The perennial seed was already sewn

A reflection on the eternal pattern of Love, the mystery of the Logos, and the Tree that always pointed to Christ.

In the beginning was the Word.
And the Word was with God.
And the Word was God.
[John 1:1]

Before shame ever settled in the human chest,
before fig leaves were sewn in haste,
before duality fractured our gaze—
the Word was there.

The same Word that called light into being,
that hovered over the waters with breath and beauty,
that danced in the intimacy of “let us make man in our image”—
that Word was always Christ.
[Genesis 1:2]

What is the Logos?

In Greek philosophy, Logos refers to the divine logic, the ordering principle of the cosmos, the reason and pattern beneath all things.
It’s not just a word.
It’s the Breath, the Mind, the Pulse of God.

John’s gospel makes a radical claim:
This divine logic—this eternal ordering force—didn’t stay abstract.
The Logos became flesh.
The invisible became visible.
The divine pattern took on skin and bone, breath and blood.

Jesus was not an afterthought to a fallen world.
He was the Logos. The creative logic beneath creation,
the ache that became answer,
the Love that would one day descend into time
and rise again in glory.

And—this is the mystery—
He was also “the Lamb slain before the foundation of the world.”
[Revelation 13:8]

Which means:
The Cross didn’t emerge after the rupture.
It was already planted in the soil.

Two Trees, One Pattern

There was a tree in Eden.
And there was a Tree at Calvary.
One held the fruit of forbidden knowledge.
The other held the fruit of self-sacrificial love.

But what if they were always part of the same story?

What if the Tree in Eden—so often seen as the site of our downfall—was also the foreshadow?
A whisper in the garden that another Tree would come—
not to condemn our knowledge of good and evil, but to transfigure it?

To show us that Love isn’t about being “right,”
but about being poured out.

The Pattern Was Always the Plan

We were always going to awaken to self-consciousness—
descend into duality.
It’s part of the pattern.
Part of becoming.
The ache of exiting the womb.

God knew we would choose autonomy.
God knew we would fall into ego, separation, shame.

And He created us anyway.

Because already, before time unfurled its first second,
He had woven the Lamb into the loom.
Not to prevent our fall,
but to enter it.

To walk the path of descent before us.
To show us the way, the truth, the light—
how Love goes lower still.
And then to rise—
not just to prove He could,
but to pour out His Spirit
so we could rise with Him.

Not by force,
but by fire.
Not by striving,
but by surrendering to the divine source of love within us all.

This is the Logos brushing over your waters.
This is what your nervous system feels when goosebumps come unbidden and truth stirs in your belly.
It’s not new information.
It’s ancient memory.

You were made from this pattern.
Descend. Die. Resurrect. Return in Love.
The story isn’t linear.
It’s spiral.
And it’s stitched with grace from the inside out.

Epilogue: The Logos and the Universal Ache

Across time and tradition, mystics and sages have traced this same arc:
Descent, suffering, and the longing to return.

The Tao speaks of yielding.
The Buddha teaches detachment.
The Gita reveals the dance of duty and surrender.
And in each whisper, we hear the ache for union—
for the sacred to dwell again with the dust.

This is what some call the Perennial Philosophy:
the belief that beneath every tradition, there lives a single, eternal truth—
That we were made for the Divine,
And that the Divine has never left us.

But Christianity doesn’t just echo this pattern.
It reveals its Person.

Jesus isn’t one teacher among many.
He is the Logos—
the eternal Word,
the logic of Love,
the breath that hovered over the waters,
the Lamb who descended into death before the world began.

The Trinity was never surprised.
Father, Son, and Spirit have always moved in concert.
Outside of time.
Beyond cause and effect.
They knew how the story would unfold—
and proceeded anyway.

Not to demand worship,
but to invite remembrance.

The Seed was sown long before you were born.
And even now—beneath the ache, the questions, the fragments—
you are being drawn back to the Tree.

Not to be punished.
To be healed—
in that sweet, fertile soil
of Divine attunement and attachment.

The Lamb is still rising in the soil of your soul.

What if the Cross wasn’t a reaction to your sin—
but the revelation of Love that was always waiting to bloom?