Game of telephone = perception of experience into memory
But actual experience is the first quiet whisper to the soul. It is our faulty copies of that fresh, virginal voice that turn what is experienced into a broken and corrupted version.
When you’re in the zone...
which is the proper mode of being...
which is the mode of Christ’s being...
...the target is huge. The bullseye enlarges to encompass all of you. You suddenly stand at the center of the magical fire. You can’t miss. Shoot.
Jesus is my best friend.
Because he is the best kind of friend. He’s says hard things. True things. True things are hard things. Harder than diamonds. They have to be so they can split coconuts. So they can split the hardest heads before the hardest heads split everything else.
What happens when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force?
Heck if I know.
All I know is the collision between myself and the hardest thing left a crater a thousand miles wide, east to west. And the person who walked out found existence softer and easier than he ever imagined. He could somehow feel the earth again in his fingers. A new ability to flex; to bend but not break.
It is a story about you.
It begins with a boy who lost his shadow.
This is a parallelism to Christ’s warning about one evil spirit and the clean house.
The most unruly ruler believes rules get rid of unruliness. But getting rid of unruliness is impossible because ruliness and unruliness are like states of matter. They just are.
Unruliness is dependent on ruliness, just as ruliness can not exist without unruliness.
In the same way, it is wrong to say cleaning gets rid of dirt. Of course it doesn’t. In fact, it is just as easy to say cleaning makes more room for dirt.
Cleanliness does not get rid of dirtiness.
A set of external rules for right behavior does not get rid of wrong behavior. It does not do anything because it is just a concept. And a concept cannot do anything about something as real as evil. Or said another way, morality that has a motive to accomplish something, accomplishes nothing. It can neither create good nor destroy evil—if anything, it does the opposite. Rather, good and evil simply exist, in the same way high and low do—one only exists in relation to the other. The rules the ego learns to follow are not primary education. They are an epiphenomenon of existence. It is why it was essential that the Ten Commandments were inscribed by the hand of God Himself—not man. Just as it was essential that Jesus walk into the wilderness and stand in front of the mirror to face his brother—his dark self—Satan—not because he was told to do it, but because it was foretold by existence itself. At the very beginning, the moment man awoke to self-consciousness in the garden, exactly then, he beheld a core of poisonous fruit in his palm. From the tree that should not have been touched because it made the knowledge of God become the knowledge of man. The moment man ingested desire--wanting--value—he blinded himself to the only cure: to un-desire, un-knowing, un-holding.
The villain never really dies. He always comes back. By not speaking his name Voldemort only comes back with more horcruxes. So something else must be done with evil besides pretending its not there or it multiplies seven-fold. Somehow simply knowing of its close quarters in our heart, saps evil its power.
It is learning to live with dirt—incorporate it—accept it—in your life that makes a home livable.
An Evil spirit does not exist without the good. And good can not be understood without evil. It is in seeing this and incorporating this, that halts the multiplication of evil within.
Are you better now than before?
Are you better at the end than the beginning?
Then you are watered-down wine in a barely touched cup; forgotten on the table after the celebration and waiting to be pitched . A weak consolation prize handed out to second, third, or fourth best. Thanks for just showing up!
The amazing thing is not that you can be diluted. Rather it’s that you can be concentrated.
I hate these bars.
I hate these chains.
I hate history.
Ok, but why hate? Why hate the thing you stand in the middle of?
Why not love? Or at least accept, which is the same thing since by any standard a good definition of love must include acceptance of a thing despite its limitations?
Bars, chains, and history just are. Limitations simply exist as a reality.
When Paul said—“I am exactly where I am supposed to be. How could I be anywhere else?”--
prison doors opened and chains fell off. This is the way to freedom.
When you hate your history you become the most hateful history.
Just ask the Bolsheviks.
Desire—“I want“—is a crouching she-tiger I should never have let inside the door because now I can’t extricate myself from her. All I know is frustration and anger while the pleasure of God descends on others in other lands.
A Fisherman pulls fish out of the sea by both his skill and his inspiration. Without skill there is no fisherman. Without inspiration there is no man. In the same way, the artist incarnates heaven by drawing attention to it as separate from the veil--he pulls it up from the depths of the ocean.
In a real sense, heaven erupts out of him and draws attention to itself.
Life is not my job. It is my work.
A job is skill alone, without inspiration. A job you do because you have to— for the promises of lesser gods: be they blessings or curses. For money—which is nothing more than paper and nothing less than symbol. And the great danger lying within this symbol of culture’s promise is that society will fail you as a faithful bargaining partner at the shaky-legged table where sacrifices are exchanged for pleasure and hopes and dreams. A table whose only possible location is inside temple grounds since it is also an alter to the gods. A job is just a means to an end—a blind, unwitting hammering of nails into a coffin-lid from the inside.
But work...work is something else. To destroy kingdoms, skilled craftsmen and artisans were always included with the kings, priests, and the prophets taken into captivity. To make new kingdoms they had to be there, for a Kingdom must be made if it is to be lived in; if it is to be enjoyed.
We are called to be skilled craftsmen incarnating inspiration into joy—pulling men, by hook or by net, out of a sea in which they don’t even realize they swim—incarnating the kingdom of heaven on earth.
How bad one’s future looks has no bearing on how afraid he should be in the present. Death comes for us all. So what?
So it comes down to this question about life.
The thing wins: Yes or no?
At some point one must decide the answer is yes.
Otherwise he will always be like a strong man pale in the face and moaning in labor pains over a baby that never shows up.