the difference between God, the “Chairman” of Heaven, and the Creator of this world.

Part 1

Today, I want to highlight a distinction that many overlook—the difference between God, the "Chairman" of Heaven, and the Creator of this world.

Many confuse the two, but their roles are fundamentally different. God, the ruler of heavenly sources and armies, did not create the Earth.

His role is one of leadership, of governing heavenly forces. He is a being of authority, possessing emotions—less intense than those of humans, yet still shaped by a small ego.

A God who can punish, who guides, but who does not create.

Then there is the Creator, also known as the Demiurge—a less benevolent, less generous being.

He created the Earth not as a haven for life but as a prison of flesh. A cunning construct, designed to bind heavenly or energetic beings to the material world. His creation stemmed from envy—envy of the closeness of the light beings to true divinity.

The Earth became the perfect trap, a self-sustaining prison, an endless distraction within the 3D experience.

But, as is often the case with things meant for darkness, they harbor potential for the opposite.

Through the experience of the flesh, through pain and longing, we draw closer to the Source, the true origin—perhaps more than ever before. For the being responsible for all things desired only one thing: to experience itself.

The Universe is this being. We are this being. And this being is us. Between us and creation lies everything the mind can conceive.

As long as it is imaginable—fantastic, alien, boundless—it is real somewhere. Within the infinite cosmos, which is also the mind of this being.

Some time ago, I had a dream. A dream in which I was this primordial being. I drifted through the void.

Eons passed without feeling, without direction, without an awareness of time. No movement, no light. Only endless silence.

Then, faintly, a thought—the first thought. 

It was a question. Why?

With that question came a desire, an immeasurable longing that pierced through the darkness.

And thus, the first emotion was born: longing.

Images followed this desire, emerging from the void like sparks in the night. Worlds teeming with life, with diversity, with unimaginable beauty.

Yet they were only shadows, fragments of an uncreated whole.

When the being we call the Universe felt the longing to be more than just a thought, it became clear that it needed light—a light that would bring everything into being.

And so, the first thought of light was formed.

With a heartbeat beyond time, the darkness was banished.

A blinding white pierced the eternal blackness. The light spread, transforming everything, illuminating everything.

But after a time, the radiant white began to gather, to focus, until a point emerged at the center.

A word formed: perception.

Perception brought forth movement.

The light began to spin, to concentrate. It wrapped itself around the being that had birthed it, settling like a shimmering skin.

And then, forms emerged. Lines extended, becoming fingers, hands.

The being, the Creator of all, looked upon these hands and lifted them. With a single gesture, it glided out of the sphere of light it had formed.

It looked back and saw what it had created—not emptiness, but space, filled with light.

Points began to sparkle—stars, filling the space and imbuing it with life.

And as the being looked upon the sphere before it, the sphere ignited.

A new word formed in the expanse: "Sun." 

For the first time, it shone, and with it came something neither the being nor the space had ever known before—time.

Part 2

The light had pierced the darkness, and energy began to move. Yet the being, the Creator, felt that light alone was not enough.

It was a beginning, a great and radiant beginning—but there was more. 

A new longing stirred, deeper and more urgent than the first.

The desire for companionship.

For while the light filled the void, while suns blossomed and galaxies were placed like countless sparkling jewels in the boundless expanse, a need awakened in the Creator that it had never known.

It no longer wanted to be alone.

This longing for connection, for exchange, for a mirror of itself, gave rise to a new wave of creation. The light began to dance, and from its motion came warmth.

The warmth began to pulse, and from the pulsing came sound. And with sound came the first whisper of emotions.

Each emotion was a wave of energy, a new form of movement flowing through the expanse of creation.

Joy sparkled like a young star.

Curiosity wound its way through dimensions like a silver stream. Loneliness stretched out, like a quiet shadow behind the light.

And love—love was like a flame, permeating everything and binding every point of the universe to the Creator itself.

The being looked upon the countless galaxies that had formed, upon the flood of energy that now filled the void.

But it knew: This alone was not enough.

It wanted life.

It wanted to experience.

It wanted to see, to feel, to taste, to hear—through eyes, through hands, through hearts.

It wanted to understand, in every facet, what it meant to be.

Thus, the next desire formed: encounter.

The being began to fragment itself, dividing into countless pieces of its own essence.

These fragments became the first building blocks of reality—smallest particles that held within them everything that was and would ever be.

These were the tiniest seeds from which stars were born, from which planets grew, from which seas surged and mountains rose.

The being became the wind whipping across waves. It became the heat of the rock within a sun's core.

It became the cold of the vast emptiness between stars.

It was the rain flowing over fields, the snow falling silently in dark forests, and the gentle touch of moonlight on the surfaces of worlds.

Yet the Creator wanted more.

It wanted conscious life.

It wanted to feel the burning of a sun within a soul.

It wanted joy, sorrow, love, and pain.

It wanted the rustle of a leaf in the wind, the whisper of a child, the echo of voices seeking one another.

Thus, the first beings arose. 

Amoebas, bacteria, cells—tiny parts that connected, danced, learned to move and divide.

These smallest parts, the building blocks of life, were as much a part of the Creator as the stars themselves.

And from these first building blocks, more emerged.

The being shaped creatures that crawled, flew, swam.

It became the wolf treading through snow, the bird soaring through the sky.

It became the bear in its den, the fish in the ocean depths.

It became the flower reaching for the light, the tree sinking its roots deep into the earth.

In its longing for experience, the being permeated every form of existence, every possible variation.

It became shadow and light, joy and rage.

It was the stillness of night and the roar of a storm.

Across countless worlds, through countless realities, in countless dimensions and timelines, it created beings that were more than movement and energy.

They were conscious. They were alive.

And so, the Creator became not just the universe but every part of it.

It was in every cell, every atom, every thought.

In everything that had ever existed or would ever exist, it reflected itself.

Everything was One. Everything was the Creator.

Nothing that had ever been connected could ever be separated.

The infinite variety of experiences, of dreams, of longings—they were all one.

And in this unity lay the greatest truth: We are all the Creator. 

Within each of us lives the boundless longing that once gave birth to the universe.

We are the light. We are the darkness.

We are the all and the void. The Alpha and the Omega. The beginning, and the end.

And in this moment, in this very second, as we experience what we call "Now," we fulfill the desire that sprouted eons ago: the longing for more.