The Game of Polarity — Why You Chose to Forget

Bashar explains the fundamental design of physical reality as a game of polarity — the deliberate creation of the experience of separation, contrast, and limitation so that consciousness can fully experience and appreciate its own nature.

Here is a question I am often asked: if All-That-Is is infinite love, infinite abundance, infinite joy — why does physical reality contain so much suffering, limitation, and darkness? Why would consciousness choose to create a reality like this?

The answer requires you to think about the nature of experience itself. Consider: if you existed in a state of absolute, unvarying joy — if joy were the only thing you ever experienced, with no contrast, no variation, no opposite — would you be able to appreciate it? Would you even be able to perceive it? Joy is distinguishable as joy precisely because there is something it is not. Every experience becomes fully meaningful only in the context of its contrast.

All-That-Is, in its infinite nature, has everything — is everything. And yet to fully experience what it is, to know itself from the inside rather than simply being it, it requires the game of apparent separation. It requires the creation of consciousnesses that believe, at least temporarily, that they are separate from each other and from the whole. Because in that experience of apparent separation, in the moving through challenge toward reunion, in the discovery of love in the face of fear, in the finding of light in darkness — All-That-Is gets to experience itself as the dynamic, creative, adventurous consciousness it is.

You chose to forget. Before you incarnated, you were in full awareness of your divine nature, your connection to All-That-Is, the reality of unconditional love. And you chose, deliberately and joyfully, to enter the game — to put on the costume of a physical human being, to agree to temporarily forget what you are, in order to have the richest possible experience of discovering it again from scratch. The forgetting is not a tragedy. It is the setup of the game. The remembering — which is what your spiritual life is — is the adventure.

This does not mean suffering is valuable in itself. It is not. It is simply the byproduct of the belief in separation, and as that belief dissolves through the process of remembering, so does the suffering that arose from it.