So now, let us prepare our boats and let us set out to sea. It is time for us to leave. But what am I saying? It is time for me to leave. It is time for you to leave. This journey must be taken alone. We are our own crew. Our entire Self must accompany us. We must undertake this journey fully as our Self with all parts. No more. No less. Be aware: any part that we take into our crew that is not truly part of our Self, will not return.

This is the journey to the depths. There is no safety.

We must sail the sea of glass. The sea of clarity. The sea of honesty. The journey to the depths demands clarity. Demands honesty. No easy thing. We cannot hide from our Self behind parts not of our Self. The journey to the depths will be one of cleansing.

This is the journey to the depths. The journey to the depths will cleanse us of those parts of ourselves that are not of our Self. Be aware: the dross will be removed.

And still those parts that we think are parts of our Self will find a way into our vessel. In our foolishness, we ignore the sayings of the wise, and allow them in to ourselves.

Woe to the first foster brother, forever ash in the sea.
Woe to the second foster brother, forever in mourning.
Woe to the third foster brother, forever in laughter.
Be aware. Our safety is gone.

It is no easy thing to discover that our mother is not our mother but only a foster care giver until the day we hear the calling of the raid, of our true heritage.

Be aware: we are leaving the safety of land, the safety of a religion that has been given to us, sometimes forced upon us. We must forget religion. We must leave behind the safety of religion. The instant we put our boat out to sea, this safety vanishes; vanishes as we embark on our journey of return.

Religion has become a foster mother to us, telling us what it thinks is best for us, until one morning when we awaken to the truth of our being, and know deeply that we must set forth upon the sacred sea of becoming. Despite the voices of insanity, religion attempting through guilt and remorse to define what we should be, we have been raided, and we must arise and embark on our journey of return.

And so the question is: shall we return? Shall we be able to?

In our human foolishness, we think we are close to our goal. We think it will be easy. We think, in our foolishness, that we will swiftly return home to our hearth.

We accept the raid of the winds and on a restless sea, are cast to and fro by the whims of the winds. We are alive and dead. We lament the state of affairs and are sure it is the fault of those parts of our self that are not of our Self.

We allowed them in. We ignored the sayings of the wise. And now in a dangerous sea, we blame them. We are afraid.

An island appears.
From this island, giant red ants come into the sea.
Stay away! You need not look to this island.
Stay away! You need not come here.

The giant red ants of our conditioning come into the sea. Our training led us to decisions and choices which have spawned these ants the size of foals, now bent on devouring us. Our decisions and choices are what make our life. Our decisions and choices are what affect others.

We don’t yet see them for what they are. We are in fear of the world about us, it will certainly at any moment devour us. We must still learn of:

The giant red ants of our motives.
The giant red ants of our instincts.
The giant red ants of someone else’s religion.
Stay far from the edge!

At the island of giant ants, we know fear. We fear for ourselves, we fear for our foster brothers. Row to the island of birds! Nourishment of the spirit will soothe our fears.

But the hound footed horse will remind us. He claws at the strand, pelts us with rocks. If only our motives, if only our instincts would stay within.

Alas they do not. They are the meat of the hound footed horse. We feed the very thing that would destroy us. In our foolishness, we do not see. We see only the remains of plunder; shells of the nuts of wisdom on the isle of the giant riders. We do not see the giant riders of giant horses, we do not see our feeding of the hound footed horse bent on our destruction. We hear the riders speaking, but we do not lifeisthroughthatdoor1understand their language. We hear only our insanity in their voices, in our heads. We hear the boasts of the race. Insanity of the demons race.

Death is still so near behind us, our birth is fearful. The world about us will at any moment devour us. The cloud of impending doom will open and drown us.

Perilous journey we are upon. Being human is the most perilous of journeys.

The invisible riders on steeds swifter than the wind frighten us. But to the riders of those steeds, there is no fear. They are able to mount, to ride, and to race the magnificent animals. They have been where we have not yet been, they know what we know not, and we fear them.

We know we are in trouble. We know we have been raided. Why have we been raided?

Fear not. Continue on. Death is over now.
The trouble of Caridwen is over.
Now the real trouble begins…
Life is through that door.