I'm passing along another from my "Life Lessons in a Time of War" series tonight. But first, how about a gut-busting dose of Jon Stewart?
And now that I've completely lost my audience to American television's breath of fresh air, I can indulge a private meditation on this day of death. In West Virginia, Mecca, and of course, Iraq—death by greed, compounded by misinformation. The cycle of misery, fear, and ignorance continues apace, and I, like you, have more questions than answers. Perhaps you'll find a little help here, and I know from experience that these folks can definitely help. Just remember, to recover the dignity and beauty of your human life does not require that you save the world, quit your job, lose 30 pounds in a month, write the great American novel, or have a photo-op with God. You just have to make the commitment, and then start ridding yourself of images—both your self-images and those programmed into you by your culture. You will thus avoid the only death worth truly fearing—the rotting away of your quantum self, your light body.
Life Lessons in a Time of War, 9
Nature calls us outward, yet we press grimly forward along the line that someone carved on the face of Reality.
True growth is not confined to the grid: it proceeds along dimensions that haven't yet been discovered. But the grid, as perhaps you have observed, is just the door of a cage; the facade of a gilt prison.
God—the quantum mother of consciousness—didn't create you to live in a grid, a cage. It made you to be free. It made you to fulfill your destiny. It made you to actualize your uniqueness. It made you to evolve.
Evolution is not something that happens on a grid, tracing a forward-charging, upward-racing line. Evolution proceeds outwardly, expansively, in ever-broadening circles of growth and awareness.
Look at the line: how little an area it covers; how narrow its breadth and depth; how limited its scope; how plain and monotonous its direction. Now look at the circle: just one of its arcs covers so much more, encompasses more, than the line, even if its length were drawn to linear infinity.
Do you believe the lie they told you since you were young, that your mind is made to follow a line? Conform to the line, and your grave has already been opened; your being is already dead. Conformity carries the stench of death, and screeches with the shrill Medusa-voice of hate. Conform to the line—of religion, of a corporation, of your government, of the talking heads on television—and you put your life under a tyranny such as no dictator could equal for its oppressive force. Meanwhile, Love will be there, in the lake where you tried to drown her. She may be paler from your suicidal absence, but she, unlike you, does not choose to die.
Please do not die: your path is the one that isn't yet a path, because no one has ever walked it. Your way is omnidirectional, stretching and arcing toward a thousand points that have never been, because they were never known. You will touch them all; you will know each one. Just step off the line; open the door of the cage. Spread your being across time and space until the wall dividing them has dissolved, and there is only light, penetrating limitation until it reaches back to the ultimate goal—the place where you started.