Vachon Imagined

When Christ said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life,” he wasn’t talking about himself as a permanent object in the physical world.

He was already bound to another.

Just like you.

Just like me.

The reason we don’t always recognize that we are walking in this “I” is because we keep trying to put ourselves outside of “I.”

We try to stand over here and look at ourselves over there.

We try to become something.

We try to follow something.

We try to find the way outside of ourselves.

Have I said I enough in one sentence?

Good.

Because I is the way.

I is life.

I is the expression of life that was already possible—which is another way of saying the possibility of I always existed.

Christ wasn’t our Savior as much as he was our reminder.

Our example.

Our “hey, bozo, wake up” guy.

You already walk in life.

Stop trying to pretend you’re something other than what is already here.

Yes, you may experience prejudice.

Yes, you may experience hatred.

Yes, you may experience loss, rejection, guilt, fear, positivity, and every other thing this physical world can place in your path.

But don’t forget:

You are life.

So walk in the remembrance of that.

And you will not fail.

Not because everything will go your way.

Not because you will never suffer.

But because the reality of you cannot be separated from the life experiencing all of this.

It isn’t somewhere else.

It isn’t waiting for you after you become good enough.

It isn’t hiding behind the right belief.

It is the life.

It is the memory.

It is the flesh.

It is everything I have given you permission to see, to taste, to touch.

And now—

let it go.

Immediately.

Let go of the room.

Let go of the role.

Let go of the name.

Let go of the belief that you have to become something permanent in order to be real.

And in that letting go, you may finally see who you are.

And this is where we have to understand something else about Christ.

Christ was limited.

Not in the way we usually mean when we say limited, but in the most fundamental way possible.

He was limited when it came to other people.

He was limited by the nature from which he came.

He could multiply what we call form, but he could not change the nature by which you and I are bound.

The law.

The law of give and receive.

The law that says: what you give to the world, you will experience.

If you give the world fear, you will experience fear.

If you give it judgment, you will find yourself living inside judgment.

If you give it love, you will experience love.

And you will remain in that room of consciousness until you are done with it.

Even Christ could not change that.

Because to change it would have interfered with the spirit of the law.

The spirit of God.

The spirit of nature.

The thing beneath everything we keep trying to manipulate.

No one changes that.

No one ever will.

And why?

Because we fuck it up.

God, in all its wisdom, knew better than to hand us the controls to the fundamental nature of existence.

We would turn it into a weapon.

We would build a religion around it.

We would appoint ourselves judges of who deserved it.

We would create rules explaining why our experience was holy and someone else’s was not.

We would try to make permanence out of something designed to move.

So the law remains.

And within the law, we move.

We give.

We receive.

We experience.

We learn.

We become finished with one room of consciousness and walk into another.

Christ didn’t come to destroy the law.

He came to remind us that we could walk through it without forgetting what we are.

And that is the freedom we’ve been looking for all along:

Not freedom from the law.

Freedom to live within it.

To stop fighting what cannot be changed.

To stop trying to become something outside of life.

And finally—

to walk.

To experience, to have, and to behold.