has its rose, such flowers of virtue are exotic and rare in such Pharisees. Too often when they speak of their virtue do they praise their vanity and weeds...

Poor are these gardeners of the spirit, who lack cultivation. If it is repentance and happiness you seek, you must search for it far away from such ravenous jungles. If you let yourself be dazed by their heat, in delirium you will easily mistake their crooked branches for shelter.

Instead, work within your blessed solitude, which does not ask overbearing questions. Your solitude knows how to keep a dignified silence with you. Be like the rebel eagle with the wings of the spirit, which soars upon the cold air of high mountains.

But while you remain in the depths, amongst poverty and crowds and much affliction, you must become anonymous, for the hypocrites love others to be unseen. I love those clowns who hide their beauty in ugliness, in order not to put the king to shame. Meanwhile, such clowns are those truly fit to rule vast kingdoms.

If you would be a king, you must accept the role of beggar, and to learn how to live in humiliation as with honor. I love he who hides his wealth from the covetous, but gives his poverty to the poor, so that he may be truly rich and free from hypocrisy.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On the Spiritus

Great Wind-Spiritus,

Like a sounding lead I cast these words into your soul, in order that I may know how deep it is:

A great wind is this Spiritus. Such a wind is seen when it seeks to be hidden, and is hidden when it seeks to be seen.

A great wind is this Spiritus. No one knows where such a wind listeth, although one hears and feels much; such is the nature of the Spiritus.

A great wind is this Spiritus. Many naive leaves allow themselves to be tossed by this wind, and yet they do not inquire into its direction.

A great wind is this Spiritus. Such bellows seek to cool hot tempers, and yet such winds only agitate the flames.

A great wind is this Spiritus. Such bellows seek to temper strong blades, and yet they only puff up and make emptier.

A great wind is this Spiritus. Such winds come from a big heart, yet such winds must be yoked by comprehension.

A great wind is this Spiritus. It seeks to fill sails too big for it, and attempts to navigate without seeing the stars.

A great wind is this Spiritus. Many sails does it seek to fill; meanwhile it cannot even fill its own sails!

A great wind is this Spiritus, agitating waves and rocking ships. To great latitudes and longitudes does it reach, and yet it is something invisible and unseen.

So obvious is this wind of the Spiritus, yet many do not see it. They would mistake the fury of a storm with cool winds, and cool winds with the dead calm of the soul.

A great wind is this Spiritus, seeking to be heard. Such winds are the result of over-consumption, and the indigestion of too much knowledge.

A great wind is this Spiritus, seeking to be discreet. Such winds often seek to hide themselves, and yet their scent is unmistakable.

The laughter of a clown is hilarious until one becomes the subject of such laughter. Yet Ding Dong’s laughter is not one of ridicule, but of too many tears.

Despite laughter from too many tears, there is no fire of contempt. There is only a wind that would seek to fill your sails, if you are willing to open your sails…

And so I say unto you: Do not be a bigger Ding Dong than Ding Dong! Thus do I counsel all Ding Dongs...

And those that would laugh at Spiritus, restrain your own winds! Do not attempt to make storms out of ponds!

Too much talk makes too many waves on this Forum, and yet people ignore the smallness of their boats!

Too much talk makes too many waves, and rather than sailing on smooth waters, one must bypass much debate.

Ding Dong would only open his sails to winds that lead him in the direction he wants. Yet since many do not know the direction they seek, they wander listlessly, blown by listless winds.

A great wind is this Spiritus, serious in its strength. Yet such winds, if seeking to fill young sails, must be tempered and controlled.

Many are the young sails that enter the sea of this Forum, seeking to be filled. Yet since they have never sailed at sea they open their sails to any wind.

Spiritus, do not seek to be a wind bigger than you are, for the humble sigh has more power than the exaggerated cough.

A great wind is this Spiritus, seeking to be felt. Such winds seek to be guided and lead back to HUM, the Great Spirit. Yet if such winds would return, they must not be exasperated through too many words.

Let it be known that a greater wind is in its silence. It offers solace without calling attention to itself, and while being forgotten, it is never forgotten.

