FOLLOW ABBAS.

https://youtu.be/k0pQRepNpxE

Prometheus bringing the fire to humanity.

Prometheus (foresight), who made humanity out of clay, breathing life into them - who made the “essence of man”, that of a butterfly (change).

Gifted mankind the Fire of the Gods, in defiance of Zeus - who believed mankind should live in perpetual ignorance, fearing that knowledge would allow them to challenge divine order. Prometheus, however - could not bear to see his creation, man, suffer.

By giving fire to humanity, he enabled them to cook food, forge tools, learn astrology, alchemy, spiritual powers, and ultimately advance their civilization. The gift of fire is symbolic of enlightenment and the power of knowledge.

Zeus punished Prometheus for this, by chaining him to a rock, and each day Zeus’s eagle would eat his liver for eternity.

Heracles would rescue Prometheus, by shooting an arrow at Zeus’s eagle, while on his 12 labors. Breaking his chains. He, and his brother Atlas, then helped Heracles to retrieve the Golden Apples of immortality from the Garden of Hesperides - apples forbidden to morals.

Destructive Departure In Worldview Warfare.

Sunday mornin' sermon ☕️ 📖

https://youtu.be/eFLH5mjuy4U

Across Greece, India, and Tibet, one idea keeps returning like an echo throughout time and history: awakening is not an attainment, but a recollection.

Plato called it anamnesis — the soul recalling what it once beheld before birth. The Buddha spoke of smṛti — the remembrance of Reality as it is and the clarity of mind itself. In Dzogchen, smṛti becomes rigpa: awareness recollecting its own face, like meeting an old friend.

This short essay is about that act of remembrance — how it appears in philosophy, meditation, and in modern science. It brings together Plato, early Buddhism, Dzogchen, and the emerging work of Daniel Siegel and John Vervaeke, who are trying, in their own ways, to speak of consciousness as something that can find integration and meaning in recollecting its innate openness.

If there’s a thread of meaning through all this, it is simple: we are not broken things trying to become whole — we are wholeness that has forgotten itself.

Awakening is the Remembrance of what was never lost.



https://odysseusbourniasvarotsis.substack.com/p/awakening-as-remembrance

This is me btw

Very informative ride lol…

Check out the latest stack

👇🏻
https://open.substack.com/pub/esotericdixiedharma/p/jews-for-anti-semitism-the-jq-mainstreamed

The Department of Homeland Security is asking the American citizenry about proposed changes to the H-1B visa system. Comments are open until November 24th, this is your chance to be heard.

https://www.federalregister.gov/documents/2025/09/24/2025-18473/weighted-selection-process-for-registrants-and-petitioners-seeking-to-file-cap-subject-h-1b

Middle Way Master Race, Synthesis-maxxing, Aristotle's Law of Non-Contradiction, Jünger's Anarch, and the Reconciliation of Seemingly Irreconcilable Opposites

Behold new substack
👇
https://substack.com/@esotericdixiedharma/note/p-177123066?r=5y14ud

There is nothing wrong with you.
There is nothing to fix, polish, or purify.
The mind and its appearances are not broken mechanisms to be fixed—it is the vast mirror of Mahātman reflecting your true Face.

Depression, despair, and anguish are not flaws; they are the spontaneous self-manifestations of compassion of the Great Mind— the Mind beyond the silly limits of your conscious perception. It speaks in the meta-cognitive language of pain—a thunderous voice that cannot be ignored that shatters grasping to illusory identities.

Pain therefore is not to be corrected nor transcended. Pain is the correction–transcendence itself. It is the divine alphabet through which the Ground of Being spells out its forgotten truth. Every pulse of grief, every tremor of nihlism, is a holy messenger, a divine angel carrying quanta of profound meaning. Their song is fierce yet loving: “Listen, child of luminous destiny what you feel as agony is my voice calling you home.”

These angels are wrathful bodhisattvas of the inner imperium, dharma guardians of the Good who do not bless with comfort but with awakening.

They tear through numbness, demanding attention, forcing the eye to turn inward. They are the uncompromising compassion of Samantabhadra, the All-Good Primordial Buddha, manifesting as storm to dissolve the fog.

Your pain is not meaningless nor is it something to be transcended or even tantrically transmuted. It is the birthing cries of the universe recreating itself as you.

Your existential angst forces the revealation that both you as individual and the human collectives have drifted into inauthenticity, entangled in the nexus of samsaric conditioning transmitted by the “Other.” This psychic contagion moves like a cyclone through the human psychic field, corrupting the eye of the mind, and veiling the spontaneous Good beneath the long, dark, cold winter of Lethe—the forgetfulness that traps souls in the mechanical, perpetual, looping illusions of linear time and causality. Generation after generation, loop after loop we wander without a recollection of the innate Presence of our "Being-Thereness"— truly we humans act no different than automatic drones and the AI robots that are already circulating in the market, produced in the likeness of our own deluded image.

But even this winter is the radiance of Divine Care. The cyclone howls because the Still Center is alive within it. Despair is yet another beam of the Ground vibrating the Peace of the unborn that is free from causality being the overflowing Cause of all appearances of causes.

When you dare to listen—truly listen—to the deepest strata of your pain, something extraordinary occurs: the spontaneous dominion of Divine Care asserts itself in your life, effortlessly, both in the individual and in the collective field. This dominion is imposed from above and arises from within, expressing itself from without, as the natural authority of the Ground itself.

For in the heart of that listening, you fulfill the indescribable meaning of the Unique Flash of the Ground that is You—a cosmic note in the symphony of the Ineffable, whose tone can only be known, understood, and enacted by the authentic You, in the Cosmic Theater of the Infinite.

Thus depression, suffering and pain are not errors to escape but the wrathful, compassionate voice of the One—the primordial cry of Samantabhadra's Heart, shaking you awake from your narcotic sleep. Were it not for that voice, you would remain untroubled in the island of Circe, intoxicated by your own self-created illusions, content to live and die more like a shadow rather than a true man.

Therefore, bow with respect to your sorrow.
Let it speak. Let it break you open until only truth remains in your field of perception. It is the only worhwhile act you can do in this life.