Relationship Inflation

 

RELATIONSHIP INFLATION

Interpersonal connection is ultimately all we have, but its value has been subject to a deadly economic inflation as pseudo-connections have been rendered unlimited by digital media.  The principle at work  is the same as currency inflation.  Produce too much money in response to demand or economic weakness and the currency loses its value.  Our spiritual economic weakness, the hunger for more and more meaningful relationship, has been met with a profligate printing of currency in the form of FaceBook, Instagram, and the panoply of other social media.  We can connect with anyone anywhere at any time.  

As a result, individual relationships and interpersonal bond have been devalued.  We find ourselves in the position of so many nations throughout history who met economic privations not with addressing foundational economic weaknesses but by printing more money to momentarily placate the hungry, demanding masses.

We have not addressed the underlying crippling spiritual economic condition that leaves us hungry, empty, bitter, angry, frightened, and lonely.  We have responded to our spiritual ache of loneliness by minting ever more digital  interactions, rendering them all worthless.  We lug our bag of "likes", "followers", and "friends" to the relationship store and come away with a stale piece of bread, to which we respond by collecting more "likes", "followers", and "friends", each newly minted "connection" rendering all connections more superficial and fleeting.

Values of currencies arise only from the productivity underlying them, productivity in turn arising from work and investment.  Values of relationships likewise possess that value only when productive, when the exchange of relationship interaction among parties has some mutual and meaningful lasting benefit.  That is an economic parameter independent of any treasury, exchequer, or media corporation.  We each individually determine the value of the social currency we mint every day, with our authenticity, depth, and sincere listening, none of which are encouraged by screens and keyboards.  Log off.  Listen.  Care.  Watch the wealth accrue.

Riding Darkness

 

RIDING DARKNESS

Now dark, quickly dark.

Gentle motion reveals the presence of darkly invisible waves just out that window.  

We ride the dark surface, just as our lives ride the boundary between life and death, sensing motion, trying to maintain our balance, something out of our control rippling by our soul, sensed not seen, treading an unseen surface separating life from an utterly unknowable depth into which we will inevitably sink.  The darkness, the unknowable depth, the unseen ripples we sense and dark tsunamis we dread, the darkness, the blankness, the unknowable depths, that is our canvas, the great blank canvas of life without answers on which we decide what matters.

Meaningless Time

 Meaningless Time

Time.  Corporeal existence.  Somehow it is through those that interaction Reality arises.  Through those Deep Love arises.  And horrors arise.  And beauty arises.  

Time.  Matter.  For now what we have to work with.

Yet nothing arising from them has meaning other than in the eternal.  Here and Now is the moment of Creation, we a painful part of that Creation.

The time and vanishing physical forms are illusions.  Yet through them we are empowered by God to create the eternal, eternal bonds and Love.

"Do not be discouraged", whispers Spirit.  Our capacity for control and power seems terribly limited.  Our wishes and will, even when uttered in the name of Jesus, seem pointless and hopeless.  Yet time deceives, making us think that the will of God is not unfolding.  Our entrapment in the Now blocks our view of unfolding Purpose and fulfillment of our hopes.  Our incarceration in the corporeal keeps us apart.  Yet in the usual Paradox, it is that corporeal and temporal nature that facilitate  creation of the real and enduring.

Faith, faith worn and tattered by the interminable delay of prophecy, faith is our source of warmth in the biting cold of the temporal world.  Faith is a capacity to sense and know beyond the body of Now.  

The moment will pass, has already passed.  The physical forms are disappearing before our eyes.  All that passing makes room for fulfillment of our prayers.  All that is real and meaningful takes time.  That is the oft repeated lesson, the lesson of the widow and of the bridesmaids.  Time and the physical, in their fleeting passage, erect the eternal.  Hold fast to the vision of faith, to awareness of Truth.  So much better, a seemingly delayed answer that endures through eternity than an instant gratification that just as promptly disappears along with the rest of the world.  Be glad the answers to your prayers are not immediately evident in the world, for that would mean they would just as quickly disappear along with the world.  

