Life on a stick
It’s the new-year. It’s only 8 days old and the relaxed mood of hope and promise lingers. But with each day things are returning to ‘normal.’
Stop for a moment and think about it. Accepting life in general as ‘normal,’ is akin to accepting a lump of excreta on a stick and calling it vanilla ice cream.
Yeah I KNOW, such language, on a Sunday even. But I know you’ll forgive me dear reader. I mean well.
Why is it, dear reader, that hardship, ugliness and violence, amongst other things we vehemently claim as undesirable, are accepted as normal? Why is it that, ‘life wasn’t meant to be easy?’ As one of our Prime Ministers put it.
I’ll bet there isn’t anyone on the planet that can give a solid, credible, plausible reason. And there’s an outstanding reason, for there being no reason … there is no reason. There is absolutely no commonsense reason for life on earth not to be easy, happy and joyous.
Bummer, ay, dear reader, there’s always one of them. There’s always an except … and this particular except is a big dawg. This one’s from the original black litter. It’s called self-hate. This one came into being second. Firstly there was the silly idea of disconnecting from Creation, or leastways the notion that such were possible, and immediately after that- boom, boom, I’m in your room- this heathenish little charmer dropped into the mind-room next door.
When someone hates something, and I don’t mean disliking, like you may dislike finding a piranha in your cereal, but I mean hate! With a capital H, that’s a problem right there. A problem that needs fixing. Like ASAP.
As is the way of ego however, the self-hatred has been buried deep under what appear to be numerous hatreds projected onto everything and anything that comes to mind. Name anything in ego and there will be someone disliking it and or hating it. Think about the repercussions of that: right there before your very eyes, so to speak, is the answer to every question ever asked. Right there before your very eyes is Love crucified 24/7. Right there, a field of thorns is being sold as a filed of lilies. And sales are booming. Going once. Going twice. SOLD! To the fool pretending to be something he isn’t, and can never be.
But here’s an even crueler twist to it, in this field of thorns. Whilst you’re busy crucifying Love, you’re too busy to notice the thing truly being crucified. Yourself.
Why do you suppose public executions drew vast crowds? Why do you suppose they still would if they were allowed? Why, there’d be ice cream vendors, hot dog and meat-pie merchants, and soft drinks too. There’d be T-shirts depicting the executed with their eyes popping and tongues hanging out, which would be fine because part of the sales would be directed to their ‘loved ones,’ on account that’s just the right thing to do. Not to mention Good PR. And heck, you know, we’re not barbarians, right? There’d be no alcohol allowed because that’d just be irresponsible. There’d be nappy vendors and child mining services just so mum and dad could watch the main event undistracted. We’re all about the show.
What’s all that got to do with the new year? Just this. If something different isn’t decided upon, some new way of thinking and doing things, the repetition continues. Year in, year out, and then one day …
… sorry about that champion, your time’s done. What a shame. Why didn’ ya? Oh never mind. Bye …