2007-11-19-Not Even the Late Autumn Rose Bud
Topic: Not Even the Late Autumn Rose Bud
Group: 11:11 Progress Group
TR: George Barnard
The Scribe: “I Am complete in that I have personality and identity in one. I Am complete in that I have in mind, and clearly so, all of My past and all of My future, of events surrounding Me, and of My labors of ancient times, and of eons still to come, to help attain progress for all in the local universe of My dedication.
“That is to say, My decidedly human friend, that I do not rest on My laurels of past ‘grantings,’ but that I happily, energetically, yet humbly labor away on each new project, knowing the end result of tomorrow, next year, next century, in great and wonderful detail.
“Such knowledge is not often given to you, or indeed to any other mortal, for to truly believe that all, will always, and in all ways be well, would perhaps rob you of your motivation, when your occasionally wavering, but returning sublime trust must rather marshall you on. What about the roses, you ask? (see note.)
“In winter time he enriches the growing beds with mulch. In early spring he checks the fertility of the soil, its depth, moisture, and drainage. And as the first new leaves spring from bare stalks, his sharp eyes search for caterpillars that may devastate the growth, and soon he will check for beatles that may consume the flower buds from within.
“Soon, very soon, all up and down the street will have his blooms in their vases, and few of his gorgeous flowers are discarded.
“You, My beloved mortal friends, are not complete. You are the furthest from complete, and the caterpillar of selfishness may retard your soul growth, and the beatle of hatred may at times eat away at your very heart, and yet this is where the analogy ends, for our universes are designed to be the absolute pinnacle of efficiency, and all past, present and future requirements are seen to.
“No effort is wasted, no soul is lost, no personality discarded, no ‘human rose bud,’ not even the late autumn one, browned by early frost of its own unkindness, wilted by cold dry wind of its greed, consumed by the beatle of its hate, will ever be discarded but for it not awakening to say, ‘I know better now! I will do better now!’
“He is the Creator Father Almighty, who in His infinite wisdom created this universe of universes to be the most efficient organization of all time and eternity, and where all His myriad creatures that are ranked above you human rosebuds, have the Father’s Love to pass onto you, as have I, for you all.
“I Am the Damascus Scribe. I Am Sananda.”
I was shown a garden I kept long ago, with huge, fragrant, burgundy colored roses that flowered for almost eight months of the year.