Let it unfold.  Do not be deceived by time.  The needs are known.  The prayers are heard.  Their fulfillment will not be through anything as unreliable as worldly outcomes.  Hold fast to faith as you watch time render the corporeal to dust, thereby making room for answers eternal.

Children of the Cast Off God

 

Children of the Cast Off God

Wondrous things are happening, people, even these people, doing wondrous things.

They are terribly disappointing, these people, yet the potential of God resides within them.

Do not look for perfection.  Do not look for control.  But define for them a need and direction, and give them some freedom, opportunity, and encouragement, and sometimes miraculous things will unfold.  

A frightening, even terrifying lot, magnanimous generosity and irrational cruelty keeping close company in their hearts.  Expect little.  Hope for much.  Give up all hope of understanding them or explaining their behavior.  Love them, but don't get too close.

Fear them.  Do not condemn them.  Forget any pretensions of teaching them.

Somewhere in their self-perpetuated chaos resides the Kingdom of Heaven.  Don't frustrate yourself trying to make sense of that.  

Curse them, bless them, flee from them, embrace them.  The Universe orbits about them, all Creation exists for them, and they will steadfastly lay claim to their central position while not bothering with gratitude for it.

Wondrous things are happening, and the children of the cast-off-God are doing wondrous things.  Marvel at it all and smile along with their neglected God.  

The Unwelcome New

 The Unwelcome New

Raging wind.  Power out.  Phone out.  A sneak preview of our future.

Chaos and turbulence rage.

It is glorious.

All communication is cut off.

It is glorious.

One by one Christmas decorations blow away.

It is sad.

(Bodhi kitty enters, unsettled.)

Disconnected and alone, the mind indulges in the rare opportunity, absorbing the chaos and storm.  

(Too noisy for the Bodes who flinches at a bang and retreats from the last violent burst.)

The would-be tyrants will take advantage of the growing chaos.  God will take advantage of the growing chaos.

Social DNA and spiritual genomics will battle for survival to determine what crawls out of the wreckage to become the newly triumphant politico-economic system.  In the meantime, warlords and gunslingers will reign supreme, occasionally donning the accouterments of tetrarch or judge to gain a facade of respectability.  

This prediction is no vision or prophecy, it is common sense, and a clear-eyed reading of human history.  

We will craft new procedures for selecting our priests and chieftains by whatever titles, who in reality will select themselves as they always have.  

For now the winds rage and cracks appear, the despots-to-be scurry about to advantageously position themselves for the deconstructions.  Outcomes remain hidden by the unyielding wall of time.  Tyrants and Divinity move their chess pieces on the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of society's board. 

"There will be change" declares the storm as winds of chaos strain the moorings of civilization's delicate web.  

There will be change, as there has always been change, the feared and unwelcome "new" triumphing, rising from our wreckage, rising from seeds scattered and moistened by the storm, seeds already produced, waiting, waiting, seeds cast aside in the combat of our world, seeds needing only fresh soil, exposed soil, the overlying structures stripped away that earth may breathe again.  

Darned Love

 

Darned Love

Look at that emphasis in the Bible on Love, two thousand years ago!  Palestina was a rough place and time!  Love?!  Where did that come from?!  You would not think people would even know what that was!  Love!

Every discussion of the Bible should promptly return to that core message, because that is the radical message, the unique message.  Everything else is filler and marketing to make the unpalatable Love less obvious.  Throw in the usual us vs. them, some blood and battles, a bunch of rules and regulations, some guarantees of a judgment day when we (the good guys of course) will finally win and get our tickets to eternal paradise, and you've got the ingredients for yet one more religion suitable for wielding condemnation, retribution, and persecution.  But then there is that darned Love.  Unique, and usually uniquely ignored, in words two thousand years old abides this curious and irritating admonition to change our innermost being, our external actions, and the world.  

Theologians will dissect verses and elaborate on eschatologies, while one single differentiating point, one overtly seditious word and its corollaries, distinguish the core message of this messenger from the jostling crowd of scriptures, teachings, and texts vying for our readily malleable belief.

