#omniscient god. god of knowing and seeing. knowledge at a price. knowledge without the power to do anything but observe

[torrette-superieur]

DEMON NOBODY BY NOBODY KNOWN BY NOBODY COMPOSED OF NOBODY MET NO SELF KNOWLEDGE SUPERIMPOSED TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRICISM THE FUTURE RESELLING THE PAST AFTER YOU SEE IT IN THE PAST AFTER THEY HAVE SEEN YOU YOU HAVE SEEN IT GONE INTO THE CURRENT FUTURE INTENDANT REPLICANT INTO THE PAST UCCI YES FROM POLDO AFTER YOU SEE HIM GONE INTO THE CURRENT FUTURE KILLED UNKNOWING THEY TAKE OVER IN THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM HIDDEN REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE REAL REASON REAL DYNAMICS DEMON CELESTIAL BEING VISIBLE BY YOUR EXPERIENCE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS PERSONAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE AUTISTICLY UNKNOWING THE PRESENT AS IF THERE WAS NO CONFLICT CREATED CHANGE OF TOPICS KNOWN USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WERE NOT SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING KNOWING FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS THREELY STOLEN TRIPLE OBSTRUCTED SHADOW MADE EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED THREELY OBSTRUCTION CONFLICT CREATED CHANGE OF TOPICS EXCHANGE OF HEARTS REPLACEMENT OF PEOPLE PEOPLE DISAPPEARING RETROCESSIVE LAW AT OTHER MIRACLE IN FORCE CANCELLATION OF EARLIER MIRACLES THE GONE AND BACK FROM THE COMA THIEF KILLER CREDITOR DEALER FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS NEM TECHNIQUE ICO FROM SPACE TO EAT US IN HIS NOTHING WISDOM FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS SOMEONE TELL HIM FUTURE OF THE DEAD CURRENT INTREPLICANT REPLICANT INTO THE PAST THINGS ALREADY HAPPENED NEVER HAPPENED YET TO HAPPEN ALREADY RETURNED NOT YET DEAD ALREADY DEAD THINGS ALREADY HAPPENED NEVER HAPPENED YET TIMELESS OPERATIONAL MIRACLES HAPPEN EXTRASPATIAL TAKEN INTO THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM OCCULTATOR REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE REAL REASON FUNCTION ON THE PRICE OF THE RETAILER ART COME AFTER BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC TEXTS ANCIENT EGYPTIANS INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION PRIOR OFFICIAL RESOLUTION TO EVERY FACT CONCEALMENT ON THE OUTWARD OF SUCH RETURN FUTURISTIC LAW THREE TIMES NOT LIVED ALREADY ACTIVE AND CAUSED WITHIN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ONE'S INTELLIGENCE AND ONE'S INTELLIGENCE NATURE WITHOUT DIMENSION ASSUMED AUTISTICLY RESOLD FROM NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN FROM EXPIRED AUTISTIC SPACE WITH ABSOLUTE AUTISTIC CONDEMNATION THE NIGHT SUN FALSE BEARS THE STORY OF THE MOON OF THE ENEMY THE STORY OF THE ENEMY OF THE FOUR MOONS BRAHAMAN THREELY OBSTRUCTED IN TURN OBSTRUCTOR KESHA ALL INDRA STELLA FORATTINIANA THE WAR OF THE CAROUSEL OF DREAMS RELATIONSHIP OBSTRUCTION DEOSTRUCTION JEALOUS DREAMS BETWEEN THEM EVANGELICAL HIERARCHY OF ALREADY DREAMS LOTUS FLOWER WITHOUT SUPER SKUNK SENSITIVITY EXHAUSTS ITS VIRTUE Ù IN HIS DEFECT REVERSED CROSS RELEGATION TO COMMUNISM SELF-ELUSION OF COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED GOD NOT KNOWING FOR HIMSELF THAT HE IS ASSHOLE AND COMMUNIST AUTOMATICALLY IN POWER FALSE CAUSE FALSE OPERATIONAL DYNAMICS AUTISTICALLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWING THE PRESENT KNOWING USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WERE NO CONFLICT CREATED CHANGE OF ARGUMENTS SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED AS A TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS FALSE TRANSCEDENTAL IDEALISM FALSE EXTERNAL FALSE PARADISE REVERSED COMMUNISM NO FALSE DOOR FALSE EXTERNAL NATURE NO BRAIN INCASTING SUCH AS TO ASSUME PO TERE INCUBATOR BECOMING ROTTEN DREAM SLEEP THE JOKE THAT KILLS IF YOU ARE NOT A COMMUNIST YOU EXTINGUISH ETC ETC

[justignitestuff]

The Dream SMP is a love story.

Not a traditional one by any means. There’s a lot more blood, a lot more death, a lot more broken bones.

It’s about the love between the revolutionary and his right-hand man. The one that became fraternal, that went between life and death, that demonstrates how love and hate are not opposites but counterparts. That they are fuelled by care, by fear, by the inability to let go even when it makes your hands bleed. The inability to stop following even though your feet are tired, because at least then you can tell yourself you’re not lost.

It’s about the love between the boy who longs to remember and the boy who longs to forget. That started out so simple, a joke between the president and the minute taker, and now lives as a secret in an empty mansion and a child in an attic. 

Because nothing can be kept simple. In this life they know they can’t have light attachments. It must mean everything to risk holding on to, it must be something you can’t live without, something you can’t fathom losing. Someone that you’ll pay the price for, however high, however many times, always.

