The Gospel According to Judas - A Handbook on Life

> From this.

I come not to reassure all who call the Christ, Lord, that their places in Heaven are certain. That you who profess with your lips that Jesus is the Son of God are surely written down in the Book of Life. The prophets spoke wisely to some out there, that they praise God with their lips but inwardly are their hearts inclined toward resentment. Do you not have eyes to see? You must not think like those in religious power, who toe the line of a strange messiah; that fellow cannot be the Jesus Christ I have met. Your righteousness cannot be like those who accept that things cannot change, that it has always been like that: the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. I think I must try to love as Jesus Christ loved us, and sing my song to the sinners, the Godless, the heathens, the pagans, the addicts, the perverts, the prostitutes, those who dwell in the darkness by choice or profession. And how will you love? How will you do God’s work?

For my part, you may call me Saint Jude the Tuned In — the twin of Philip K. Dick, who is Saint Jude the Tuned Out — and I am patron saint of all gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transgender, transsexuals, transvestites, and all you other FREAKS out there. And no, I’m not gay, etc.: these do deserve a patron saint, and therefore, since I so have advocated their cause, the higher ups deigned to put that patronage squarely on my shoulders. And I am surely glad of it. Those who would malign these who are different, who give no effort to understand, your own excuses shall be ignored. What hope is there for you, who burn the bridges you yourselves must cross in the pathway of salvation? As you have judged, so shall you be judged. Love returns to its source, and so does hate.

> From this.

As I said previously, it is where in our souls we have said no to the Holy Spirit, these places are where we have died. And it actually takes only one such like that for us to technically be damned. For thus we become imperfect, resigning any infinite nature, and are therefore subject to death. This is of the Age of Iron. So how are we saved, any of us? With God, all things are possible. I have seen glimpses of a Purgatory: it is a place to let go of those places where we died, to let that which is dead die and never again bring them to mind.

Remember how the Lord said, “If your right hand offends you, cut it off,” because it is better to be one-handed than our entirety be thrown into Gehenna? Purgatory is just that. Where the holy fire burns away all sin, and burns off where we have died, and that once we are bathed in the river Lethe, we may enter Heaven true saints: without sin. This is the gift of God to us. This is of the Age of Gold. Nothing we can possibly earn, only that the love of God is so great that He forgives us, even though we are undeserving. For what shall we boast about? That we have done what we are told? Surely, if we do all that we are assigned, we must say, “We are unprofitable servants, for we only did as we were told.” This is the salvation of the Lord: bend thy knee, and be saved.

> From this.

How strong is your faith? It is true that for beginners, we would like to nurture their faith in a friendly environment, not rock their boats too severely. But those who claim to believe, who say they have weathered the years in their faith, yet in truth, they have their faith rooted in flimsy foundation: we don’t want you. If your faith rests on God having made the heaven and the earth in six twenty-four hour days, we don’t want you. If your faith rests on marriage only defined between male and female, we don’t want you. If your faith rests on a Jesus Christ who hates anyone, we don’t want you. For if you do any of these, you are rooted in ignorance, and not faith. He told us a few things that we should do, if we truly believed, and said, “Why do you call me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things I say?” Do we forget what these were? It’s just one word: love. Nothing else.

We don’t want you who follow those dogmatic ways, because we were not told by Him to abandon reason and science, to abandon compassion, to abandon forgiveness for anyone who asks for it. To listen instead to your own prejudices. You adhere to the teachings of mortal men, and not the words of God. Why don’t we forgive you for such things as you do? Because you do not ask for forgiveness, thinking instead you are right in hating in the Lord’s name. Because you do not forgive others, you fools. For He told us to love, and you do not follow that commandment. There is more hope for a criminal than for you, for a criminal knows what he does is wrong. Have you not read? Have you not heard? God is love, and He knows His own, and His own know Him.

> From this.

Eternity has revealed itself to me as if in a fourth spatial dimension, as best I could perceive it from the framework of a mortal, out of my third, or ajna eye. And I saw those who were trapped in the lower realm, those who would never (some, never again) touch the face of God. There was a time when I was with Albert, and the subject of Adolf Hitler came up (last time, promise). Hitler came to me, thinking I could save him based on my old delusions of grandeur, and I just looked away: “I’m not the savior.” And it got around that he ran out of advocates. “He did not survive,” the Lord broke it to Albert and me. The wages of sin is death. Never forget that. This earthly realm, its spirit and its material: all of it shall pass away, along with all those whom Christ does not know.

All I saw in the lower realm, the finite realm, were the faces of the dead. Of those living, those whom Christ gives life eternal to, time is limitless, and spent at one’s leisure; for those cast from Heaven, and those among them born on earth who also chose that direction of destiny, they are as if trapped in a walled off sphere of the aethers, never (again) to reach out to Heaven. They chose the finite, they chose the domain of evil, which was not allowed to stay in Heaven — and was therefore cast out, never again to taint the holy realm. They did it of their own free will, and they are responsible for their actions. Some destined to the outer darkness, and while they breathe, not to breathe of the air of paradise.