Love.  Sacrificial, selfless Love.  One sermon.  One command.  One theology.  Leaving you one Choice.  

Sanctuary

 

Sanctuary, sanctuary.

Get me to the hills,

away, away,

safe, finally safe,

each breath, each breath

carrying away the pain and stress.

Here, finally here,

with God and God's Creation,

like the wild deer,

instinctively hiding,

seeking the tiny spot of recluse,

of embrace,

in the woods,

protected by the woods.

Sanctuary,

away, safe,

the blessed touch of Home.

Always peace here,

the abiding peace.

The hill, the hill,

its steep and rock strewn course

protecting from all who find it inconvenient.

Sunrise, sanctuary, healing, safety,

each breath, finally painless.

Christmas Cards

Christmas Cards 

Writing Christmas cards,

trite, shallow, pointless

Christmas cards,

growing more depressed with each.

'Tis the season,

the music,

Ol' Claus,

colored lights,

all contrived,

fake and facade,

no reality here,

wretchedly unrealistic…..

Yet images of Hope,

a wish,

relationships that will be, though not now.

The seemingly empty traditions

clarify and express our hopes,

granting vision of what could be.

The almost empty cards and carols

are desperately needed,

pulling us to something better.

…pulling us to be something better.

Son of Man

 

SON OF MAN

 

 "Son of Man".  What a perfect self-appellation Yeshu (Jesus) chose!....especially coupled with references to us as "this generation".  Yes, fully human, unambiguously human, yet a descendent, more advanced, of a different spiritual generation.  It is a title accurate and informative, meaningful because it was not bestowed, but matter of factly claimed.  

Son of Man…..knowing so much more than this generation could ever understand, homeless for lack of understanding by our generation, crucified by our rejection of the unheard lessons that might indict us.  

Son of Man, reduced to struggling for parables to try to communicate a little of what we would not want to understand.  

Son of Man, all ego stripped in that curious title, but at each mention dropping a hint as to His nature…..and ours.

Calling

 CALLING

You would think there would be some profound and wise instruction for how to follow your life's calling, whether you believe that calling comes from God, destiny, universe, or whatever.  There is a calling, or callings.  You can follow it.  But how it will be revealed is acutely individual.  

Of course you have to want a calling before you can discern it.  You have to surrender to something before you can be called by it.  It is a rare and curious thing in an age of materialism for anyone to surrender to a calling.  It is also a rare and curious thing in an age of basic survival to surrender to a calling.  Yet all are called, but few accept it.   You will be alone.  Following a calling is terrifying, fraught with doubt, a glorious madness, indefensible and inexplicable.  Yet once accepting calling, you can never again deny it, at least not for long.  You would have it no other way, the world's tawdry profits rendered banal and tedious by a glimpse, even a fleeting glimpse, of Purpose and meaning and the invitation to be a part of it.  

Hold Close the Darkening Moment; Touch Eternal

 Hold Close the Darkening Moment

 

So precious, gifts of God.

So shocking, lessons of God.

So denied, those lessons.

Daily I marvel at how wrong I was.

How right have been shown my understandings of God.

How pathetically wrong my estimation of humanity.

It all compounds of course,

a mother's abuse,

well justified guilt,

overwhelming opportunities,

irresistible opportunities,

unbidden opportunities.

 

I await the sudden sunrise,

and hold close the darkening moment.

 

 Touch Eternal 

So precious, so precious.

Warm, soft, fuzzy, miraculous gift of God, watching the screen in the dark as I type.

Intense, this awareness of touch.

Peace, calm peace,

before another day in the world.

A cord connecting that moment past,

A song connecting to that moment past,

All focused, all coalescing, in this moment.

Always surprising, the revelations of presence.

Never bidden, pure gift, a precursor to timelessness

when all will be gift, pure gift,

finally, finally aware that

nothing is of our own.