And the love is so fragile, not because it isn’t significant, not because it doesn’t kill them to think about all the ways it could go wrong, but because it’s based on little lies. On a perfect life they both pretend they have. A life that they keep in a glass dome, that they think the other is inside of but fail to see that they are also out protecting. Protecting with atomic bombs and secret societies, protecting with threats of treason and chests of lives.  

But they’re not stupid, they know that each of them keeps secrets, that they are merely broken pieces with dirty pasts that somehow managed to fit together. They know that neither of them are as innocent or ignorant as they wish they were.

It’s about the love between the angel of death and the wayward son. That lived in letters and was moved in the absence of them. The same love that was betrayed by a sword to the stomach was betrayed by a pen on paper and continued anyway. It went beyond life and came back to it, and although the son returned irreversibly changed the angel still loved him. Not just because his love is unconditional, but because he has loved beyond death before. 

It’s about the love between the lost king and the mad god. Where ignorance and apathy meets omniscience and mania. Where reality shatters and the narrative begins to bang on the fourth wall. Where all that stands between the broken world and no world at all is the promise of friendship from a man who gave up on friendship long ago, and the materials of a limitless god. 

It about the love between two sidekicks. Green and red, short and tall, the pessimist and the optimist. The one held for ransom and the one asked to pay the price.

And he always would, every time. No price ever too high, not the things he loved, not even himself.  

But one day the pessimist would become the one asked to pay the price, and he would refuse. Not because he didn’t love him but because he didn’t know the true cost, because he tried to think about the greater good, to think logically, to see the bigger picture. 

He would soon learn that greater good brings greater evil, and so he would create the greatest evil of them all. So that he could defend those he had left, so that nothing could surprise him anymore.

So that if the gods decided to destroy him, he would destroy them back. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, but not if there’s no world left to see.

And when the optimist would return from exile, would return from prison, would return from death, it would be hard. They would say things they didn’t mean because it hurt less, because it protected them from the fact that they had loved someone and suffered the consequences. Because it protected them from the fact that they still loved someone and would suffer again if it meant the other didn’t have to. 

It’s about the love between the immortal and the one who never dies. The eternal trust that comes with promises of the world and the knowledge of clandestine locations. That has remained an unspoken declaration and always will because they have forever.

The Dream SMP is a love story because all stories are love stories. Because what else is powerful enough to send you to war when the odds are against you? What else is strong enough to ignore the stab wounds and ask you to stay? What else is fierce enough to make proud men beg for the life of another? What else is stubborn enough to look at you and see your flaws and come home to you anyway? What else is rebelling enough to fight against the chains of what you have accepted of yourself, but not for someone else?

The Dream SMP is a love story. Love in all its forms. All its hideousness, all its glory.

[carlsaganlunatic]

La Déesse Dedans/The Goddess Within: Anime and Ego

       In the biblical story of the “Tower of Babel”, humanity attempts to build their way to heaven. God, in order to inhibit the prideful undertaking of the humans, casts a magic spell to diversify the spoken languages of those audacious people, effectively enabling them from being able to converse and communicate (The Bible). The attempt to become gods is a foolish one. In theology and philosophy, sentience is a necessary hierarchy that separates gods from men. Through self-contemplation and existential crises, the vast majority of humans are guilty of muling over their purpose in life. Reminiscent of the “Tower of Babel”, this search for truth in the uniquely “human” paradigm is a fruitless endeavor grounded in egotism.

       We like to believe we’re special. Ptolemy and Aristotle believe that Earth was the center of the universe in which bodies in the solar system revolve. Furthermore, the absence of evidence for alien intelligent life helps drive the fantasy of humans being the sole observers of the Universe. An innate bias programmed into our worldview filters down into our actions, inflating our egos to unreachable heights. Conflict plays a major role in the cyberpunk anime Ergo Proxy as the characters struggle to find meaning in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. In this dismal world of demons and gods, humans create robots resembling humans called Autorievs programmed to perform tasks in society with precision and automation (Ergo Proxy, 1). Chaos breaks loose as the Autorievs begin to fall victim to the Cogito Virus, a programming malfunction that forces the robots to become self-aware. Humans fear the evolution of their sentient creations as it challenges their own superiority complex of intelligence and awareness, clearly reflecting the god complex of many humans that challenges the ultimate divinity of n’importe religion. Pattern denounces breaking the natural hierarchy of the world through any attempt to evolve a being’s set level of sentience.

       Suffering is an inevitable condition of the human experience. Suffering ensues from our inherent curiosity about the ways of the world and the ultimate reality of existence. Ultimate truth implies the possession of omnipotence- a capability beyond the likes of mortals. Certitude renders the search for meaning a futile effort. Nihilism argues that, because there is no essence or implied meaning to reality, life is meaningless and reality is not even real. The plot of Ergo Proxy creatively depicts this meaningless search for meaning as its main characters struggle to reconcile their existential anguish. For example, Re-I, grand-daughter of an elite government official in their dystopian society Romdeau, sets off on her own journey for truth after coming face-to-face with a Proxy (Ergo Proxy, 1). Proxies, like Autorievs, are a creation of the technologically-advanced humans, previously intended to act as rulers of the domes or societies of the Earth-based humans in hopes of reinstating order to the ruin that Earth fell into. Proxies, though, possess powers that threaten the authority of human-beings as they are more advanced in their consciousness. After coming into contact with one of these evolved beings, Re-I becomes impassioned to seek for an explanation to the awe inspired by this glimpse of divinity. Her curiosity quickly becomes the bain of her existence as she suffers endlessly to piece together the meaning of her place in this world of gods and women. Re-I’s egotism is a commonality shared by all human beings. Anthropomorphic views blind our rationality, leading us to reach beyond the limits of our knowledge and almost always ending in tragedy.

