Sorin Cerin Thus Quotations

It is possible to claim only through extrapolation, by abstracting, by redrawing the man from his voyage of his own imaginary Destiny that the Creating Factor and Unique Accidental one, the Matrix Word of Love is a God of man, because the Creating Factor and Unique Accidental one is the attribute of the Matrix Word of Creation and determines the image of Knowledge, it is a stranger to existence even if he determines it. It is a stranger and it is outside the existence because the Existence becomes a mere Personalisation of the Person, and the existence, just like other personalizations before it, has a infinity of opposites, and our Creating Factor which is Love, determines this infinity of opposites of the existence, thus making whole the infinite worlds of Knowledge, worlds of The Image, worlds of reflection, worlds with DESTINY!

The Absolute Truth of Knowledge is precisely non-Knowledge. If this Mirror called Knowledge remains in the phase where nothing is reflected in it, then it does not have a Self anymore, it does not have any element, is as empty and sterile as if it were not. Thus the Mirror is non-Knowledge more than it is Knowledge and becomes Knowledge only when other Prints of the Matrix Words reflect in it.

Blessed is he who believes in the illusion because thus he can find his great truth!

The original sin appeared only when man accepted defeat, denying his own Self in favor of the outside one of the world to which he belongs and thus fragmenting the image on his own Destiny, which is composed of the outside world and the Sacred Self in the inside.

By loving, the man becomes saint and thus he becomes Destiny!

Not even man that will re-find himself will be able to remove the vanity from this diabolic world, but he can change it from a vanity of his ideological debauchee into a vanity of self reconciliation. The divinity in man cannot admit vanity and thus it will try to replace it with new reasons for which we are born, but it will finally understand that everything is a big vanity and a great sin that no longer belongs to us but to the print that whispered our existence, full of the thorns of the moments that hunt us.