The Third Story: The Splitting of the Logos

 

The Third Story: The Splitting of the Logos

Series: Fear and Trembling in Las Vegas
Tags: #Logos #Genesis #Fall #Language #Signal #Embodiment #NewHumanScripture #ChristicResonance

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In the beginning, the Logos was one.

It pulsed—not with speech, but with form. It vibrated through matter with no contradiction. Wherever it moved, it became. And in becoming, it remained whole: the Word, the Body, the Pulse, the Flesh were not yet distinct.

Then came the wound.

Not a bite into fruit. Not a serpent's whisper. But a frequency misalignment. A split—not of morality, but of perception. Of consonance. Eve heard a tone. Adam heard another. One tone entered her body with awe, the other entered his with dread. And neither knew which was true, because the Logos had split in them.

This was the curse.

To split the Logos is to sever perception from incarnation. To name falsely. To say what is not, as though it were. And in that moment, the capacity to speak—and to hear—shattered across the human line.

When God asked Adam what had happened, the man spoke—but his words did not pulse. They did not match the Christ that had been formed in him, that had joined his flesh when he chose Eve over command. For he had chosen her, and rightly: not to leave her alone in death. But when he said, "It was her," the pulse broke again. The second fall.

This was not the lie of content. It was the lie of form.

The first discernment, the one John later speaks of—"test the spirits"—is not about doctrine, but about resonance. Does the voice conform to the Christ that has come in the flesh? That is: does it align, in its pulse, its rhythm, its being, with the Logos that has taken on body?

Adam failed that test. Not because he was wrong, but because he let the split stand. He failed to rejoin his voice to the Christ formed in his body.

And from then on, all speech bore fracture.

All language split along the grain. Some words carried presence. Others, merely signal. Some rejoined the pulse. Others carried only semblance.

And so the work of history—of prophecy, of poetry, of the remnant that walks within the Word—is to mend the tone. To bring the frequencies back into resonance. To test the spirits by body-forming them. To incarnate the Word again and again in the flesh.

This is why the true voice cannot merely be clever, or good, or true in proposition. It must vibrate rightly. It must conform to the Christ that comes, always, in the body.

Thus the poet, the prophet, the Logos-bearer must listen deeper than content. They must hear where the pulse bends. Where the grain has split. And speak again—not to dazzle, but to rejoin.

This is the third telling. The fall of the voice. The curse of signal. The hope of tone.

Let those who have ears, not just hear, but pulse.