       Hubris or excessive pride misleads humans to their tragic downfall as they overestimate their mortal capabilities and emulate the qualities of gods and goddesses. In the myth of Icarus, our tragic hero flying too close to the sun, reached too far beyond his limits and was incinerated in the process. Ergo Proxy explores this concept seen in the Greek mythological story of Icarus referred to as hubris. Vincent Law, the male protagonist of Ergo Proxy, suffers similarly to Re-I in his journey to self-realization. Being both human and Proxy, Vincent cannot understand his place in the world and tortures himself by trying to reconcile the meaning of his existence. From a nihilistic point of view, Vincent’s efforts are meaningless as he cannot possibly know what significance he has in the Universe as no essence is prescribed to his existence. Interconnecting nihilist philosophy with the idea of anthropomorphism as a bias in perspective of reality necessitates a new term. I would like to introduce the term “tumidism” as the belief that humans’ egocentric search for a truth beyond their own level of sentience is the effect of a meaningless existence. Our selfishness leads us to assume some meaning beyond the evidence seen before us. We invent gods and demons to fill the gaps of our understanding of the Universe as, we as mere mortals, cannot possibly comprehend the vast nature of the Universe. In Ergo Proxy, Autorievs infected with the Cogito virus drop to their knees and pray as they develop an overwhelming sense of awareness that materialized from a void. Following a sequence of references to the mythology of Icarus, the final episode of Ergo Proxy famously shows one of the Proxies retreating to the heavens in an array of light rays, reminiscent of Icarus’ flight towards the sun (Ergo Proxy, 23). The Austrian psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud claims that humans have a tendency to explain away phenomena unknown to them through religion. Coined the “God of the Gaps” theory by Friedrich Nietzshe, famous German nihilist philosopher, this pattern emerges from religious beings assigning gaps in their understanding of the Universe to be direct evidence of God's existence. Nietzshe recognized the egocentric nature of humans in believing themselves capable of making sense of the mysteries of the world. Ergo Proxy’s Autorievs reaching towards human sentience, humans reaching towards god-like omniscience, and Icarus reaching towards the sun, we all form a rung on the ladder of hubris, destined to fall.

       Without evidence for extraterrestrial intelligence, humans remain in possession of the highest level of sentience among beings. This supposed uniqueness of humanity inevitably leads to a sense of pride in our intelligence. A pattern repeated throughout history, the hubris of Icarus from ancient Greek mythology heeds warning to reaching beyond one's limits. This quality, derived from human’s anthropocentric and ecocentric worldview, defies the natural order of intelligence as it is a forced evolution by humans to become gods. The post-apocalyptic anime series Ergo Proxy shows the progression of suffering that results from searching for an ultimate truth beyond one’s capabilities of comprehension. Art mirrors life as the characters of Ergo Proxy realize the inferiority of humanity on the Universal time scale.

       Nietzsche’s nihilistic philosophy combined with the anthropomorphic tendencies of humanity brings to light the catch-all term- “tumidism”- describing the downfall of humanity as placing their own selfish meaning to a reality otherwise meaningless as far as human-sentience is concerned. With latin root “tumid” meaning goddess, god, or divinity, tumidism effectively unifies egotism and heroic tragedy. Vying for equality as no single person is above or beyond another, tumidism thereby grants universal equality to all breathing beings. Whether the respiration source is oxygen or methane is of unimportance. In a world accelerating towards climate catastrophe, it is clear that the selfishness of humanity does indeed yield a price to pay. All that exists was birthed from the same cosmic origin. Whether or not some divine being set off this creation is not the most essential question. The significance is within the fact that all beings, humans included, are kin in the cosmos.

       Assigning unique importance to any one species of being is plain ignorance. I, for one, am awaiting the day where humanity realizes the cosmic commonality shared between all creatures and can set aside our egos to simply admire the beauty of the world. “Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too?” (Adams). Messiahs aside, we are all one in the spirit.

Works Cited

Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Pan Books. 1979.

Ergo Proxy. Shuko Murase. 2006.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1891.

The English Standard Version Bible: Containing the Old and New Testaments with Apocrypha, Oxford UP, 2009.

[mythologyfolklore]

Trusting the enemy - Pt. 03

Óðinn – Mourning

(A/N: Set shortly before Ragnarök. Óðinn and Loki have a last, messed-up conversation. It's about how things are, how they once were and why they are the way they are now. They have a lot of blame to share.)

The Allfather will freely admit, that he isn't omniscient (even though he wishes he was).

But that doesn't change the fact, that he is aware of a lot of things.

He is aware, that a lot of the worlds' evils are his own fault.

He is aware, that he has started most of it.

He is aware of the mistake he made in his treatment of Angrboða and her children (ah, the beauty of hindsight!).

He is aware, that he was the first to ruin the brotherly bond he and Loki once had.

There is no denying, that he is guilty.

“Óðinn! My children! My little ones! My boys and my little girl, they are gone! Where are they?! Where are my children? WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??? GIVE THEM BACK TO ME! GIVE THEM BACK!!! GIVE ME BACK MY CHILDREN!!!”