 

Rippling breath,

abiding touch,

touch of the angels,

when all will be touch,

enduring touch,

connecting the then 

to a timeless now,

connection 

across a no longer extant space,

separation no longer possible.

 

The briefest of eternal previews

enters even here,

even in this world,

in defiance of the illusion of time,

a deep and penetrating glimpse,

a gift, unbidden, unsought,

for you cannot seek 

what you cannot imagine.

Touch - warm, soft, all encompassing,

teaching its gentle lesson

of what will be and is,

when touch will no longer 

be localized and momentary,

but enduring, unending,

never again to seemingly end,

but always building, ever growing,

life finally come even to us.

 

There is no sharing of this experience,

no words can convey 

the meaning of touch

that fills and fulfills.

"Touch" seems 

so physical, so carnal, so temporal.

How can it possibly convey anything eternal?

Yet in that moment of warmth and softness,

in a tiny contact,

all meaning and Purpose abide,

for a moment,

the eternal moment

Almost Forgotten Words

 

Almost Forgotten Words 

We all long for peace.  But with the slightest miscommunication wars erupt, within the household or between nations.

The great conflicts and the domestic disputes coalesce out of the swirling storm of disconnection and distance.  Each of these inner worlds, each ensemble of beliefs and expectations and desires, i.e. each individual human being, churns within the prison cell of its worldly experience.  Words form feeble and distorted connections among the individual cells, but the almost universal aversion to really listening renders the words impotent and their effects unpredictable.  

So arguments ensue and wars erupt.  

It is tragedy unnecessary and horror avoidable, but our trenchant resistance to learning ensures the tragedies and horrors will compound.

Ludicrous sound the admonitions to turn the other cheek and give away your coat as well as cloak.  Such progressive ideas were and are resoundingly ignored.  But imagine the world in the absence of those admonitions.  Indeed, look at parts of the world untouched by those impractical admonitions.  

Against all odds those words and their source have and do make a difference.  They at least sufficiently prick our conscience that we give lip-service to the premise that war and divorce are not to be celebrated.  

We may not turn the other cheek, but at least we ever so slightly uncomfortably squirm upon hearing the phrase.  Maybe our retributive blows are in turn ever so slightly tempered by some nagging sub-conscious awareness that some unrealistic itinerant progressive long ago pointed out a better way.  

Do not listen.  Do not learn.  Continue as always, pragmatic and patriotic, resolute and righteous.  Try to deny that irritating tiny grain of sand in your well shined marching shoes,.... "turn the other cheek…..turn…...turn and repent."

Candles

 Candles

What fragments will survive, what remnant of touch.

Blessed, blessed,

immersion in Source and holiness,

those first safe moments of the day.

None can share, 

not yet,

blessed, blessed ritual,

not hollow ritual of things and mumbled words and smoke that promptly disappears,

but ritual of soul for the moment embraced.

The world, the world, 

terrible and terrifying,

potential unrealized.

But in the still of pre-dawn

the madness abates,

and blessed, blessed Communion

is enabled.

A touch,

reminding touch,

safe touch,

and the soul remembers

what was and

what will be.

Time finally slows.

The torrent of needs and hungers and demands is set aside.

Finally, finally,

miracle returns,

or better said,

eyes are opened to perceive the miracles always present.

None will wonder at such words.

They will prompt only momentary curiosity.

But surely there is more.

Surely those hints are of meaning.

Celebrate them,

though the soul longs to celebrate so much more.

While waiting for sunrise even a flickering candle is comfort in the cold and dark.

Yes, it is cold and dark.

Yes, those are beautiful candles, those imperfect children struggling to immerge from the spiritual womb of this carnal existence.  

Do not look to them for sunrise.  But in the midst of the isolation in the cold dark, do not miss the beauty of their tiny candle flames, though they cast even darker shadows.

Grim the moment, but bright the promise.

The sun will rise,

all will rise.

Do not pretend it is not dark and cold.

But do not miss the beauty of the candles,

do not miss the essential, though for now meager, light and warmth they cast.

