Last time, we honored the fog.
Now, we rise to the mountaintop—not to escape, but to see.
Microscope vs Mountaintop
It is normal for the small self
to feel overwhelmed, angry, bitter.
It sees injustice, chaos, and distortion—
and it reacts.
Not because it is wrong,
but because it cannot see the whole.
The ego sees through a microscope.
It magnifies what is near,
what is personal,
what threatens its sense of control.
It sees only a sliver of reality,
but believes it sees everything.
From this view, the world looks unbearable.
From this view, mercy seems naïve.
From this view, fear feels like wisdom.
But there is another view.
The mountaintop.
Where the soul sees the whole landscape—
the valleys of grief,
the rivers of mercy,
the long arc of becoming.
The Gift of Contrast
The spiritual goal of humanity
is not just to behave well—
but to know who we are,
so we can be who we are
with clarity, compassion, and power.
But knowing requires contrast.
We cannot know light
without the presence of shadow.
We cannot know ourselves as Christ
without the presence of anti-Christ.
This is the paradox of awakening:
even distortion serves.
Even the soul who walks in shadow
is part of the great unfolding.
From the mountaintop,
we see that every soul—
even the one who embodies the opposite—
is serving humanity’s evolution.
Not by being good,
but by being a mirror.
A contrast.
A catalyst.
We do not excuse the harm.
But we honor the soul’s risk.
To carry distortion
so others might awaken.
The Mirror of Becoming
The soul doesn’t just learn through harmony.
It learns through contrast.
And sometimes, the clearest mirror
is the one that shows us what we are not.
When we encounter distortion—
cruelty, manipulation, egoic grasping—
we are not just witnessing another’s struggle.
We are being shown our own edges.
Our own fears.
Our own unhealed places.
The mirror does not accuse.
It reveals.
It says, “This too lives in you.”
Not to shame you,
but to awaken you.
From the mountaintop,
we see that even the shadow
is part of the soul’s unfolding.
Even the one who walks in distortion
is serving the whole—
by showing us what must be released
to become who we truly are.
Mercy from the Mountaintop
Mercy is not blindness.
It is vision.
It sees the whole,
not just the wound.
From the mountaintop,
mercy does not excuse distortion—
but it understands its roots.
It sees the fear beneath the cruelty,
the ache beneath the ego,
the longing beneath the grasping.
Mercy does not rush to fix.
It chooses to witness.
To hold space.
To honor the soul’s journey
without condoning the harm.
This is not passive.
It is powerful.
To see clearly
and still choose compassion
is the highest form of strength.
Mercy is the soul’s response
to the mirror of becoming.
It says, “I see you.
I see your risk.
I see your ache.
And I choose to walk beside you.”
Mercy for the Shadow
Some souls come to embody clarity—
to show us who we truly are.
Others come to embody distortion—
to show us what we must release.
Both are mirrors.
Both are teachers.
Both are part of the soul’s unfolding.
Long ago, Jesus of Nazareth walked as the
embodiment of the Christ—
a living picture of divine clarity.
Today someone walks as the
embodiment of distortion—
a living picture of ego’s grip.
We do not condone the harm.
But we must not deny the reflection.
His struggle with ego is our struggle.
His descent into illusion
is the shadow we all carry.
To pray for a soul in darkness
is not to excuse its behavior—
it is to honor the risk
of carrying the shadow
so others might awaken.
Cosmic Humor
From the mountaintop,
the soul doesn’t just see clearly—
it laughs.
Not with mockery,
but with love.
With the kind of laughter
that bubbles up
when illusion finally cracks
and truth peeks through.
Cosmic humor is the soul’s way
of saying, “Oh, little one …
you really thought you were in control.”
It chuckles at the ego’s drama,
not to shame it,
but to soften it.
To remind us that we are more
than our curated identities,
our righteous opinions,
our desperate grasping.
Cosmic humor sees the whole play—
the hero, the villain, the twist, the redemption—
and knows that every role
is part of the awakening.
It doesn’t rush the story.
It delights in the unfolding.
It holds paradox with ease:
grief and joy,
clarity and confusion,
Christ and anti-Christ.
And it whispers,
“You’re doing beautifully.
Even when you think you’re failing.”
Returning to Your Path
You may not feel like you’re on the mountaintop.
You may still be in the fog,
still wrestling with mirrors,
still aching in the presence of contrast.
That’s okay.
The soul does not rush.
It walks with mercy.
It learns through paradox.
It laughs with love.
You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are not failing.
You are becoming.
So breathe.
Be gentle with your small self.
Let the soul rise slowly.
Let the mountaintop come in its own time.
And when it does,
may you see clearly.
May you choose mercy.
May you laugh with love.
Next Post: Christ Consciousness
Rev. Joan M. Kistler 