There is the master who transcends likeness (for He is not any one thing but all things) and there is the master who wears a different robe for every servant who seeks his knowledge and his favor. In his myriad of forms he is inherently the same and the finitude of Earth’s covering grants him unlimited power within the temporal horizon. His simultaneous liberation and confinement elicits a call of worship and his temples may assume any shape, so long as they fall within dimensional bounds and are adorned in the embellishments of the ages. Mammon interplays the past and the future and sanctifies his key attribute, which is the forever now. Many of his servants know nothing of him and he has consecrated many of his temples subliminally and given each their own codex.
And this master has power over the senses and he projects sensations of light and sound as cool effusions of painted air rise out of his temples. The native underbrush shivers quietly in the distance daring not to approach the clearing immediately surrounding the structure’s finely-wrought outer gates. There are many thousands of these temples intermixed across the landscapes and they each hide in the guise of physicality, taking whatever incarnation they please – for they can become anything that exists within the closed world of things. To defy Mammon is to gesture towards an absence, the expression of which is both a medium and consequence. The symbol is half rooted in the real and is the vessel to which a thought may attach itself. The dedicated objects of worship are painfully detailed so that their beauty both overshadows and reinforces Mammon’s teachings simultaneously.
Traces of his paradise in the natural word, as seen by his followers, are found in the gilded veins of leaves hanging motionless beneath the late summer sun and in the cascading bands of finely-spun silk stretched across the ends of the earth, undulating in the lightness of their weave. The colors move in and out of one another in one fluid sweeping motion as the brightness of their tones casts different values of light across the earth. The weight of the rose in full bloom causes it to recede into the blackness between its overlapping branches. Blankets of leaves marbled with yellow and green tones extend out into the distance. The sky and the land are equally saturated with color and appear as if they shared the same plane – and in the council of Mammon, nature is most beautiful when it bears the qualities of that which is made and brought into being by the will.
Verily a wonderful false-adulation (falsum adulationis) of the profane! The subtle counterfeit of our worship of the True Master is eloquently and masterfully described in this article.
“God is patient and kind; God is not jealous or boastful; God is not arrogant or rude. God does not insist on his own way; he is not irritable or resentful; he does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. God bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. God never ends; make God your aim.” (I Corinthians 13, 14; I John 4.8)
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