See the Wholeness in all its darkness,

this birth of individual children of One loving Source

Foolish Faith

 

FOOLISH FAITH

 

Run, run away!  Flee, flee from the horrors of the human world,

the willing cruelty, the chosen stupidity.

It is, all in all,

compared to the Source Garden and Destiny Home,

a horrible place.

Demons and devils have been loosed,

and they are in human form,

intent on inflicting suffering on the children of God,

intent on deceiving the children of God,

intent on convincing us we are not children of the non-existent God and we should and will succumb to the cold reality of this world and will become like them.

The demons and devils, the creatures of this world, have a most convincing argument.  Their taunts and cruelties are tangible and demanding, inescapable and tactile.  In contrast, the call to have faith in some well hidden Light is nebulous and tremulous, lacking any convincing argument or rational justification.

Can any faith possibly survive?....real faith, sacrificial faith, questioning and doubting faith that is, as opposed to the blind, unquestioning,  and fundamentalist "faith" that serves the purposes of the worldly demons and devils.  

Simple fact: sacrificial faith has survived so far.  It has survived in the face of these very demons and devils.  It has survived times just as bad and worse.  If there is to be proof of miracles, it is in the survival of this faith, this irrational and unprofitable kindness and compassion.

Demons and devils are loosed, evangelists and terrorists, marketers and politicians, media personalities and drug dealers, ayatollahs and sports heroes, all proclaiming the gospel of profits, entertainment, vengeance, consumption, and worldly victory.

Faith, real faith, compassionate faith, best give up, or at least hide.  But it doesn't.  It can't.  That indiscernible whisper still drowns out the amplified cacophony of the world and its loudly yelling demons.  That soft and subtle Light still overwhelms the flashing glare of the burning world.  

Faith abides, in sorrowing and grieving hearts, hearts waiting, hearts knowing.

Touch

 

Touch 

So precious, so precious.

Warm, soft, fuzzy, miraculous gift of God, watching the screen in the dark as I type.

Intense, this awareness of touch.

Peace, calm peace,

before another day in the world.

A cord connecting that moment past,

a song connecting to that moment past,

all focused, all coalescing, in this moment.

Always surprising, the revelations of presence.

Never bidden, pure gift, a precursor to timelessness

when all will be gift, pure gift,

finally, finally aware that

nothing is of our own.

 

Rippling breath,

abiding touch,

touch of the angels,

when all will be touch,

enduring touch,

connecting the then 

to a timeless now,

connection 

across a no longer extant space,

separation no longer possible.

 

The briefest of eternal previews

enters even here,

even in this world,

in defiance of the illusion of time,

a deep and penetrating glimpse,

a gift, unbidden, unsought,

for you cannot seek 

what you cannot imagine.

Touch - warm, soft, all encompassing,

teaching its gentle lesson

of what will be and is,

when touch will no longer 

be localized and momentary,

but enduring, unending,

never again to seemingly end,

but always building, ever growing,

life finally come even to us.

 

There is no sharing of this experience,

no words can convey 

the meaning of touch

that fills and fulfills.

"Touch" seems 

so physical, so carnal, so temporal.

How can it possibly convey anything eternal?

Yet in that moment of warmth and softness,

in a tiny area of contact,

all meaning and Purpose abide,

for a moment,

the eternal moment.

One Constant

 

ONE CONSTANT 

Last night I watched the spectacular and heavily favored Mikella Shiffrin ski out and disqualify for the second race in a row.  In shock she sat at the edge of the run for twenty-five minutes.

For the vast majority of us, plans and expectations are a momentary solace, an illusion of predictability, a delusion of our own empowerment.  Of course we hear of the Bezos's and Musks who plan, predict,  and control each detail of their obscenely successful lives.  That makes us feel either inadequate about our intelligence and discipline or bitter about our personal persecution by fate.  But the successful planners of their own lives did not raise their grandkids or have the stroke or get trapped in the car wreck or watch incoming artillery fire set their children ablaze.