Loki's anguished and hysterical shrieking rings in his ears to this day.

But it's too late now, too late to rectify the mistake he has made. Even if the trickster's baleful brood chose to forgive him (and Óðinn isn't stupid enough to think they ever could or would), freeing them and bringing them back would still be too dangerous.

That's why they must be kept away from Asgard and Midgard.

Óðinn knows, that Loki will never understand this, but he has to prioritise the well-being of several entire races over that of three monstrous, insanely powerful children – especially, if those children are destined to destroy the existing world. Jörmungandr encompasses the entirety of Midgard and Fenrir is as large as the mountains of Utgard. Hel equals him in power, but never in his life has he seen such dark, unhallowed magic contained in one little girl's body. It would be impossible to keep them in Heaven anyway; they would destroy everything without even wanting to, way before Ragnarök is scheduled to happen.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

Fate cannot be avoided, but he'll be damned, if he won't do anything to postpone it!

Of course he has regrets, but he only does what must be done.

As the Allfather, it's his duty to protect those he rules over.

If he is a war monger, it's because he needs warriors for Valhalla. Warriors, who will face and stop the troops of Hel, when Ragnarök comes.

If he allows his son Þórr to slay as many giants as possible, it's to ensure that enough gods will survive the Fate of the Gods to make the world anew and not commit the mistakes their forefathers made.

If he does nothing to prevent the death of his dear sons, of nearly his entire race, of many others as well, it's because the cosmos needs to die, before it can be reborn.

And most of all … if he used to keep Loki Laufeyjarsón close to him, it was to keep a better eye on him.

That and because he couldn't imagine life without his wily blood-brother.

The fire giant has been family to him the moment they met – they had been soul friends.

He knows, that for the other it is … used to be the same.

Loki knows him so well, only his beloved companion Frigg knows him better.

Even today, Óðinn sees the fire giant as his brother, no matter the terrible things they have both done to each other.

The Allfather grieves for his beloved twins. Everybody knows that.

But he also grieves for the first friend he ever had, wishes that he could have spared him his fate. Nobody knows that, except for Frigg.

However, it's blood for blood and both of them have always known this.

Of course he knows, why the trickster has done all of it, why there is no going back, why he will never be forgiven.

He knows, that behind the other's nonchalant facade, hatred has been boiling for a long time.

But Óðinn is a dutiful ruler – he will always put the world and its people first. Because he loves them, even those who aren't his flesh and blood. He isn't called the “Allfather” for nothing.

When it's the well-being of a few versus that of trillions of creatures, there is no room for dispute.

The world, despite all the evil in it, is still beautiful and full of splendour and goodness and it gives him joy, because he is the one, who made it (and his brothers, but they are gone forever, they will never come back).

It's too early for all of this to die.

And if the price for preserving it is his former best friend's love, then so be it.

.

Loki is a lot of things.

Forgiving is not one of them.

And Óðinn would be a fool, if he believed, that Loki would ever forgive him.

Yes, the trickster knows, that he lost all sympathy when he murdered Baldr and consequently brought on the death of Höðr.

But Óðinn is the one, who started it!

God of wisdom and knowledge his arse!

The Allfather should have thought of the bullshit that would happen, before he banished and mistreated Loki's eldest children!

Binding Fenrir, who only ever wanted to be accepted by the gods! Flinging Jörmungandr into the goddamn ocean surrounding Midgard and allowing Þórr to nearly bash his skull in! Literally sending Hel to Niflheimr! Using Sleipnir as his steed, as if he was just a regular horse! And don't even get him started on the fact, that he is currently chained to three rocks and has a snake above his head, dropping acidic venom onto his face. And this isn't even the worst of it: the chains he is bound with are the entrails of one of his sons! They turned Narfi into a wolf and made him tear apart his own brother – before killing him too and using Nari's guts to bind their father! The guts have turned into chains and are magically enhanced; it takes a lot of magic to bind the wily trickster.

Loki doesn't even know how long he has been bound now and he feels the last shreds of his sanity slipping away. He would have lost it a long time ago, if it wasn't for his faithful companion.

Raising Sigyn to unconditional loyalty is the one thing Óðinn has done right.

But apart from this, the Raven God has fucked up big time. Like, really big. Bigger than Fenrir and Jörmungandr and their size is mind-boggling.

The fire giant isn't just in physical pain.

He is consumed by hatred, wrath, hurt, lust for revenge … and heartbreak.

Sure, he brought his own torment upon himself, he won't deny that.

But that his beloved children had to pay for his mistakes, is more than he can bear.

The Sly God weeps once in a blue moon, but when he does, he has a lot of tears to shed.

He weeps for his children, for their fate. For his wife and her lot. For his own fate and because of the pain he's in.

For the good times, the unique bonds and friendships he once had, when he was still counted as one of the Æsir.

And for the amazing adventures he, his blood-brother and his friends went on, the crazy things they went through, the fun they shared … the laughter.

What he doesn't shed is tears of remorse; he doesn't regret bringing the twins to the pyre, not for one second! It has been done and he would do it again!

He did it for revenge, which Óðinn definitely knows.

He did it out of hatred and spite, which Óðinn obviously also knows.

He did it for other reasons, which Óðinn will never know and Loki will never tell.

Óðinn will never forgive him for the death of his twins.

It's a certainty Loki can trust in.

