That we are endowed with free will permits us to ignore the presence of the personality of the infinite. And stepping out of that mainstream of light and attempting to create one’s own isolated version of reality is endlessly tricky and ultimately (and constantly) futile. Momentary shots of pleasure, spurts in the dark, are about all one can anticipate when one is divorced from that light which provides the joy. The thrill one experiences when risking one’s life is the release of adrenaline which is equipping you to deal with a threatening circumstance and screaming at you to take note. Artificially jumpstarting these hormonal releases is akin to a form of gluttony, imitating the godlike and indiscriminate consumption of vast pleasures.
Funny thing about joy: it eludes control. Was not Buddha elucidating this point another way when he said, “Everything in moderation.”?
When we stop imitating God or pretending ourselves to be the infinite personality responsible for love and joy in this world, then perhaps we will position ourselves to enjoy the visibility of something divine at work.
Man needs to regain his perspective of life and enjoyment. By many successive generations of lapsing into isolationism and stunted growth our very mechanisms to know joy are being genetically altered, as in diminished.
The enlightened man and emancipated societies of long ago existed in a dimension which did not require record-keeping so take heart, our brief history of hell can be measured by the relatively new act of marking our histories by the glories of war. We can pull out of this malaise soon, especially given the recent efforts of noble scientists who are reading a different and staggeringly more beautiful rendition of the human code.
Besides, our genetic memories incline us to this light. Just ask those nuns in Montreal.
All Eyes Agog on
Horrorscopes
By Ms Urble
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