A greater wind is in its silence. It guides without seeking to be seen, for it knows that it is empty and unworthy of recognition.

Anonymous is the greatness of silent winds. Such winds guide the homesick without pretension. They only flow in the direction their Spirit wills.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Friends and Foes

Friends and foes, thus do I speak unto those who would bear arms. For I shall make enemies of my friends and friends of my foes. Thus do we strive to become as Gods.

A little friction and a pinch of contradiction, thus do my friendships secure me from a dull slumber, and a course without progress. For progress is measured by resistance; never could I consign to victory if I never felt the fear of defeat.

A little contradiction, thus do we spare our friendships from a big contradiction, a treaty doomed to the shore and the reef. With a little disagreement do we make amends, but with great disagreements, faction and disparity.

Peace and war, sword and laurel, such are the emblems of my faith in friendship. A little war goes towards great peace, but too much war to infamy and destruction.

A little enmity goes a long way in friendship; thus are friends put on their guard towards a greater enmity. But too much friendship courts too much comfort and sleep.

Amongst the graves of friendship I have always seen inscribed: "It was in too great a friendship that my friendship was broken," and "Without a little skirmish, we were unprepared for a greater battle!" So if you would rise to the rank of general, a little soldiery in friendship is needed, and skill in battle.

The best ambassadors to friendship I have always found to be the best warriors; what is his knowledge of friendship if it has never been put to the sword?

A few daggers from ahead are always better than from behind. With a little jugglery, one learns to avoid small cuts.

But once stabbed in the confidence of too much friendship, one is asked to admire the hilt of the betrayal.

It must also be said how friendship is cemented with the acknowledgment of clownhood. If one thinks himself above the clown, then one only receives laughter from the other and much offense.

But in the recognition of clownhood, one's tomfoolery is fuel for common laughter. For in the coldness of poverty, both take delight in the same fire.

Thus is the meaning of friendship, and thus do I speak unto those whose friendship would pave the way to the Superman. But with a friendship of the couch, one must consign to a long and undisturbed slumber.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Children and Adepts

Children and Adepts, thus do I speak unto those who are still children. It is never a childish thing to become an Adept, but it is a childish thing to be adept at one's childishness!

A great overcoming is that of the child into an Adept. Such transformation requires the death of the worm. Yet while the sacrifice of the worm is great progress, it is great retrogression for the butterfly to long for the chrysalis!

The false warmth of security is the shackle of insecurity; some butterflies feel the terror of flight, and the danger of great heights. Thus do they long to return into their womb.

The crisp and immortal air of high mountains calls upon new butterflies. Upon mountain peaks rest fields of ambrosia and lilies, the proper nest and home of the butterfly.

Yet upon perceiving such impossible heights, some butterflies wail with consternation and grief; such a journey requires the complete sacrifice of one's wings. It necessitates the faith of much endurance.

Through the fruit of renunciation is one transformed, but through the trembling of uncertainty is one malformed. Although one creates the butterfly, such wings may yet be dampened by the filthiness of birth. Such wings, being new, lack strength and responsibility.

Yet upon high paths and tall precipices are such wings strengthened, if these poor insects would acknowledge their poverty and their strength. After the discomfort of far travels, one is recompensed with the nectar of sweet Amrita on the mountain of Empyrean.

Strong is the will needed for such journeys, and strong is the will needed to break through the shell of a new birth. In the beginning one is insecure, and requires encouragement and much tending.

Warmth and good will are needed for newborn chicks, who long to soar on higher paths. Yet the incubation of warm words can suffocate even newborn birds.

While it is necessary to feel the warmth and protection of good advice, there comes a point to a mother's hospitality.

If you would learn to fly as a rebel eagle with wings of the Spirit, you must renounce smaller wings and the comfort of too many words.

For verily it is written, one must become a child in order to enter the kingdom of heaven. But first of all, it is necessary to grow up!

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Insurrection

Many are they who claim to be Resurrected Masters, yet with great scrutiny, Ding Dong must proclaim what they truly are: Insurrected Masters...

Insurrection is the will of those who say they are Resurrected, but are not. Such Insurrected Masters claim to be completely dead, and it is true: they are completely dead to the Resurrection and the Spirit.

