So much of one’s life is a test of acceptance of not only everything that one is but also everything in the world. From the very beginning of life, from the moment we are conceived and come out of the womb we are shown the fragments as if we were being rescued from that aspect of life which is whole, from all that which is unknown. It is only in the unknown can there be life and yet we cling to the familiar, to death, to the reservoir of accumulated knowledge and experiences that like a screen door prevents the fly from coming in. What if the fly was God?
What is the point of life if while we progress in it, move from one day to the next we do not integrate anything new and vital, anything other than that which derives from safety, comfort, and security? There is no learning taking place. This is not the type of learning of memorizing things, of regurgitating facts and being graded on how well we recomposed the material to prove how well we’ve grasped whatever it is. But instead the type of learning that takes place when one is filled with a sense of wonder and awe at the magnificence of all that is beyond the grasp of the intellect, the ego. I suppose unlearning would be the better way to put it.
Now, this isn’t a call to go and skydive and live life on the edge but rather to re-examine ones reason for living, the meaning of one’s life. Because for many life is nothing but the prolonging of death, the preserving of the broken record, the recitation of the many yesterdays. And the yesterdays, the memories, the perceived sensations, it’s as if to live life holding dearly to ashes and walking around tombstones. And of course there are the tomorrows that are filled with nothing but the longing, wishes, and hopes for the ashes and the bodies in the tombstones to come back to life in another variation. Is this all that life is? The holding on to the things that have given us pleasure and to hope day in and day out that someday it will come back to us?
As children we are taught who to trust, to keep away from the undesirables, to seek out and build only those qualities that are deemed socially respectable, the qualities that are pedestalized, that if we keep working at it one day we’ll have it, and by having it we can eventually show it to the world so that the world might exploit our talents and suck our souls dry. And it’s the people that supposedly love us, that have one’s best interest at heart that’s guiding us into the very pits of insatiable beasts who see nothing in life but to follow and pursue one craving to the next.
Meanwhile God is there, like a neglected child, a smelly homeless person, a drug addict and we walk by thankful seeing life not from their eyes but from our own and we feel that we are blessed. What blessings? The blessing to have a roof over one’s head? Money in the bank? People in whom to confide? All the while miserable, alone, and empty.
There are so many stories of children being passed around in foster homes who are treated no better than animals in cages. And we wonder why children run away. And when they run away where do they have to go? There’s nowhere to run but back into the arms of the system, a system that does nothing but turn a blind eye to the torturing and maltreatment of children and of course there are the alternatives.
If I was a child, without a home where would I go? And who are the people that I should trust? Because it seems like anyone willing to take me in is only in it for a buck and sees me as a meal ticket, or a thing to be used to improve the quality of their lives, a thing to be exploited because otherwise they could care less. The voice from above says “Child go and find yourself in the outside world and do not be tempted by comfort for it comes in all shapes and sizes, and it will keep you in a cage and reward you only when you promptly respond to the demands and roll over and jump when you’re told to jump and punish you when you don’t.”
God is looking for a way into one’s heart and because we have a picture of Gandalf in our heads, of what God looks like we’ll reject anything that isn’t wearing a robe, with a staff and a long white beard. One goes about life dancing along to that once familiar tune and finds great displeasure when a note is found out of place, an interval held out too long, when a crescendo was not expected. And we fight to get the music just the way we remember it; we reconstruct from memory, a storehouse of sticks and stones when in a world that’s rich and full of fragrant flowers, crystals, fine metals, colors we never knew existed, notes, keys, and chords we never could have imagined in our most wildest dreams.
What is there when one looks in the mirror? Is there infinity, the night sky with its endless field of stars, the entire ocean? Or is there an eyebrow that needs to be plucked, teeth that need to be whitened, hair that needs to be straightened? Perhaps a face that needs to be replaced, a body reformed, a personality reprogrammed. Or, are you beautiful just the way you are? And, should you be secure in that knowledge? If not, is it your environment that’s preventing that security? If not what is it? What is it that is preventing you from accepting and taking yourself in?