Vachon Imagined

Jesus was not special because he possessed a different kind of life from us.

Jesus was and remains human.

Which means he was and remains life and experience.

He was not the body.

He was a life.

He is a life.

And when we return to that Life, we discover that Life was never confined to the body in the first place. The body is a form through which Life expresses itself, but Life itself cannot be contained by form.

When we make Jesus special by placing him outside the human experience, we risk worshiping an ideal, a religion, a church, a human, or even a body, rather than recognizing what his life reveals.

Jesus was human.

He entered the human condition completely. He knew hunger, betrayal, fear, grief, loneliness, pain, and death. He did not escape humanity to reveal God. He entered humanity so completely that the unity between human life and divine Life became visible through him.

And this matters.

Because if Christ were fundamentally unlike us, his life would only be something to admire.

But if Christ reveals what is possible within human consciousness, then his life becomes salvation, an invitation.

He shows us what happens when consciousness stops fighting what is and begins allowing what is to become something more.

Consider what happens when we worry.

One thought becomes another.

One possibility creates another possibility.

One fear produces ten more fears.

Consciousness takes a single moment and breaks it into countless imagined futures. We are no longer living only in what is happening. We are living in everything we imagine could happen.

This is the multiplication of consciousness.

The question is not whether consciousness multiplies.

It already does.

The question is:

What are we multiplying?

This is what we see in the story of Jesus taking the loaves, breaking them, and feeding the multitude.

We often read the story as a miracle of multiplication: there is not enough, Jesus breaks the bread, and somehow there is enough for everyone.

But Jesus is showing us something deeper.

He does not break down the Source.

He couldn’t.

The Source cannot be broken.

God cannot be divided into pieces.

Life cannot be diminished by being given away.

Consciousness cannot be reduced because it is present everywhere and in everything.

Jesus knows himself not as an isolated individual possessing something separate from God, but as one who had awakened to his unity with God.

So when he broke the bread, the Source was not being divided.

The Source was expressing itself through form.

The loaf could be broken because the Source could not.

The body could be broken because Life itself could not.

What was given away was not diminished.

It multiplied.

This is the mystery we participate in every day.

When we worry, we take one experience and break it apart through resistance. We ask, What if? What if? What if?

We create realities that have not happened.

One moment becomes thousands of imagined moments.

But Jesus now demonstrates another possibility.

He enters the moment without resisting it.

The bread is there.

The hunger is there.

The people are there.

The apparent scarcity is there.

And Jesus enters it.

He takes what is present, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it away.

And what appeared insufficient becomes sufficient through non-resistance.

It means we stop fighting the reality of life long enough to discover what the life contains.

This is also what it means to become the body of Christ.

We are not simply people who believe in Christ.

We become the body through which that same consciousness continues to express itself.

The Source is not somewhere else.

God is not confined to one body.

Life is not contained in one person.

The divine cannot be divided because it is everywhere and in everything.

And this is where we must be careful with the word love.

The moment we make love into something special, something possessed, something belonging to a particular person, body, identity, institution, or ideal, we have begun to turn love into a thing.

We have given movement an identity.

We have taken what wants to pass through us and tried to make it ours.

But love is not a possession.

Life is not a possession.

Love moves.

Life moves.

What is alive passes through form, through experience, through relationship, through consciousness. It gives itself away without becoming less.

When we say, This is my love, This is who I am, This is what love looks like, we can unconsciously build an identity around something that was never meant to be contained.

And once love becomes an identity, we begin protecting the identity instead of allowing love to move.

We defend it.

We define it.

We separate it from what we believe is not love.

And what was movement becomes a boundary.

This is why making Jesus special or even dead can become another form of separation.

If Jesus is turned into an identity that belongs to history, to a religion, to a doctrine, or to a particular image of holiness, then the Life he revealed becomes something we look at rather than something that moves through us.

But Jesus does not need to be possessed.

Life does not need to be possessed.

Love does not need to be possessed.

They need to move.

Jesus is human.

You are human.

And you are already participating in this same mystery.

Every thought creates something.

Every fear multiplies something.

Every moment of awareness reveals something.

Every act of love gives something away without exhausting its Source.

We do not have to become something we have never been.

We only have to stop turning Life into something permanent.

And when we understand that there is always enough, the entire conversation around scarcity begins to dissolve.

Competition becomes irrelevant.

Envy becomes irrelevant.

The need to possess becomes irrelevant.

The fear that someone else having more means there is less for us becomes irrelevant.

Completely and utterly irrelevant.

Because Life is not a limited substance being distributed among separate individuals.

Life is moving.

Love is moving.

The Source is giving itself away continuously without becoming less.

There is no need to compete for what cannot be depleted.

There is no need to envy what cannot diminish our own participation in Life.

There is no need to protect what was never ours to possess.

The bread is broken.

The body is broken.

But the Life remains whole.

Love is given away.

It moves from one form to another.

And because it is never possessed, it is never exhausted.

There is always enough.