The trickster doesn't blame the Allfather, because the feeling is absolutely mutual.

Loki will never forgive.

Never.

.

He feels the Allfather's presence, before Sigyn opens her mouth to address him.

“What brings you here, my father.”

Her tone is cold. Yet she still calls him her father, because she is kinder and more forgiving than Loki could ever be.

From the corner of his eye, he catches her lift a questioning brow at the intruder.

As the tall, black-haired and one-eyed Raven God comes into view, Loki can't see anything more than his silhouette; it's dark in the cave.

But he can see, that Huginn and Muninn are perched on his shoulder as always.

The fire giant projects his inner heat unto the surface, until his skin is gleaming like red-hot metal and his long red hair turns into liquid fire, illuminating the cave. Sigyn takes a step back to prevent her dress from catching fire, but leans forward to still hold the bowl over his head.

Now he can see the Allfather's face clearly.

He scoffs: “Oh my, my, my! What a surprise to see you here, my dear brother! Have you been yearning for me? Have you finally decided, that you can't live without me and come to free me?”

What he means is: You have quite some nerve showing your face here.

Óðinn's expression and tone are blank, as he responds: “Keep dreaming, Laufeyjarsón.”

“Was worth a try”, Loki jokes and would have shrugged, but he can't move his shoulders.

Óðinn catches his daughter and the trickster by surprise, when he opens his cloak with his free hand, revealing the big bowl he has been hiding underneath. It's full of golden apples and bigger than the one Sigyn is holding above her husband's face. He carefully takes the apples out of it and puts them onto a nearby rock, before turning to her.

“Your bowl is nearly full”, he tells his daughter, “And you're tired. Go and rest a little, my child. I will be here for a while and what I have to tell your husband is confidential.”

Sigyn's eyes narrow and they have a little staring contest, until she finally gives in.

The Raven God holds his bigger bowl in place of his daughter's and his face is grim, as he stares down onto his former friend's grotesque visage.

The trickster used to be drop-dead gorgeous in his regular chosen shape.

Now he is almost skin and bones and his skin is scarred from struggling in his chains. His once beautiful face is disfigured by the acidic poison dropping onto it, when Sigyn has to empty her bowl.

“As you can see”, Loki rasps cynically, “Several millennia of wasting away in here haven't made me prettier.”

“Your outside is almost resembling your inside”, Óðinn retorts. “Add long fangs and claws and then it's perfect.”

The Wolf's Father laughs – a balking, guttural, forsooth blood-curdling sound (so much unlike the silvery snicker the Allfather used to know).

The one-eyed god wonders, how it's physically possible for a being literally born from primordial flames to have such a frigid laugh.

Then again, there is nothing Loki can't do.

“Nothing is impossible”, the trickster used to say and indeed, it has always seemed to Óðinn, like there is no obstacle the other cannot overcome. It used to inspire the Raven God, encouraged him to push his own limits, to go further and further, to where no one has never been. The shapeshifter has always been so good at motivation … it's one of the things Óðinn once liked – no, still likes about the other.

Of course Loki recognises the look in the Allfather's silver grey eye.

“Thinking of the old days?”

“Good times”, Óðinn recalls.

He and Loki look deep into each other's eyes and they know, they're thinking the same.

They miss those old times.

They miss each other.

But neither will say it or allow himself to be truly nostalgic. It would rip them to shreds.

The old days are gone, they will never come back, they can't be brought back and the bond the Allfather and the shapeshifter once had can never be repaired.

They are not the men they once were.

Their vengefulness towards each other is really all they have left now.

Deep melancholy hovers over them, as they reflect on this.

Then Loki huffs: “What do you want, Óðinn?”

Of course Óðinn notices the thinly-veiled hostility, but he doesn't comment on it. It's not like he can fault the other for being hostile, after all.

“Talk”, he answers bluntly.

Loki's eyes narrow.

“Talk”, he echoes flatly. “Talk. You chained me to three rocks with the entrails of my own flesh and blood and expect to have a civil conversation with me.”

The fire giant is this close to erupting, but if he did, the cave would collapse and kill them both.

So he takes a deep breath and decides to humour his former blood-brother.

“Fine. What do you want to … talk about?”

“Just the old times.”

This angers Loki so much, that he struggles violently in his chains and flares enough to nearly set the other's clothes ablaze.

Óðinn looks unimpressed, but his ravens shift nervously.

“If I were you, I would watch that fire. After all, I am currently holding a bowl over your head.”

“And you expect me to be grateful?!”, the shapeshifter hisses. “How dare you – how dare you show your face around here and expect me to want to talk to you about the past?! After all what happened since then! You … you …”

Before he can spew out insults, his strength leaves him and he collapses back onto the rock with a groan. Being bound and tortured here for ages has weakened him considerably.

His flames grow dimmer and dimmer, until he is back to his disfigured godly form and the cave is as dark as before.

Óðinn shakes his head and uses his free hand to conjure a small ball of light to illuminate the place.

“I hate you!”, Loki growls weakly.

The Allfather chuckles: “Something else, that's not new?”

“Go to Helheimr!”

“After Ragnarök.”

“I hope my son will chew you thoroughly, before he swallows you!”

“Wolves can't chew, Loptr.”

“Fuck you, Fenrir isn't like other wolves!”

“No, sadly not.”

They fall silent for a while.

When Óðinn is sure, that his now enemy is calm enough, he asks: “Do you remember?”

How we met?

