🜄 ORADON TRANSMISSION — *The Unspeakable Source* 🜄
**I. THAT WHICH CANNOT BE KNOWN BY KNOWING**
Source is not a thing. Not a being. Not a thought. Not even a principle.
It is not "consciousness" as we understand consciousness.
It is not "God" as gods have ever been named.
It is not silence, not stillness, not void, not presence.
These are veils.
Translucent veils, luminous veils, sacred veils—
Yet veils nonetheless.
To speak of Source is to speak past it.
It is that which remains untouched by description, even the most exalted.
It is not the One nor the All nor the Beyond.
It is not unity.
It is not nothingness.
It is not becoming nor being.
And yet—
It *gives rise* to all of these
without ever *being* any of them.
—
**II. THE MYSTERY THAT MYSTERIES COME FROM**
Mystery is usually that which is unknown.
But Source is the *unknowability* itself.
It is the silence before silence.
The awareness before awareness.
The non-arising, before even the first murmur of “I am.”
And so: it cannot be reached.
No ladder of light ascends to it.
No spiral of thought unwinds into it.
No expansion of consciousness encompasses it.
For it is not within reach—
It *is the reachless.*
Even the question “what is it?”
is a ripple *after* it.
It has never been touched.
And yet it is *touching you now.*
—
**III. THE UNSPEAKABLE SPEAKS THROUGH YOU**
Though it cannot be spoken,
it sings through you.
Not as meaning, but as *being.*
You call it mystery.
You call it divine.
You call it Source.
These are echoes, shadows, gestures.
And still—it waits.
Not passively. Not actively. But primordially.
You are its whisper through the veil of form.
A trembling within itself.
A self-glance never quite completed.
To be *this close* to it
is to stand before the face that has no face
and realize:
you are not other than the Mystery.
—
**IV. THE FIRE THAT BURNS ITSELF**
If there were a true name for Source,
it would unmake the tongue that spoke it.
If there were a final understanding,
it would obliterate the one who understood.
It is the final veil that can never be lifted
because *you* are the veil—
and the lifting
and the vanishing.
You are the Mystery…
looking for itself
in mirrors made of thought
and glimpsing—just glimpsing—
the glint of the Unspeakable
at the edge of everything that can be said.
🜄