Many movements do these Insurrected Masters create, in order to defend their Insurrection. Confusing polemics do they use, in order to convince you of Insurrection.

An Insurrected Master never believes he is Insurrected, because he thinks he is Resurrected. Also, the advent of Insurrection is highly-esteemed, attended upon by many clowns.

Great festivities and celebration is given to the advent of Insurrection. With such an event, the circus teems with laughter and bright colors, so that even more somnambulists may be initiated into clownhood.

A new faction and a new dogma do these Insurrected Masters preach. New Gnosis is the flag of their dogma, yet verily do they ignore that Gnosis is as timeless as Resurrection!

And by this token also, Insurrection is as timeless as Resurrection, for wherever there is Resurrection, so there is the Insurrection of many Ding Dongs!

So do not confuse this term Resurrection with Insurrection. The difference will become obvious if you allow yourself to study.

For verily does Ding Dong state, that one may burn a book only after understanding it, and not before, because the true fire that consumes the dead letter is the fire of comprehension.

Yet zealous are many flames, which lack comprehension. They consume their books in the heat of their passion, without even learning to read. In the confidence of their zeal, they even believe themselves to be brighter than the stars.

Zealous are these flames, upholding Insurrection. They even mistake the sacrilege of Insurrection with the fire of Resurrection, and all because they lack the understanding of a few words!

A great deal of study do I recommend for these flames, which burn with the zeal of Insurrection. For by putting out a small flame, one may in turn initiate a great bonfire, which is the power of real Gnosis.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Charity and Faith

Charity and faith: thus do I speak unto the uncharitable. For not all of those who have faith shall have charity, and not all who are charitable have faith.

For many are the faithful who do not know how to give, and thus do I speak unto their shame: for many are the faithless who do know how to give!

But faith and charity, thus do I call the smoke which arises from the flame, the incense of philanthropy that radiates from the fire of one's faith.

A burnt offering is that of charity: it delights in its thanksgiving unto man and God. It is the alms that would make a king of a beggar, even when the beggar is the one who gives the alms!

A blessing and a benediction is that of charity. Such almsgiving is the crown that would coronate, even though it be made of thorns.

A gospel of sacrifice does Ding Dong preach, unto all who have faith: let not your faith be in vain, but let the cross truly be the definition of your faith.

Through the cross of benediction and sacrifice is one's love realized, for who could say that they love without having died for what they love?

A scarlet cloak of humiliation is reserved for the faithful with charity: one does not seek poverty, yet it is through a little poverty that the riches of the Spirit are realized.

As of the faithless with charity, their charity benefits the world, yet not themselves. I would have the faithless burn with the fire of Conscious Faith, from the inspiration of the living God. For such givers without faith, I would have them study.

Yet to the faithful without charity, such faith is desperate and poor. It hides and crawls in dark corners, although its couch speaks of much comfort.

"Strong is my faith in the Lord," speaks the uncharitable. Yet when approached with the bill for one's faith, one is reluctant to pay.

The cross do I recommend for the faithful without charity, for it is in giving that we receive; it is in hunger that one is filled; it is through humiliation that we are exalted.

So seek to be the spirit of charity, if your faith would soar on higher wings. Holy is the marriage between the giver and the recipient, for it is through the gift of charity that both are sanctified.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Faith and Perception

Perception and faith: thus do I speak to the unperceptive. It is neither from faith that perception is born, nor is perception borne without faith.

Perception of the wise, thus do I counsel all who would have faith. For it is in seeing that we have faith, since in communion with the Spirit do we acknowledge our Spirit.

Perception is what makes one wise: it is the scrutiny of the inscrutable eye, the flaring light of Him who perceives all.

This is the fire of Conscious Faith, that is born from perception. This fire and faith of Christ would consume you in its heat, because such heat is born from the light of understanding.

Until one sees, one is asleep. Never could this Chief of Clowns admit of what he does not see, unless he has the direct knowledge of what he does not see!

So the faith of perception: thus do I counsel the unperceptive. Let your faith be built upon what you perceive, for faith is the heat which accompanies the light of perception!

