Strange It Is

The methodology of methodical routes to the well of happiness is about as silly as one can get. In following predetermined routes to a predetermined outcome human compulsion can find fruition but what about the desire to overcome all obstacles towards the achievement of a promised spiritual freedom at the end of the rainbow? In framing the route we ignore the basis upon which it is built. We come to ignore our own nature in order to rely upon a man-made creation which promises the experiential joy to which we set our sights. In desire we lose our selves and in that losing we seek that which we have given up.

One thing that can be said of the mental state is that it never makes sense but to it's self.

How is it that we come to endure so much pain and suffering, how is it that we place upon our selves so much and so many trials and tribulations? To what purpose do we plead guilty that we continually seek redemption? In our unforgiving manner we ensure the continuation of our mental constructs and give way to it's purposes and plans. We are indeed good slaves.

In this turmoil of inner magnitude the fight spills out of the saloon and in to the streets of life. We endeavor to leave our mark and in this we find no cause to do otherwise. Captivated in experiential glory we relish life to it's fullest all the while harboring secretive thoughts of other things, other times and places, other desires. Yes, there is no end to that which has no end.

Once the seed is planted whereby we come to look anew at our life and the living of it, it becomes obvious that something is amiss. Something is not quite right with the way things are. There must be something else at work here because if nothing else exists besides man's inhumanity to man, then we might just as well blow ourselves up here and now. We might just as well create castes and classes harboring ill will towards others. We might just as well create racist religious convictions in order to hide our own inner failings. We might just as well misplace importance to reflect our own state of affairs.

Yes, the world is as we are, of that there is no doubt.

Perhaps when we come to fully realize this we will begin to more closely examine our own plight, our own place in the universe, our own sense of piecing together the puzzle called 'me'. Man is neither complex nor convoluted but thinking, the mental process, provides a reality completely in contrast with what is. So enraptured are we in our own imagination that we find all that we are looking for when it comes to viewing not only ourselves, but the world around us. By every thought we have, we create the world. Thus giving it life, we live it.

Of what use is it then to complain of our state of affairs, of the condition that we ourselves have created for ourselves. The answer is not to dig one's self in even deeper, but to leave aside all that is superfluous, to drop away all that which is not one's self.

When the entirety of our being comes to be devoted exclusively to one's self it is in that self 'discovery' that the nature of man becomes apparent. In the sweeping realization that reality is all that there is we find not only our true nature but the entirety of existence, of all being and not being, of the foundation of eternity.

In this expansive reality there is no room for anything else. Strange it is that we attempt to live it anyway.

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