A Message from the Spirit

They show two roads branching from one, and at the crossroads there is some sign, like a coat of arms or a banner. On either side red and blue warriors clash in combat.

Many centuries ago, at the junction of times, there existed two realms.
Between them a shield was set so they would not touch one another. The separation was not to choose one over the other, or to prefer one above the other. The separation was offered by time as an aid, to forget enmity, to temper one’s ardor.
But to separate does not mean to temper ardor.
And where separation goes, there they distance themselves from one another more and more.
And they do not forget those with whom they fought, but they forget themselves and their own name in the winds of the desert.
Walking the path of separation, you stumble ever more into the abyss of oblivion, and the memory of a common origin becomes for you something insignificant, nonexistent.
Where access is closed to you, it seems insignificant to you because it is more inaccessible.
Yet it was not closed to you; you left the charted route.
You acted so in order to apprehend something, to learn something, to see, to compare…
And in that comparison to perceive the goodness of the higher aspect of being, the indestructibility and wholeness of the single universe.
As if sleeping cells of memory awaken each time you touch with your gaze the deep processes of being.

Wars are not simply meant to destroy; they estrange you from one another. Where you do not recognize yourself, calling someone other, unlike you. And where you think so, there you refuse to remember yourself.
The beginning is one for all and everything, but your view, your opinion and thoughts are individual.
Yet within that individuality lies the outlet of your uniqueness, your desire to go another way, to try to turn back time. Where you are all the same cheerful and carefree, all the same tranquil.
To reclaim the common beginning of the great memory it is necessary to accept yourself in every small unit.