Imagine who and what you would never have disliked, disowned, dismissed, diminished, denied, labeled, hated, judged, ignored, or marginalised had you never accepted the parochial belief system (not self-evident truth that can only be truth by the purposeful avoidance of all contact with the confinable, the controllable and the unnatural contamination’s conceivable by the intrinsically dualistic and divisive human convention of theology) demanded by your society that promoted exclusionary fear before considering the infinitely inclusionary qualities of restoratively Perfecting Love. And the question we know all of the religious were and still are actually discouraged to ask involved and still involves why we think we know what we say we we know and therefore believe what we say we believe. Further, if this strangely unquestionable aim for belonging to the group is simply to save one’s ephemeral life’s consciousness from swiftly arriving at annihilation, then it is little wonder why pining over past pictures is a cheap belief’s only nostalgic hope. Maybe when we don’t give a tinker’s damn about whether we are hell bound or heaven worthy will we find liberation from the fear of saving our lives and in so doing, find our lives here and now — the inseparable life within all humanity of whom Jesus spoke. Take a look at the world and see the unhappiness around you and in you. Do you know what causes this unhappiness? You will probably say loneliness or oppression or war or hatred or atheism. And you will be wrong. There is only one cause of unhappiness. The false beliefs you have in your head, beliefs so widespread, so commonly held, that it never occurs to you to question them. Because of these false beliefs you see the world and yourself in a distorted way. Your programming is so strong and the pressure of society so intense that you are literally trapped into perceiving the world in this distorted kind of way. Any universally self-evident truth cannot require its acceptance by threatening an eternally tormenting conclusion through belief without experientially knowing the truth’s infinitely stable Source. The truth makes the individual free by allowing knowing it as truth rather than forcing theologically incorporated beliefs replete with finite uncertainty. There’s no belief in reality. Reality doesn’t need beliefs. Reality is just the way things are. You don’t have to believe in the way things are for them to be the way things are. You have to believe things are not the way they are in order to perceive things other than they actually are. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. There is only one reality. Misperception of reality is nearer to what Jesus references as evil than reality as it is could ever be. Any final distinction between natural and supernatural or sacred and profane is a bogus one.
He drew a circle that shut me out –
Heretic, rebel, a thing to pout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in!
Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. To fear death because of the illusion that one is nearing the only life that he or she both trusts and distrusts as the infinitely yet finite ultimate reality demands the death of one’s illusion, not the universally and inseparably one infinite truth knowable within reality — here now.
Truth is self-evident truth that can only be truth by the purposeful avoidance of all contact with the confinable, the controllable and the unnatural contamination’s conceivable by the intrinsically dualistic and divisive human convention of methodically preclusive systematic theology. Upon making God’s infinitely perfect love an intellectually academic field of study, this studying stifles the unfolding realisations of this eternal now. And below is a poem written in 1912 that continues to illustrate the destructive pattern of what occurs whenever humankind demands finite certitude over infinite consciousness.
One day, through the primeval wood,
A calf walked home, as good calves should;
But made a trail all bent askew,
A crooked trail, as all calves do.
Since then three hundred years have fled,
And, I infer, the calf is dead.
But still he left behind his trail,
And thereby hangs my moral tale.
The trail was taken up next day
By a lone dog that passed that way;
And then a wise bellwether sheep
Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep,
And drew the flock behind him, too,
As good bellwethers always do.
And from that day, o’er hill and glade,
Through those old woods a path was made,
And many men wound in and out,
And dodged and turned and bent about,
And uttered words of righteous wrath
Because ’twas such a crooked path;
But still they followed — do not laugh —
The first migrations of that calf,
And through this winding wood-way stalked
Because he wobbled when he walked.
This forest path became a lane,
That bent, and turned, and turned again.
This crooked lane became a road,
Where many a poor horse with his load
Toiled on beneath the burning sun,
And traveled some three miles in one.
And thus a century and a half
They trod the footsteps of that calf.
The years passed on in swiftness fleet.
The Road became a village street,
And this, before men were aware,
A city’s crowded thoroughfare,
And soon the central street was this
Of a renowned metropolis;
And men two centuries and a half
Trod in the footsteps of that calf.
Each day a hundred thousand rout
Followed that zigzag calf about,
And o’er his crooked journey went
The traffic of a continent.
A hundred thousand men were led
By one calf near three centuries dead.
They follow still his crooked way,
And lose one hundred years a day,
For thus such reverence is lent
To well-established precedent.
A moral lesson this might teach
Were I ordained and called to preach;
For men are prone to go it blind
Along the calf-paths of the mind,
And work away from sun to sun
To do what other men have done.
They follow in the beaten track,
And out and in, and forth and back,
And still their devious course pursue,
To keep the path that others do.
They keep the path a sacred groove,
Along which all their lives they move;
But how the wise old wood-gods laugh,
Who saw the first primeval calf!
Ah, many things this tale might teach
But I am not ordained to preach.