Salvation has no deadline. In the present, becoming self-realized has no final cutoff.
A carnival hawker uses words that quietly imply ‘future’.
Because none of the patrons stop to put on their glasses, it’s accepted as real. Friend, ultimately there’s no future (although there’s damn sure a temporal one). Nope, never has been, never will be… no matter how many words pour sand into our RV to cover the realization. Only the present resides without trance.
But… when you’re staring at your fake Rolex, or being hurled through the air on the Ballistic Swing Ride, that big ole’ brain just can’t comprehend it.
Ultimately, there’s no distance between you and that frozen lemonade stand, no seconds of anticipation before the ring goes around the bottle, and no awesome prize that has to materialize because the mechanical turban wearing fortune teller says so. That’s why whenever the future is known or predicted, the observation changes its outcome.
These clown arguments snuck inside your head when they were honking their bulbous noses, and diving over barriers to avoid the charging bull. Contradictions of time slap your face, begging you to question the sturdiness of the bleachers you’re sitting on. They say nothing about the in-carnival rodeo… they’re screaming about ‘you’.
Well seasoned carnival hawkers claim their religious and scientific books predict the future. Their prophesies are temporal distractions meant to be self-fulfilling instructions to your conscious and subconscious. Accurate predictions are not in the ‘future’, they’re the result of present fractal awareness.
Even Zoltar, the Magical Wishing Machine knows the future cannot be predicted. That’s because there’s no future to predict.
And neither does salvation have a timeline, because time doesn’t exist outside the creation of Wills – most of who are more robustly attached to complexity than we dare imagine. In the center of the carnival, we shake hands with the ‘creator of things’, and with our permission dive into shows while forgetting they are just that - shows.
Saving somebody is like thinking you can bring home the best stuffed elephant prize by taking a photograph. Any pacing, nail chewing, and knee shaking one might have about another’s ‘salvation’ is due to the desire to place the dirty boot of your own observation on the head of timeless perspective.
The very concept of salvation borders on carny trickery. Such fretting only reinforces the opposite of what its big mouth is hawking. Salvation has no deadline when you’re outside of time.