THE MYSTERY
Before the beginning there was nothing; Mystery. Uncreated, unoriginated, unnamed, without cause, empty; the Mystery of all mysteries.
It is called nothing, because there is nothing with which to compare it to, no language to describe it, imperceptible and inaccessible. A secret known only to itself.
It is called Mystery because only Mystery can comprehend Mystery. Named is all creation, Nameless is Mystery.
From non-being, being was created, and it is this being we call God, the fountainhead of love, from which all creation has emanated.
Created from Love, the Soul is but a drop of that love. The source to which it must return; separation, the cause of suffering.
The soul finds itself consumed by the shadow of illusion, to obtain freedom, it must take refuge under the light of its source and traverse the path of devotion.
There is no path of Mystery, no returning, only emptiness. Empty because it is nothing, yet it is; call it Good, call it Mystery.
Filled with being, creation is manifest; Empty of being, Mystery. The lover returns to Love, the height of all creation. The Mystery returns to none, it is a nameless stranger to creation.