The micro being builds. The macro being beholds.
Before the Split
Not a beginning. A break.
We speak of opposites like the gods invented them.
But the gods knew better.
They gave us fire and called it one thing—
then let it burn in two directions.
We call it good or evil.
Light or dark.
Right or wrong.
Sacred or profane.
But what if it was never meant to split?
What if it was only ever meant to stretch?
This is not an essay.
It’s a fracture.
A thread pulled tight across five places
where we were told to choose—
but the soul never did.
I. Where Good and Evil Collapse
We’ve been trained to fear evil and perform good.
To label, defend, divide.
To cleanse ourselves with certainty.
But the soul doesn’t work in categories.
It works in capacities.
Good and evil are not opposites.
They are distortions of power, love, and will—
stretched, suppressed, misunderstood.
Zoroastrianism called evil “the lie.”
Sufis called it “unripe.”
Mystics called it the shadow at the base of the candle.
The micro being builds fences.
The macro being sees the field beneath them.
To awaken is not to defeat evil—
but to see what it once longed to protect.
II. Where Light Needs the Dark
Light gives us sight.
Dark gives us shape.
We fear the dark not because it is empty—
but because it speaks in a voice
our cleverness can’t answer.
Taoism doesn’t resist darkness.
It folds it into the light.
Kabbalah finds the divine hidden in exile.
Zen knows that the candle only matters because of the room it burns in.
We say “bring it to light.”
But some truths are better kept warm in the dark
until they grow teeth, or wings.
The micro being performs in the light.
The macro being listens in the dark.
Let both speak.
They are not rivals.
They are rhythm.
III. Where the Body Speaks First
We treat the body like the cost of incarnation.
Like the spirit was forced to wear it.
But the body is not punishment.
It’s memory.
It aches before you understand.
It softens before you surrender.
The saints fasted.
The mystics trembled.
The dancers turned until self disappeared into spiral.
Tantra said the body is the path.
Jesus said the body is the bread.
Zen says: just walk, just breathe.
The micro being explains.
The macro being inhabits.
And the body?
It remembers what both forgot.
IV. Where the Sacred Doesn’t Announce Itself
We divided the holy from the daily
to keep our hands clean.
But the sacred never stayed where we put it.
It slipped into laundry.
Into traffic.
Into grief.
Into the ordinary hour you nearly missed.
The sacred is not where you go.
It’s how you arrive.
Jewish sabbath.
Zen dishwater.
Celtic soil.
Indigenous sky.
The secular isn’t wrong.
It’s just forgotten.
The micro being waits for the sacred to appear.
The macro being carries it into the room.
You don’t need to go find holiness.
You just need to stop stepping over it.
V. Where Wholeness Doesn’t Solve Anything
You reach the end.
There is no revelation.
Only recognition.
Good and evil still exist.
So do hunger, cruelty, tenderness, light.
Nothing got resolved.
Everything got held.
This is what wholeness means:
not perfect.
Present.
The mystic doesn’t seek to silence tension—
they become its sanctuary.
Not one or the other.
But both, burning in the same breath.
The micro being builds.
The macro being beholds.
You are the place where they meet.
The Space That Doesn’t Tear
There is no closure here.
Just gravity.
You are not here to solve the thread.
You are here to feel its weight.
And if you can feel it—without fleeing—
then you are already whole.
Even if you never say so out loud.
You are not the ends.
You are the tension.
You are the space that doesn’t tear.