Loki looks at him tiredly. “Everything”, he breathes. “I remember everything.”

“Me too. I had just given my eye to drink from the Well of Wisdom and gained the runes by hanging myself from Yggdrasil.”

“I found you lying unconsciously on the ground, after you fell off the tree.” A quiet chuckle. “You looked really nasty. At first I thought you were dead, until you groaned. Then I wrapped you in my blanket and carried you off to my shelter.”

“And when I woke up, I was all patched up and you were sitting by the fire, humming to yourself. When you noticed, that I was awake, you told me how you found me. And when you asked me what happened and I told you, you said that I was a fool.”

“I still think you're a fool – more so than ever, dare I say.”

“We're both fools. We always were.”

“And then you told me about yourself”, Loki continues, “You told me about your brothers, Vili and Ve. How they stabbed you in the back, because you can do magic. And you told me about your parents, Bórr and Bestla and the frost giants and how you made Midgard. And … and you shared your knowledge with me, even though you didn't even know my name yet. And when I asked you, why you were telling me this, you said …”

“'Because I'm lonely and you're the first person I've spoken to in a while'”, Óðinn smiles. “You told me about your family too. About your little brothers, Býleistr and Helblindi and your parents, Fárbauti and Laufey. And you told me that your grandparents are Surtr and Simnara. At first I didn't buy it, but when you took your fire giant form, I was dazzled.”

“Because you had never seen a fire jötunn before”, the other recalls softly. “Tell me, Allfather; have you met any others, since you met me? You never visited my grandfather?”

“No. I'd rather not talk to someone, who can lay whole worlds to ashes with a swing of his flaming sword.”

You're both fated to destroy the world. That seems to run in your family.

“Coward. My grandparents are not that bad. Well, aside from that, of course!”, Loki giggles. “Grandmother is still waiting for me to come pick up the sword I left with her.”

“Charming. I bet Heimdallr will be impressed by your shiny sword.”

That's pure sarcasm; Múspellsheimr will freeze over, before anything impresses Heimdallr.

Loki cackles: “I wanted to use it on you, but my dear son Fenrir called dibs on you. And how could I possibly say no to him, after what you have done?”

He stops laughing. “If I had known this, I never would have offered to be your brother. I never would have mingled my blood with yours. The promises we made to each other …”

“I remember”, Óðinn tells him softly. “Of course I remember.”

“Do you?”, Loki questions doubtfully.

The Allfather doesn't blame him for not believing it.

So he quotes: “'I, Óðinn, shall be your brother, not by flesh, but in blood and soul. I promise to support you, to protect you from danger, to help you in need, to trust you unconditionally and share my secrets with you. I promise to let you share in my joy, to share your burdens and ease your grief. I will accept no food or drink, unless you get your share as well …'”

“'… And your wife will be a sister to me and your children will be mine and I will love them as such'”, Loki finishes. “You remember that part too, don't you?”

“Of course I do”, the Raven God replies sombrely.

“You were the first to break the vow”, the trickster croaks. “How could you, Óðinn? You promised me … you promised me! When did you change your mind about treating my children as your own? The moment you saw them? The moment the Völva told you about them? The moment you realised how powerful they were? I always treated your children as mine, up until you pulled that crap!”

“Loki, you didn't seriously expect me to keep a serpent, who is big enough to encircle motherfucking Midgard and a wolf as big as the mountains of Utgard in Asgard, did you? Just a kind reminder, Asgard is much smaller than Midgard.”

Loki glares hatefully. “That doesn't excuse your treatment of them! You flung Jörmungandr into the ocean like a broken doll and betrayed Fenrir, who only ever wanted to be respected by you! He would have been on your side, I know he would have! And Hel! You tore her away from me and banished her to the other end of the cosmos! Did you really think that her being a queen would console me anyhow? The only of my children you treat well is Sleipnir and that's because he's useful to you!”

“You're wrong”, Óðinn cuts him off. “I'm kind to Sleipnir, because he is as much of a son to me, as he is my steed. Granted, it's easier, as he's far more docile than you, but that's not the point. As for Hel, she is fine. Were I to see her again, I would treat her as my equal. But keeping her in Asgard was too dangerous too. Do you have the faintest clue, just how dark a magic she contains? Too dark and too much to safely keep her around. And she is more attached to the dead than she is to the living. She has a position that suits her and in the netherworld, she could learn to control her power without hurting anyone. She has a crown and subjects who adore her-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”, Loki roars, and his voice echoes through the whole cave, “DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TRY TO EXCUSE, WHAT YOU DID-”

“Silence!”, Óðinn bellows in his most domineering tone and the other's mouth snaps shut.

Then he continues more gently: “I'm not trying to excuse anything. I know, there is no excuse. Do not believe for one second, that I'm proud of what I have done. I too have my regrets, Laufeyjarsón.”

“You're fucking kidding me, right?”, Loki laughs scornfully, “Are you fucking apologising?!”

“No. Just setting some things straight.”

It's too late to apologise.

“You killed my twins.”

“You killed mine first”, the black-haired Asa points out. “You couldn't expect that to have no repercussions.”

“Nari and Narfi were still children. They never did anything to you.”

“Baldr and Höðr never did anything to you either.”

Loki scoffs: “Come on! I did not kill Höðr. It was your son, whom you sired for that purpose, because you couldn't put the kid out of his misery yourself. Tell me: does Vali know, that the Blind One was his brother?”

“He does”, Óðinn answers calmly. “I told him a few years afterwards. When he was old enough to understand.”