Consequently rules of sports, Masonic rituals, and religion belief are our desperate attempt to erect some momentary facade of predictability.  Of course fundamentalisms flourish in times of rampant change.  We are frantic for something, anything, to grab onto to stay afloat in the white-water chaos of perfectly normal life.  Political flags or convenient scripture will do as long as it resists personal or societal  changes out of our control.

Death of course is the penultimate insult to our plans.  We are ultimately revealed as powerless.  The future beyond that event is utterly unknowable.  So we avoid thinking about it.  But if we accepted that the maelstrom of unpredictability that is our daily lives was merely a preview of and practice for that ultimate waiting unpredictability so utterly out of our control, to what might we turn for consolation?  When no worldly plan or expectation is reliable, what still abides as real?  Whether experienced or only wished for, what was it that felt real and substantive once every plan and expectation was crushed to dust and burned to ashes? 

Look back, look forward, see the world that so resolutely refused to be predicted or controlled, and sense the one constant that was all you really wanted all along.  All the plans were illusory, deceptions by self and the world.  Only the one hunger, only one essence, one joy, remained constant, then and in this moment.  Accept the chaos and unpredictability and uncertainty.  Accept the one constant hunger.  Discover that through it all, Love was the lesson, Love was the constant, Love was the plan fulfilled through the dissolution, even the penultimate insult,  of our insistent plans.

Manipulation

 Manipulation 

In recent decades as society has careened through ever faster and more radical changes, people have fled toward fundamentalism, demanding that there be one thing in their lives that does not change because they won't allow it to change, the one thing in their lives in their absolute control to prevent from changing, i.e. their beliefs.  Combine that with the introduction of powerful entertainment technology into church services.  Combine those with, ironically, a severing of bonds with and trust of traditional centralized church authority.  Combine that with a thermonuclear explosion of media technology best suited to manipulating malleable, unaware minds.  Put all those factors in an economic and political system structured so as to the greatest degree possible empower psychological-marketing as the primary influencer of belief and action.  Season this wicked cauldron with innate human nature of greed and lust for power.

Of course fundamentalist mega-churches sprung up like poisonous mushrooms, all  bright and enticing!  Of course a Rupert Murdoch would seize the opportunity for profit in peddling fear, hatred, and inevitable violence.  Of course a Trump would arise out of the fetid moral wastelands of the obscenely rich.  

Too rapid change and progress do not open doors to enlightenment and renaissance.  They drive frightened minds back to the familiar comforts of witch-doctors and evangelists.  It is instead the traumatic collapse of convenient faith, the sacking of temples and the spread of plagues, that finally reveal the impotence of those wearing the robes and the hollowness of the idols.  Then the scales are removed from the eyes of a few, then a few precious scattered seeds can sprout, and renaissance and enlightenment and revival can momentarily again flourish.

I am Right, You are Wrong

 

Human conflict is utterly inevitable. 

·        We each live in our personal world of imagined values. 

·        Our individual imaginations are sufficiently independent and creative to conjure beliefs and opinions that conflict with the other guy’s beliefs and opinions. 

·        We are too self-absorbed to compromise and incorporate aspects of the other guy's opinion.

So, the Bolsheviks create a civil war amongst themselves, the Christians schism, Muslims wage war among competing caliphates, political parties splinter, Masons concoct different orders, spouses divorce, empires divide, and congregations split.  

In the newly minted age of digitally spawned social media, our natural proclivity for conflict over arbitrary differences of belief and opinion has accelerated overnight from the equivalent of tossing sticks and stones to launching thermonuclear weapons.  This is an unforeseen and existential shock to civilization and society.  

Such shocks used to transpire over centuries or at least decades.  Empires in east and west and their associated belief systems would eventually grow large enough that their borders would begin to irritate each other.    

Sooner or later, at the behest of our overactive imaginations combined with our stubborn rejection of anything differing from the product of those imaginations, conflict will inevitably arise.  Shia and Sunni proclaimed their analysis of inheritance was worth dying for. Calvinists and Popes proclaimed their version of God was worth killing for.  

