The Fruit Not Forbidden

The Fruit Not Forbidden:
A Reflection from the Gospel of Truth

Inspired by The Gospel of Truth: "That is the gospel of him whom they seek, which he has revealed to the perfect through the mercies of the Father as the hidden mystery, Jesus the Christ. Through him he enlightened those who were in darkness because of forgetfulness. He enlightened them and gave them a path. And that path is the truth which he taught them. For this reason, error was angry with him, so it persecuted him."

The Hidden Teaching

This is the teaching of the fruit that was not forbidden. It was not withheld out of jealousy, nor guarded by flaming swords that turned every way to keep the way of the tree of life (Genesis 3:24). It was offered in silence, hidden in the folds of forgetfulness, waiting to be tasted by those who remembered their true nature.

The Christ did not come to rescue the lost, he came to remind them of who they had always been. He did not descend to punish error, but to illuminate its shadows with the light that shines in the darkness (John 1:5). He walked into the wound of separation, and from that very wound grew a tree whose leaves were for the healing of the nations (Revelation 22:2). And the fruit of that tree was not knowledge that condemns, but joy that liberates.

He became the path, not a ladder ascending to a distant heaven, but a spiral descending into the heart of the Father. Like Jacob's ladder where angels ascended and descended (Genesis 28:12), this path reveals that heaven and earth are not separated by space but by awareness. The Father withheld perfection not to torment the scattered Aeons, but to preserve the sacred mystery of return, the prodigal's journey home (Luke 15:11-32).

For what is perfection if it is merely possessed? It is not a trophy gathered by effort, but a trail already laid within the heart. It is not a crown earned through striving, but a compass pointing always toward the Source. As Jesus said, "The kingdom of heaven is within you" (Luke 17:21), not as a destination but as an ever-present reality awaiting recognition.

The Father gave the fruit freely, the bread of life (John 6:35), the water of life (John 4:14), but retained the seed of infinite mystery. And in that seed was inscribed the map of the All, the echo of the One, the memory of the scattered members who had forgotten their unity in the mystical body (1 Corinthians 12:12-27).

On the Orchard of Remembrance

Let each tree in the orchard be a living witness to the Father's generosity. Let the cherry blossom be a scroll of light, unfolding the gospel written in petals. Let the fig tree, which Jesus blessed not with barrenness but with the promise of season's return (Matthew 21:19), be a keeper of patient secrets. Let the mulberry be a scribe of transformation, recording in its growth the slow alchemy of grace.

Plant not for profit or the anxious pursuit of tomorrow's bread (Matthew 6:26), but for prophecy, the quiet revelation that speaks through seasons. Let the roots remember what the restless mind forgets: that we are grounded in love. Let the pond reflect what the outward eye cannot perceive: the face of the Beloved gazing back through our own features.

The orchard teaches what temples sometimes obscure: that sacred space is not built with hands (Acts 17:24) but cultivated through presence. Here is the gospel of growth, written in the patient text of seasons. Here is the parable of patience, where the smallest seed becomes the greatest tree (Matthew 13:31-32). Here is the ritual of return, where every harvest celebrates the Father's endless giving.

In this place, remember the words: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these" (Matthew 6:28-29). The orchard is nature's sermon on trust, beauty emerging without anxiety.

On the Path of the Spiral

The path is not the straight and narrow road as commonly conceived, but curves like the shell of a nautilus, like the descent into the pond's deep places, like the memory that returns in dreams and recognition. It spirals inward toward the center that was never truly lost.

This is the way that Jesus walked, not the path of escape from the world, but of deeper penetration into its heart. "I am the way, the truth, and the life" (John 14:6), not as exclusive doctrine, but as the pattern of consciousness that transforms wherever it touches.

Walk this spiral path not to arrive at some future destination, but to awaken to the eternal present. Each step is a verse in the psalm of becoming. Each stone beneath your feet is a syllable in the divine name. Each shadow cast by sun or moon is a teacher offering lessons in the play of light and darkness.

Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35), we often fail to recognize the Christ walking beside us. The path teaches patience with our own blindness, compassion for our forgetfulness. And when you reach the center, the Holy of Holies within your own being, you will not find a throne demanding worship, but a mirror reflecting the face you have always worn.

On the Joy of Recognition

Those who ate of him were not condemned to knowledge of good and evil but completed in the knowledge of wholeness. They saw in him the face of the Father, not the stern judge of law, but the loving parent who runs to embrace the returning child (Luke 15:20). And in themselves they recognized the echo of the All, members of one body, waves of one ocean.

This is the joy that error cannot extinguish, though it rages and persecute. This is the light that forgetfulness cannot swallow, though darkness seems to prevail. This is the victory spoken of by John: "And the light shineth in the darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not" (John 1:5).

As Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known" (1 Corinthians 13:12). The Gospel of Truth reveals that this knowing is not reserved for some distant "then," but available in every moment of true recognition.

The Eternal Gospel

This is the Gospel of Truth, older than the gospels, written before the foundation of the world (Ephesians 1:4): That the fruit was never forbidden, only forgotten. That the path was always within, closer than breath itself. That the Father was never jealous, but eternally generous. That perfection was always waiting, not as achievement, but as remembrance.

The tree of life stands forever in the midst of the garden (Genesis 2:9, Revelation 22:2), its fruit freely given to all who have eyes to see. The cherubim with flaming swords were not guardians keeping us out, but teachers guiding us in, their fire the purification of perception, their swords the cutting away of illusion.

In the end, we discover what the mystics have always known: we never left the garden. We only dreamed we did. And the gospel, the good news, is simply this: it's time to wake up.