> From this.

True love is a love that is meant to be, beyond the imagination of all the storybook writers. It was never meant to be for us, one might posit, like unto a Platonic ideal from which all other loves are shadows of it. It is pretty much understood that it has never once surfaced in the waking world, no Cinderella, no Snow White, not for real. We have grown to accept it, that’s reality. A real-life prince is not like what the cartoons imply one is. There is no fairy godmother, and the pumpkin remains a pumpkin. Yet we will still seek it out, the romantics of us. Every once in a while, one of us to find someone with whom we think we have it: love, true love. Even if somewhere very far buried is the voice that says no, that actually isn’t what we were talking about. (So what, right? Close enough.)

A love that is truly meant to be is the reward we all seek, but we will find that we on this world are involved not in the destination, only the journey. Along the way, we will find meaning here and there, and we will find love that is “meant to be,” of a sort; but the meaning in true love, the love divine — this is stuff not to be comprehended while still within the sphere of the material. This world was not meant for that kind of crown. Only transcendent can such love exist, and it is too huge for the entire world to hold. Thus in the idea that there is a meaning of life: one believes, dreams that there is some formula or philosophy or poetry, but we will always be short of inventing one that is really satisfying. Because the meaning of life is in love’s true fulfillment, and none of us will ever know it, in this world. Not to say in settling for what we get, here and now, that we are getting nothing. It’s just that there is more than meets the eye. You’ll see.

> From this.

“Operationally, God is beginning to resemble not a ruler but the last fading smile of a cosmic Cheshire cat.” Julian Huxley said that, and I can quite see his point, why it looks as it does. Right? What Huxley is talking about is that we used to think the answer for everything was simply, “God”. Lightning, rain, sunlight — God controlled everything. Now that we’ve found the scientific connections and explanations, where is there room for God? Way back when, in Eden, He would come down to earth and walk among us, tell us directly what we should and shouldn’t be doing. From that, in the generations to come, He would retreat, farther and farther up in His cloud, so that in these days, He is almost like a rumor rather than the Main Story.

Well, for my part, God has spoken to me, directly, though it was much of the time like unto the prophets of old, where true He spoke, but He spoke in riddles to me. I am no Moses. And you are now reading the book of my prophecy, what the Lord revealed to me, some directly, some teased out of the Mystery.

What if God always was at a place we can never reach — namely, infinity — and before, the primitive means of understanding Him that He gave us were like an adult who stoops down to the level of a child? As the child learns more, he finds that the world is so much richer than he had ever thought before, and more mysterious. God’s connection to the world seems more and more subtle not because He has changed, but that our understanding of everything has changed; ultimately that our purpose in knowing: it is to transcend knowledge… if one is ever ready for it, a pure perception then how God is beyond, beyond all things… and waits for us to comprehend the magnitude of heaven.

> From this.

Does the world make sense to you? If not, you are among the vast majority. Sure, our world makes sense enough: wake up, go to work, they give you money, you buy things, find someone and make a family: if you want to see it that way, no problem, really — some will say that that is the world making sense to them. But look out the window, or better yet, watch the television, and there’s a whole mess of stuff that begs to be sorted out. Why do bad things happen to good people? That is the classic case of the world not making sense. Life isn’t fair. (Though once, I overheard, “What’s unfair about life is that it is fair.” Don’t know how much I believe that.) Perhaps I’ve written in this general vicinity previously, enough so that you can tell what I’ll be pitching your way in this field.

So, can you do it? Can you make sense of all the world, the universe and everything in it? Is that possible for a mere mortal to achieve? What if one can answer “yes” to that? Would you put your neck out there with the solution to it all? And not just the number “42” am I talking about. And if one does figure it out, can it be put into words, even? Is it some sort of transcendental vapor-talk that says sounds that seem like words, but don’t quite behave like them? Perhaps some really do have eyes to see. Let me tell you for our part that Philip K. Dick and I are witnesses to all that was, all that is, and all that is to come. In the paradigm of the bare metal of Creation. As I’ve written, he laid down the groundwork (to the tune of some 8,000 handwritten pages), and I am here to make sense of things, based on those and other previous works.

Simply put, if one only is to see what is material, it is not to see the whole route of where destiny leads, for most if not all of the destinies of the people in the world. Everyone has a destiny, and this is necessarily a non-material thing. For destinies cannot be traded, like coins. If you see only a part of the puzzle and think that is all there is, you will never solve it. Thus to think that the world is inherently meaningless: because the meaning is not seen with those eyes that you are used to. And too, sometimes to think it makes sense because you see only a piece of the piece (where things work out), and you are only playing with toys, with hollow models of things. For to see the grandness is also all the tragedy and woe, and to know where these things fit, too. As the mote in the eye of God.

What if it all does make sense?