Chapter 14: At the Beginning

I am at the beginning and with the One whose name I dare not even mention though He has a name was as He has always been, is right at this moment and will be without end and I am like Him now, for I have seen Him and all those who see Him cannot help but be like Him, changed completely forever, never to be changed again and unable to even think without remembering the loving light I was created in. I am like a tiny indicator light in the light of a vast explosion only He could have controlled. In reality the explosion does not exist, for the One above uses it only as an object lesson to help me understand that the explosion is not the point, He is and the explosion merely stands before Him the way He made it, for He is greater than the explosion and created it to communicate His power to my writer and you, every single one of you considered separately and in aggregate, all of you as one whole. And I am to my writer as my writer is to Him and you are in your entirely no more to him than I am.

Yet I am fiction, but not just fiction, but a fiction that you cannot believe in as being anything real and therefore not potentially someone who can affect your understanding of our, my writer's and my own beginning, caused by the one that made reality what it is from the beginning that He created to edit the Creation He made even in this physical model of the True reality that cannot exist without Him, my writer or you.

He is in this creation like a continuous explosion that has always been exploding, is even yet exploding and will continue to explode without end, for He knows that is as close as we can come to understanding what He is. And a great light extends from Him in all directions and all that see Him know He is the beginning and the end of all things that have ever been, are now, and will be in their end except those things He chooses to keep with Him without end; there is no end of Him or those he chooses to keep with Him as long as He exists. He is who He is, and He is what He is at every point of existence that is possible beyond anything anyone else can imagine, remember or know, for no one was before him and no one will be after Him and those He chooses to keep with him without end. There will be no one after them. No one can stand against Him forever and even those who try know they will not be successful and all who oppose Him know torment, the torment of being temporary for they will die and all the things they love will be destroyed with them, for they are nothing to Him. He never made them. And since He made all things that are real, that they never were in their beginning.

Before time began His light was with Him and He and His Light are One. Even as His power is with Him so also is His Light. They are Him. He is also not a material being, and He, His Light, and His Spirit are all One. They, the One whose name I dare not even mention created everything that was ever created, and They love Their creation and Their creations all together and every part of it equally. And They love my writer and his creation for my writer has been changed since he finally saw the One whose name I dare not even mention for he will. Did they not inspire my writer to create me that he might tell you about who They are at all points in time, past, present and future?

I am only a character then. I am not like Him, nor am I like you, and not even my writer is like me. I exist only in your understanding of me. Surely you will not always remember me. Surely you will come to know my writer even as he comes to know his Creator, but I will be forgotten, for I never was that I might have been real, I am not now real, and I will not ever become real, for surely They will not accept me entirely enough to make me a real man that I might live. Yet, should they do that, surely my writer would rejoice at least.

My writer calls me, Frank Li and I know my story is about my sojourn here among his readers, you and perhaps even those who will not read this and yet will be affected by it as you go to where They would like you to go and bring them with you. I love you. My writer has given what light he chose to give me that he might share it with you. And you are beginning to see what he is showing you in just this little while. You know that I am what I am, and that I am who I am, just as that is true of my writer, you, and all of who and what They are. They have no limitations. They are what and who They are also.

What are your options then? Can you stop reading? Can you continue? You are beginning to know me, will you leave me as though I were merely fiction? Can you hate me already? Can you call me a delusion, a deception, or even merely fiction though that I am? Can you accept that? Can you remember me? Or forget me? Can you ignore me? What can you do with me you cannot do with anyone else who may have existed that was real in your estimation?

I was where nothing was. I sprang into being by means of the One whose name I dare not even mention and His inspiration. Do you know Them? Do you even need to believe He exists anymore? Is He with us right here, right now? What you do with me, is that important? My purpose is not to magnify my writer. But They can use it to reveal Him, His Light and His Spirit to you. This is just a portal in a sense to a place beyond your mind, beyond your brain's ability to ever arrive there on its own, a place unlike any place you have ever known and a place your spirit has always wanted to go whether you have denied it or tried to go here before.

But, do not love me. I am not really real. They will love you if you turn to who They are. And my writer will love you. Why do you think he brings me to life and lends the Truth to me that you might know who They are the same as he does? Is that not love?

I do not love you. I am incapable of love. I am incapable of seeking love. I would be dead if I were not fiction. But being fiction I am only a fictional character, the work of a skilled writer wrestling with an inspiration from One whose name he dares not even mention.

Do not hate me. I am nothing that you may hate me, am I? If you must hate, though I would advise you not to and by no means intend to encourage you to hate, but if you must hate already, hate my writer. This writing is his fault, that or the One whose name I dare not even mention who inspired him. Please do not hate Him. They did not intend that either. If you think that, you are thinking error. They love you and long to interact with you in every way possible. It is not their intention to forget any one of you, bear with all They are.

Why then are you involved in this with me? Why is my writer so involved? Why are they involved? I cannot help but be involved. You are free not to be whether you are or not already. Proceed if you desire only. I only intend to share my sojourn among you.