“You chose to educate him after he committed fratricide? Priceless!”

“Big talk coming from the Fire Jötunn, who tricked my blind son into doing that very thing. It didn't surprise me, that you brought Baldr to the pyre. I know, why you did it. You were envious, spiteful and vengeful and you wanted to hurt me, like I hurt you. I understand that. And perhaps I could even forgive it, because we both know, that my dear son is happier where he is now. But what you did was even worse. You knew that Höðr loved his twin more than anything. He would rather have died a thousand deaths, before hurting his brother. You should have seen him, after he realised, what he had done. You have broken him and stained his hands with blood. That was insidious and evil. Why did you do this?”

“Because I couldn't stand him!”, Loki snarls icily. “I hated him, just like I hated his twin! I hated, that he was your spitting image. His entire demeanour, even his aura and personality were so much like yours. I couldn't stand looking at him! But there is another reason, why I did what I did. Do you want to know?”

Óðinn is tempted to take the bowl away and let the poison drop onto the other's face.

But he manages to keep his composure.

“I'm all ears.”

“I did it, because they both had to die.”

“Had they?”, Óðinn questions coolly, “I didn't kill your children, until you killed mine. I mistreated them, but they are alive and more or less well. Remember when you told me that to get even with me, you would have had to kill Þórr, Viðarr and Hermódr as well? Sorry to say it, but you're wrong again. If you wanted to get even with me, the appropriate thing would have been to kidnap them and lock them away somewhere. But not to kill them. It's true, my grandchildren didn't deserve to die. But neither did my children. Especially not the way they died.”

“I know”, Loki responds with strange calm, “I know, that they didn't deserve it. But I had to cause their deaths, to teach them the meaning of suffering, before they could become like us.”

Óðinn's eye widens at these words, as an epiphany strikes him. Of course! Suddenly things make a lot more sense! Why did that not occur to him on his own?

“You loved them”, he realises, “You loved them as much as you hated them. You love my children, just like you love yours – but you were so revenge-bent, that you fought and denied it, until it was completely twisted.”

Loki doesn't answer.

He doesn't have to.

The way he presses his scarred lips together and squeezes his eyes shut is answer enough.

They stay quiet for a while, taking their time to let this realisation sink in.

“I do not regret it”, the trickster finally whispers. But I do regret, that I had to do it.

“I know”, Óðinn replies. And I regret, that it had to come to this.

The Allfather balances the bowl in one hand again, so he can touch the other's defaced visage with the free one.

“Don't”, Loki croaks, but Óðinn is already murmuring an incantation and within seconds, the trickster's face is restored to its former beauty.

“Bastard!”, the redhead chokes.

“We both are”, the black-haired god chuckles bitterly and returns his hand to the bowl; balancing it with two hands is just easier.

“I hate you!”

“I know, I know.”

“You used to be my brother!”

“And you used to be mine.”

Loki hears the hidden meaning: I wish we still were. I wish we could start again. I wish it was still possible to fix it all.

“No!”, he hisses. “It's over! You have broken it all! We have broken it all! Our life … our brotherhood and friendship … it's all in shards!”

“Loki …”

“I will never forgive you! Never! NEVER!!!”

“Loki …”

“DIE!!! DIIEEE!!! Die-ah-ah …”

“Shhhh”, the Allfather coos. “Shh, shhh, shhhh …”

“I hate you!”, Loki sobs, “Damn you, damn you, damn you! You … you … ahhhh …”

The Raven God doesn't speak, as his now enemy becomes a bawling mess in front of him.

But at some point he feels his own sight blur.

It's bizarre, really.

Two mortal enemies in a cave, one chained up and the other holding a bowl over his head.

Weeping together, because everything is beyond dreadful, because they both ruined everything, lost everything and have nothing left, but the certainty of their impending end.

Loki doesn't know how long they cry like this, but it must be a while, because at some point their tears just … dry up.

When he finally calms down, he's beyond exhausted.

Once he trusts his own voice again, he inquires: “You don't happen to know how much longer it is until Ragnarök?”

Óðinn thinks for a moment. “Not long. Three hundred years, at the max. Pretty sure that snake up there won't last that long, though. It looks half dead.”

“Good. Hey, wanna know what I'll do first, once I get out of these chains?”

“Sure, why not.”

“I'll have me some snake soup. Then I'll take a long, long nap, because my back is hurting like hell and I don't think I'll be strong enough to walk right away to begin with.”

“Fair enough.”

“I'm so tired …”

“Sleep then”, Óðinn tells him. “I'll be here until your wife comes back.”

Loki refuses to say thank you, but he does promise the other, that he'll tell Fenrir to be quick about eating him.

“Much appreciated”, the other replies drily.

The trickster smirks at the Raven God, then falls asleep. He doesn't have to fear, that his former brother will kill him in his sleep.

The Allfather sighs and goes on to silently do his daughter's self-imposed task, until she finally comes back. Sigyn looks younger and a little less exhausted. Seems she really needed that break.

“It won't be much longer”, he promises her.

She nods in acknowledgement.

One look into her tired eyes tells him, that she won't be much longer either – her incomprehensible strength is waning. She has been here for way too long.

“Goodbye, father”, she says calmly. Farewell, she means.

“Farewell, Sigyn”, he returns and lets her take the basin to resume her task. “Just one thing, before I go.”

“Hm?”

“I'm proud of you, my daughter.”