But never have arbitrary differences of opinion over contrived topics had the power to spread worldwide in milliseconds.  Never have individuals been so utterly isolated and malleable  as their fears and ignorance are deftly manipulated by rants and screeds delivered through their screens.  

Civilization will soon face the unprecedented stressor of three billion of its kind fleeing as refugees from coastal and arid locales rendered uninhabitable in the coming decades.  This hammer-blow will strike a human society already fractured down to the local level by digital amplification of our tendency to elevate disagreements over imagined beliefs, elevate them to life and death causes.  

The contrived political and religious conflicts that have always been so, are now more so. 

This century will likely see exponentially growing physical hunger.  Will it suffice to ameliorate our perennial hunger to prove ourselves right?

A Secretive God

 

The obvious problem in trying to follow God's will for our lives is God's recalcitrance about unambiguously communicating that will.  Oh, we will promptly think we know what it is.  We will plan our lives accordingly.  Then when life unceremoniously tosses our holy plans into the dumpster we will stubbornly hold onto those plans because after all they are not our plans but God's plans.  

Our will and God's will quickly become convoluted because God is so danged secretive about whatever plan there is.  Our "willing" morphs into "willful" without our noticing.  

So for the umpteenth time it's back to the drawing board to resketch the priorities God seems to have given us, maybe, unless it's just our wishful thinking.

One is left to keep guessing, and adapt, and incorporate, and compromise.  Somewhere under all the practical considerations still resides that desire to do God's will, were it only clearly expressed.  Somewhere in the passing years, advancing age, and compounding shocks we of course may not "do" God's will, but we may live it.  Out of our control, unforeseen by our eyes, unanticipated in our plans, we somehow live God's will.  In that we can find some solace, some salve for our tattered faith.  

Commit your life to God's path, and promptly get abjectly lost, gloriously lost, in the dense fog of unfolding healing and redemption.

It All Makes Sense

 It All Makes Sense

Copyright 2025 Don Ray (But feel free to copy and quote.  Just give credit.)

Somehow it all kind of make sense, which is profoundly surprising.

All this conflict, the conflicts between people, and even the conflicts within our own minds.

It all seems quite unavoidably necessary if we are to be truly free and individual. 

Were we all the same, even a little more the same, even prone to a slighter degree of similarity, we would not truly be individual. 

The absolutely unfathomable, jaw-dropping, perplexing behaviors of those people a millennia ago, or around the world, or next door, or in the next cubicle, are an inescapable part of our nature as individuals.

The cacophony of voices vying for attention in our heads, the temptations and distractions and loss of attention and lack of discipline, that also necessary if we are to be free, freedom meaning choices, not mere choices of responses to circumstances, but choices regarding the very essence of who and what we want to be.

It is all necessary, and almost kind of begins to make sense.

And one can even imagine that it is all OK.

We must just have patience, patience and faith.

After all, we have all eternity to grow into what we want to be, and to live in that existence modeled around and consistent with what we want to be.

In its role as the incubator for these free and individual beings this world has through recent millennia fulfilled a surprisingly consistent function.  I can see a striking consistency in the Choice faced by ancient Greeks and modern scientists, plains Indians and marketing psychologists…..always the same Choice,….whether to care or not……whether to listen to the whispers of higher callings to Unity or the shrill threats demanding collapse into the self.

And through those millennia occasionally appeared teachings and prophecies and revelations, each of them of course deformed and warped by our insistent demands, but still fulfilling the essential need of providing some glimmer of hope, some relevant incarnation to gently assist us in our attempts to spiritually survive in the peculiar and perverse society of the moment.

Surprisingly it all makes sense, not that it has to.

All the conflicts are the inescapable, perhaps inevitable, consequence of birth into freedom and individuality. 

The conflicts must not endure, for once free and individual we are empowered to choose Unity.

This world must be what it is.

Those who choose to seek Unity must actualize their Choice by trying to heal and love, by accepting and tolerating, all within the clashing madness of the world around and the roiling conflicts of the mind within.

Copyright 2025 Don Ray (But feel free to copy and quote.  Just give credit.)