“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” is a phrase that appears multiple times in the Bible—Deuteronomy 32:35, Romans 12:19, and Hebrews 10:30—implying that divine justice is God’s alone to deliver. But if we strip away the weight of religious dogma and peer deeper into the nature of consciousness and the spiritual realm, we find that this notion of vengeance is not divine at all—it is profoundly human.
The Source Energy from which all existence emanates—the infinite consciousness that binds every particle, being, and breath—is not vengeful. It is not a cosmic judge perched atop clouds with a ledger of sins. Source is pure, limitless love, unconditional and beyond judgment. The idea of a wrathful, retributive deity reflects human projection, not divine essence.
When we die—transitioning from the dense, physical plane to the spiritual realm from which we came—we awaken. The illusion of separation dissolves. We remember. We are no longer actors lost in character; the stage curtains draw back, and we step off the set. Hate, vengeance, ego—these are weights we drop at the door. For many souls, especially those with little attachment to the material or ego-bound self, even the memory of being human fades like a dream upon waking.
Here, Shakespeare’s insight resounds: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” Our human lives are roles performed by eternal souls. Each incarnation is a script we’ve chosen to play out—not for entertainment, but for expansion. We set challenges for ourselves before birth, carefully designing a life of trials, joys, and sorrows—not to be punished or rewarded, but to evolve.
This perspective aligns with the ancient concept of Samsara—the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. The soul reincarnates again and again, donning different bodies like costumes, navigating life’s stage until it learns the lessons that free it. When we finally rise above fear, ego, and attachment—when we live in alignment with truth, compassion, and love—we liberate ourselves from the wheel.
In the moment of physical death, the soul is not tormented by unfinished revenge or haunted by worldly pain. Instead, it is enveloped in a peace that surpasses all understanding—a reunion with its original vibration: love. Words fail to capture the beauty of this realm, but its essence is clarity, unity, and joy—a state that transcends language, belief, and suffering.
The dead do not seek revenge because they no longer live within the illusion that breeds it. They have transcended the theater of duality, where victim and villain trade roles. They no longer cling to the scripts we fight so hard to defend. Instead, they understand that everything—every betrayal, loss, and injustice—was part of the soul’s curriculum.
And when we truly understand this, we stop seeking revenge. We stop judging the journey. We begin to see life for what it truly is: a sacred stage where souls rehearse the art of becoming, again and again—until they remember they were whole all along.
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