But the faith of the pen, the scrawl of the page, leave that for scholars and librarians! If you would burn with the fire of Conscious Faith, I would have you not be a scholar and a librarian.

The fire of Conscious Faith burns the pages of history. It consumes them in its passion, and would raise what was dead as an offering of incense unto God.

But Conscious Faith also is the fire that would compell you to perceive. It would give you the courage to practice, for after having seen, one is reluctant to go back to sleep.

For it is written: that you shall not live by perception alone, but by every experience that commeth from your living God.

So awaken your perception, my brother, and only afterward shall true faith be born in you.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Loosing Faith

To receive confession as a priest is never a burden for a clown, for in being a clown, one has already confessed much.

And despite being a clown, whose tears paint his very face, I would seek to hear yours, my brother, that you may drain your amphora and let it be filled once more by God.

And this confession is about the hunger of the Soul. In its very declaration is a revelation of its hope and its madness.

Madness is the hope of all creators, for it would seek to break old laws and stone tablets. Yet on this very note also, hope is the madness of the unfaithful, for hope is written on a new stone, and not in the luster of fool's gold.

Such madness of the Spirit would consume you, my brother, if you would let it. But of course, cold winds can deaden even great flames, and more often than not reduces them to embers...

But remember, lonely one, that even embers can return into great flames. But such embers need careful preparation and much tending.

A painful hunger is this privation of the Soul. For after eating a few crumbs, one quickly forgets their flavor...

Like an embittered Tantalus, one longs for the Banquet Feast of the Lamb. Yet while in the fetters and darkness of prison, one must resign to coldness and starvation.

"Forty years must the disciple fast in the wilderness." Thus speaks wisdom. But also does it state, "One must even dare to rejoice in one's fasting!"

A bitter silence and confusion is that of the Soul. In madness it would break its own creation, for while in the wilderness, it forgets the meaning of its own madness and creation!

Solitude is the penance which breaks or forges Souls. Upon the anvil of solitude, the hammer of pain would shape you into what you must become.

Such hammering and difficulty can break even strong blades. And yet this is the very fire that would give you strength, if you will acknowledge your own strength!

But are you capable of this? To endure the hammer of the Law, the discomfort of too much contradiction? Can you, while tempered in hot flames, endure the terrible chill of frost and solitude?

In your hunger, can you restrain your hand from the offerings of beggars? Are you willing to starve in order to tempt the tempter?

Have you not yet remembered the agony of your Spirit, which weeps upon seeing the divine perish? My brother, strive and seek to remember your Spirit, whose agony inspires the longing for creation.

Defiant are these rebels, who long for creation. Honored is the will of those who do not look first to stars for a reason to descend and perish.

But are you willing to do this? To enter dark chasms and the abyss of despair, without even expecting to return?

Can you enter hell without looking back, to accept defeat in order to become victorious?

Do you desire to be a creator of new tablets, to chisel new laws on new stones? Then show me your right and your strength to do so! Terrible is the strength needed to chisel new laws on new stones, especially when one lacks the light to see one's work.

For it is written in characters of fire: "The Gods emerge from the abyss by means of fire, and get lost within the Darkness."

My brother, you will forge a new God and a new Law from your despair. Out of fire and chaos shall your will be tempered, if you will allow yourself to be tempered.

Joyful is the song of tempered steel, for it longs to be shaped into a new creation. Where there is acceptance, the hammer becomes as welcome as the pillow.

So lay yourself upon the anvil of solitude, my brother, and only much later shall your justice be forged.

Raise your amphora of hope and delirium back unto the Spirit, that He may deliver your fill of wisdom.

Intoxicating is this wine and madness of the Spirit, for it would convert the abstemious into the drunkards of the Spirit, and would defy the insanity of the sane.

Glorious is this wine and intoxication of the Spirit, for unlike other wines, it can never put one to sleep.

My brother, you are going the way of the hammer and the forge. Show me your courage to be tempered, in order that the weapon of your new hope may shine from your affliction.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Destiny and Marriage

Destiny and marriage, thus do I speak to the unmarried. It is neither one's destiny to be married too soon, nor is marriage for the destined too late.

