Once upon a time, the poor had a classic pleading,
Hey friend, can you spare any change?
Now, it sounds more like,
Hey you, my whole family is sick and I need $26 dollars so I can pay the rent.
Apparently, and underneath it all, the price of our addictions and our feelings of entitlement upon others have grown dramatically.
I mean exactly what I said.
This horrible change is ours.
It's not theirs, but yours and mine.
Why do we say
they, and blame the world for our problems?
They is a four letter word; a filthy word that cares not for your gender nor your identity nor your collective number.
We say they in presumption of being able to float high above the ground in disgust of all which we pretend is not like us, in full hypocrisy and malice towards humanity and God's creations.
Don't think we can speak that way in our homes and get away with it.
These addictions and entitlements are ours. I am pointing my finger at each of you within the effect of my keyboard while at the same time I point 3 fingers back at myself too. I confess to begging on the street myself and I accuse you of the same either literally or in spirit. I look squarely at you who reads to connect my taps upon some broken keyboard in your distant past to taps upon your neurons in your now as a sort of morse code for the soul. If I met you, I might rap gently and purposefully upon your head with my fingers, like your crown were a keyboard to wake you up more immediately all the same.
What am I saying? We have addictions. We have lust for any and every bit that is not yet ours. We always want more. We feel entitled to others and to every soul upon this earth (and far beyond) to support our desires fully while knowing nothing of those we call on. We insist that strangers come tirelessly to feed our bottomless pits of desire. We lie into the light, curse it, and claim it for ourselves, so we may continue down dark paths. Neither our embarrassment for our part in it nor our desires to survive in it can be counted as a virtue.
We may minimize our lusts. We may not give in to them as much. We may only satisfy ourselves with what is not ours by default or habit. You know, like taking a little break from our many self-imagined virtues. We deny the existence of our addictions, their hold on us, and the seriousness of the demolition they wage upon us. We insist they are fun and safe enough secretly to ourselves or repeat this thought to others in hopes of assured mutual corruption. We brag of our lusts openly so we might win one more time of it. We belittle and disown our addictions, and ignore them during our pretended day. We lust for more lust — more of what was never ours. In all this, we plant our lust in fertile darkness so the generations of its continuance may be unending. In all this we make ourselves beggars then robbers then murderers all the while thinking that the light could afford us more darkness.
Declare war on yourself. You cannot beat your lust. It is yourself you must beat down.
You are them. I am you and you are me. We are all friends that love to hate each other. Lust is always there to wear the face of friendship but to block you from ever winning one to your cause.
We are all friends who can save each other, if only we would first destroy ourselves in this most important of slow and painful ways.
How can we destroy ourselves? We can destroy our bodies, by following lust for our addictions, even lust for our own destruction, but if we can find the focus to think without delusion nor prejudice of emotion, we know that this kind of destruction won't help anyone, but ourselves. Self-medicating, self-defacing, and self-harming actions while desparate in a desire to do some impactful good, becomes just one more act of glutony while we rob whoever, wherever, and always right now.
We are men, women and children battling for more, but in so doing we always have less. We cannot embrace lust and be free. We cannot make a little spot for it in our lives and still help others to conquer it.
But we cannot destroy lust. Despite any partial, temporary, or absolute success of its removal from ourselves, lust will go on to live at the very threshold of our doors and at every window whether latched or not. Lust will hang at the edge of every wandering thought.
Every act of addiction or leading thought must be refused and not entertained. Leaving the smallest, tiniest place for it in our lives does not show we are conquering it, but that it is in full force and control. In our lust, we hate these words. We hate to hear how we should remove our lusts, in adament disbelief of self worth. We revolt at the thought of taking in more pain, but we must lust for pain to remove its root in us. Our lust feels like part of our own bodies, part of our identity and purpose, so we feel rejected all the more as we try to avoid its repeated adventure. Most of all we cry in our hangry rant, about our perpetual starvation, but go on to fill ourselves to excess, to overdose; to death we march.
Lust will lie to us forever, saying we need it.
We could never need what should never be ours.
More can never be had nor held.
More cannot provide anything but the most temporary sort of satisfaction accompanied with the most perpetual kind of pain.
Our ridding of lust will never work, unless our first step after knowing it for what it is, is to completely and totally refuse it with every next step. One day we may learn to walk without lust. We take many first steps each time only to fall on our faces while we learn. We cannot keep our balance with lust, for it is the very proof of imbalance like the signal of our inner ears that speaks of the impending crash if we do not immediately place our foot directly towards its pull and directly against its rapidly accelerating power upon us.
We must take the pain of starvation of giving up all that is
more in our lives so we can live possibly happy, so we can save our friends.
We cannot catch our friends in their fall, unless we happen at the moment to be close to them while having an excess of balance.
I tell you and myself with a gentle tapping that we must learn to resist lust in every step that we may find and chance to save real friends or else we must suffer head injuries alone or alone amidst false friends.
I feel taking in the rapping of my fingers upon our brain matter may offer us the far more gentle path, and the real life to be lived.
Now let us all take a moment, every next moment forever, to turn our unquenchable thirst against ourselves to move forward, choosing that our neurons be rapped upon continually in self restraint that we may be free to move faster and in maximum self control. Let us do so, to avoid the inevitable alternative, which is that we momentarily feel the full gravity and thrill of kinetic freedom in sacrifice of our potential energy, which is followed by a blow sustained in full force in proportion to the square of the height of the majesty of our perspective and in multiple of the hardness of our very soul against the firmness of the supports which first imparted to us that perspective.
In greed I seek to stump you with math by that word problem. To increase the length of the quiet moments that build my peace of mind, I share so I may put myself at ease at a safe distance from the impending time of your fall. But while writing I avoid you in time, I hope that in space, I may catch you during what could be your worst fall, to tell you of God's love with or without words, to save your misguided head a little longer, that you may know that I adore you exactly for who you are.
When I catch you by strength, when I drop you in weakness, when I witness your fall and regret for lack of my closeness, or when I am caught completely unaware in great distance or ignorance; in short, when you are reminded of your peril of harm and death, I hope you see in it your renewed chance of living another day. Regardless, I hope you know that you are beautiful in my eyes and marvelous in my mind for every moment I look away. I cannot stop to gaze at your face and even feel my own swoon of imbalance at our shared smile and connected glance nor can I stop thinking of you with a silly grin to myself while sitting or wandering nearly alone and in continual conversation with God. All the while I hope to feel as though I can see why God made you, why He put you in my path, or how that path may be rejoined in mutual relief of friendship free of all addiction except the joy of the reality of what is already ours.
As to these falls, these epic fails, I may catch you with the quickness of thoughtfulness, I may help to dress your wounds of carelessness to help you, or I may pick up what remains of you in the slowness of careful urgency and always longing your return in full form to this world and to some future shared blissfulness. But in all I do and in all my fails or yours, let me just say that I love you so much. I would not change a thing about you. Not one bit!
I thank God for you and how my curved path may bring us in range of one another's catch. I thank your parents for you; for all their mistakes and lessons from which they taught. I thank you for sharing some time to cry with me a little while; lame, learning to walk.