Desire was the first spark—the movement that broke the stillness.
It stirred the waters of oneness, sending ripples outward.
Pleasure and pain, beauty and shame, life and death—
born from that single longing to know, to feel, to reach.
And so we reached.
For the fruit, for the flame, for something more than just being.
We call it a fall, but what if it was a birth?
A birth into contrast, into complexity.
The fruit did not curse us—it woke us.
It split the seamless unity of innocence,
but only so we could one day return to it consciously.
Duality is not the enemy—it is the mirror.
It shows us what we are by showing us what we are not.
Good only becomes meaningful in contrast to evil,
just as light only shines in the presence of shadow.
To know is to divide.
To become aware is to feel separate.
But separation is the illusion we agreed to wear like a skin.
Desire moves us, but it also wounds us.
It teaches us through longing, through friction,
through the ache of what we think we lack.
It is the engine of growth and the root of suffering.
In its raw form, it consumes.
But refined, it becomes fuel for awakening.
This is the sacred work of transmutation.
To take the fire that burns and teach it to illuminate.
To see the erotic as divine,
the shadow not as evil, but as untamed wisdom waiting to be met.
Even the archetype of the fallen one—the bringer of light—
is not to be feared but understood.
Lucifer, as the morning star, reminds us:
awakening often begins in rebellion.
Our modern evils—the greed, the manipulation, the domination—are not new.
They are ancient forces in new costumes.
They do not threaten us because they are evil,
but because they reflect the parts of us we refuse to integrate.
The tyrant is not just out there—he lives in the unexamined corridors of our own psyche.
To walk the path of return is not to slay the serpent,
but to speak with it.
To take the same road we wandered down,
but with open eyes this time.
To turn lust into love, instinct into intuition, ego into essence.
Not by denial, but by transformation.
The door to Eden has never closed.
It waits in the heart of every moment,
in every desire you dare to feel without flinching.
Not to indulge, but to understand.
Not to escape, but to embody.
This is the alchemy of the soul—
To stand in the center of opposites
and remember that you are both.
To carry the memory of oneness
through the mess and majesty of form.
And in doing so,
to make sacred what was once called fallen.
— Wout
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