We are the last King, the first King, the only King, the always King, because we are all of the one. We are king over all things and king over nothing but ourselves. We have no power; we are the power.
“I see the faces of my Mamma and Pabbi but I see nothing of the four brothers that died young, leaving me as the lone child,” our Jon voice said.
“You do not see them because they are you,” our Snorri voice said.
We are returned, as we always are, innumerable, in numbers greater than of all the stars and planets, bonded as one yet remaining distinct. To come and go over eternity, to experience all the separate lives, some as brief as an instant, some sustained for eons, this is we, the Singularity of all things. Like closing our eyes then opening them to a new existence, with no recollection of the Singularity or our other existences.
‘Let’s go there.’ Our choice is delight by intention, for good or not, for joy or not, for suffering, despair or lust or happiness so great it makes us cry. Then return to our Singularity and bring these bits of existence back so all can experience what we know, again and yet again, as we have always known.
Reach out, touch a spark, and draw back with the experience of it, to know what measure of love it had. Whether pure love or negative love or something in between, learn each time that it matters what we do when we love, whether by serendipity or intention.
To go there again, as we have always done. Let me, let we, let us take you there.
End
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Wade Harold Johnson - Canadian Novelist/Poet 