I tend to visualize the highest power as a multi faceted gem and then all life of equal complexity. It would seem simplistic but I refuse to accept the idea that we ‘create God in our image or vis-a-versa.’ Since for me the conjunction of events and elements of my life so often indicate otherwise filtered through my skeptical mind and conception/perception.
We learn differently through this prism and no one way better than another . . . if you wish to know what love is hug a leaper or mongoloid. I as a cipher, and being superfluous, am conscious that the leaper is me, the mongoloid is many I’ve encountered. And in general terms, in past representations of myself, I though of “The Elephant Man” or Quasimodo until I was better informed that they were more wise and loving than I’ll ever be; to my shame.
I am potentially better informed about death then most people I know. It follows that I reserve an anger towards indifference to life in all forms upon or within our nest, what we call the World. And regarding suicide, having contemplated it near daily for most of my life (see Enneagram: Type 4), I hold a special reverence for the freedom of choice--to breed or not breed--to destroy one’s life or not.
My daily ritual of collecting quotes has come to be an education I dismissed as impossible in childhood, the information inferred or implied indicated that I wasn’t worth the effort therefore I never really tried. But like the mongoloid I loved emphatically. It is a precious quality available to all; thinks pets and children who know better than to allow prejudice and bigotry to dominate their perceptions.
Happily I maintain the virginity of my mind in the following sense: if Jesus had no children than by adoption I am His kid. And not His alone but the child of Mohammad, Einstein, Confusions, Buddha and so on and on and on.
Factually I have nothing new to say on the issue, “The Truth Will Set You Free”, etcetera. If money, fame, immortality were an issue I could easily repackage the available resources, in much the same way pharmaceutical corporations do aspirin for profit. As for prophecy the idea of predicting events bores me and regarding the issue of protest and descent the hidden governance of corporations posing as individuals has aborted many of our rights to free speech.
When ever I hear “Right To Life” I privately and quietly ask “What Life?”
I have larger issues to ponder than the ideas/ideals most fear and guard against thus making themselves good consumers of any authority figure or cult that comes along--it is all process, grow where you’re planted and expect/welcome change--that’s real life.
The education I eschewed is essentially vocational beginning and ending in a reward: better pay for doing something that sucks the life & soul out of you.
We generally operate with a fraction of our potential, immensurable, immense, while last year alone 7.1 million children died of preventable disease. I can hear the argument ‘but they were ignorant, a different religion or color than I!” Greed is selfish, love Generous. I am subsisting on less than the national poverty level via Social Security yet remain wealthier than most of the worlds population--and at that without complaint except for the pompous politicians who purport to serve me or us. In a sense think of them, plus their corporate sponsors, as murders. I once thought of German cars being wrapped in the flesh of dead Jews--I still do--yet apply the same concept to SUVs wrapped in the flesh of our dead children mutilated in useless wars.
--Ernie Pyle
When Ernie Pyle, the famous World War II correspondent, was killed on the Pacific island of Ie Shima in 1945, a rough draft of a column was found on his body. He was preparing it for release upon the end of the war in Europe. He had done much to promote the myth of the warrior and the nobility of soldiering, but by the end he seemed to have tired of it all:
But there are many of the living who have burned into their brains forever the unnatural sight of cold dead men scattered over the hillsides and in the ditches along the high rows of hedge throughout the world.
Dead men by mass production—in one country after another—month after month and year after year. Dead men in winter and dead men in summer.
Dead men in such familiar promiscuity that they become monotonous.
Dead men in such monstrous infinity that you come almost to hate them.
These are the things that you at home need not even try to understand. To you at home they are columns of figures, or he is a near one who went away and just didn’t come back. You didn’t see him lying so grotesque and pasty beside the gravel road in France.
We saw him, saw him by the multiple thousands. That’s the difference.
“The men the American people admire most extravagantly are the most daring liars; the men they detest most violently are those who try to tell them the truth.” --H. L. (Henry Louis) Mencken
. . . in a way it would be better if I were retroactively aborted, or merely remained silent.