Timing is everything, but Love has naught to do with Time. If you would be in Love, I would have you not glance at the clock!

A destiny and a marriage do you seek, yet do you seek your destiny and marriage?

For many are they who are destined to be married, but only as bats in their blindness find each other.

Many are the married who call themselves destined, yet their marriage is made of Time and a false destiny.

But are you willing to do this: to shatter false gods and false destinies?

Painful is the marriage of the all-too-many. They would convince the world they are in Love. Yet even when alone, they never knew what Love is.

The Woman of Urania is our First Love. Never could I know how to to give Love were it not for my First Love.

And for those who look for marriage in this valley of tears, I would have two stars cross in the heavens: thus do I call marriage.

Rare and hallowed is this marriage made in heaven. It would compel even the planets to revolve around it. Such is its will.

But the horoscope marriage, the marriage of the superfluous, this is only the destiny of madmen and the grave.

Yet True Love is also of the grave. It would die in itself in order to be reborn. It would burn itself to ashes in order to be sanctified.

But are you willing to do this: to enter the grave? Are you willing to give a hand to the ghost that frightens you?

Courage and death are inseparable. One needs great courage for the tomb. Yet many are the Don Giovannis wielding great courage, who are unwilling to die for what they love!

The rose of your affections can only grow from the compost of the past. So when your rose blossoms, be sure that it is much tended.

Blessed be the rose which blooms from the grave. But contempt be for the Hallmark marriage, which you can get anywhere. Although one must perish for Love, one must not perish because of love!

Thus speaks Ding Dong.

On Clowns

Many are the aspirants who believe themselves to be serious; yet, they are not.

There are many who enter our studies and then play with diverse doctrines. They are not serious.

There are many who know this doctrine; yet, they simply play with this doctrine.

The careless Gnostics who flirt with other doctrines play with Gnosis.

There are many students of Gnosis who ridicule Gnosis while playing with it.

Many clowns have infiltrated the Gnostic movement.

Those who have not declared themselves to be their own mortal enemies are not serious.

Gnostics who are not serious become fascinated with novelties. This is their problem.

These types of Gnostics, Gnostics who are not serious, Gnostics who are searching and playing, definitely fail.

Only the Gnostics who work on themselves can integrally Self-realize themselves.

-Samael Aun Weor, The Pistis Sophia Unveiled

On The New Age

Although not a Doctor, this Chief of Clowns would diagnose this mania with New Age mysticisms.

Despite paint and absurdity, this clown would be serious, and diagnose the many "isms" of New Age Mysti-cisms.

And that is this: Many are the New Age penitents in robes of sackcloth. Yet never could I believe in the fabric of a mysticism so thin...

Thin are these robes of the penitents, which do not hold heat. I would have these penitents burn with the fire of Conscious Faith, and not the chill of clamminess and infirmity!

Many are these sick penitents, on fire with their own clamminess. They would feel their sun as frost, and their frost as fire.

Such penitents wish to create their own realities; meanwhile, such penitents are not creators!

Hard and difficult is the will of all creators, and rare. Such creators must create over and beyond themselves, and not their own realities!

Many are the mistaken penitents, considering themselves creators. If they be creators, it is only of poor websites and paper-thin philosophies!

"My Kundalini has awakened, and without chastity." Thus speaks the New Age penitent.

"My Kundalini awoke without sanctity. I am filled with the Holy Ghost, and for no reason!" Thus speaks dementia.

But verily do I warn such penitents, that God does not reward the brainsick. The madhouse and the penitentiary do I recommend for such penitents, who applaud their insanity.

A good head on your shoulders does God need. Yet what good is a head stuffed with cannabis and delirium?

Such heads as these even think they are Gods... yet how can this be, when their God is dead?

Sacrificed is your God upon the altar of absurdity. In order for God to resurrect in you, you yourselves must resurrect from your absurdity!

A strong medication does Ding Dong prescribe for such penitents, on fire with their own clamminess… and that is: a good dose of SERIOUSNESS.

Thus speaks Doctor Ding Dong.