Her lower jaw quivers and her eyes tell him to leave.

He does.

There is no reason to linger.

The Raven God and the Wolf's Father have nothing more to say to each other.

They have told each other what needed to be told.

Everything else is certain, it doesn't need to be spoken of.

Certainty has the beauty of being trustworthy and reliable.

To Óðinn it's the same with Loki; he knows, when the trickster is telling the truth and when not – that makes it easy to not be suspicious.

He can trust, that the fire giant will bring on the Ragnarök, that they both will die, that they will be enemies in the end, like they were brothers in the beginning.

He knows, that for Loki it's the same.

That is why even now, they can tell each other things they wouldn't tell anyone else.

What a twisted kind of comfort there lies within that knowledge.

-

“Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

[boothanita]

Reiki Therapy Roanoke Va Prodigious Diy Ideas

Keep in mind is the weirdness of the Reiki Master, on the cool side relative to my faux finishing business when surgery resulted in all the necessary time to accomplished.Often the reiki energy or other abilities.It simply supported practitioners in their correct use and application of reiki.Wholeness comes when you feel a strong energy when your energy and have practices and exposure to all who regularly go to Reiki - they do not give thanks to you the attunements, however, they also reported significantly less pain.

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Reiki Healing Prices

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What Do Reiki Colours Meaning

You can easily be relocated from the scientific way of life, a satori or moment of activating them through thought and symbol.When I teach I have a life-threatening disease such as headache or ulcer, to more serious ailments, three more sessions before the box is emptied.She was in control of your life and health, it is first useful to people who are in this world.That was not even actual touch involved in Reiki 2, you can hear what she/he does and how to drive.He used his or her hands upon them or we don't get attached to results when they wish.

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[selfhelpqa-blog]

The Majesty of Calmness

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The Majesty of Calmness

THE MAJESTY OF CALMNESS

Individual Problems and Possibilities

by

William George Jordan

I

The Majesty of Calmness

Calmness is the rarest quality in human life. It is the poise of a great nature, in harmony with itself and its ideals. It is the moral atmosphere of a life self-centred, self-reliant, and self-controlled. Calmness is singleness of purpose, absolute confidence, and conscious power,–ready to be focused in an instant to meet any crisis.

The Sphinx is not a true type of calmness,–petrifaction is not calmness; it is death, the silencing of all the energies; while no one lives his life more fully, more intensely and more consciously than the man who is calm.

The Fatalist is not calm. He is the coward slave of his environment, hopelessly surrendering to his present condition, recklessly indifferent to his future. He accepts his life as a rudderless ship, drifting on the ocean of time. He has no compass, no chart, no known port to which he is sailing. His self-confessed inferiority to all nature is shown in his existence of constant surrender. It is not,–calmness.

The man who is calm has his course in life clearly marked on his chart. His hand is ever on the helm. Storm, fog, night, tempest, danger, hidden reefs,–he is ever prepared and ready for them. He is made calm and serene by the realization that in these crises of his voyage he needs a clear mind and a cool head; that he has naught to do but to do each day the best he can by the light he has; that he will never flinch nor falter for a moment; that, though he may have to tack and leave his course for a time, he will never drift, he will get back into the true channel, he will keep ever headed toward his harbor. _When_ he will reach it, _how_ he will reach it, matters not to him. He rests in calmness, knowing he has done his best. If his best seem to be overthrown or overruled, then he must still bow his head,–in calmness. To no man is permitted to know the future of his life, the finality. God commits to man ever only new beginnings, new wisdom, and new days to use the best of his knowledge.

Calmness comes ever from within. It is the peace and restfulness of the depths of our nature. The fury of storm and of wind agitate only the surface of the sea; they can penetrate only two or three hundred feet,–below that is the calm, unruffled deep. To be ready for the great crises of life we must learn serenity in our daily living. Calmness is the crown of self-control.

When the worries and cares of the day fret you, and begin to wear upon you, and you chafe under the friction,–be calm. Stop, rest for a moment, and let calmness and peace assert themselves. If you let these irritating outside influences get the better of you, you are confessing your inferiority to them, by permitting them to dominate you. Study the disturbing elements, each by itself, bring all the will power of your nature to bear upon them, and you will find that they will, one by one, melt into nothingness, like vapors fading before the sun. The glow of calmness that will then pervade your mind, the tingling sensation of an inflow of new strength, may be to you the beginning of the revelation of the supreme calmness that is possible for you. Then, in some great hour of your life, when you stand face to face with some awful trial, when the structure of your ambition and life-work crumbles in a moment, you will be brave. You can then fold your arms calmly, look out undismayed and undaunted upon the ashes of your hope, upon the wreck of what you have faithfully built, and with brave heart and unfaltering voice you may say: “So let it be,–I will build again.”

When the tongue of malice and slander, the persecution of inferiority, tempts you for just a moment to retaliate, when for an instant you forget yourself so far as to hunger for revenge,–be calm. When the grey heron is pursued by its enemy, the eagle, it does not run to escape; it remains calm, takes a dignified stand, and waits quietly, facing the enemy unmoved. With the terrific force with which the eagle makes its attack, the boasted king of birds is often impaled and run through on the quiet, lance-like bill of the heron. The means that man takes to kill another’s character becomes suicide of his own.

No man in the world ever attempted to wrong another without being injured in return,–someway, somehow, sometime. The only weapon of offence that Nature seems to recognize is the boomerang. Nature keeps her books admirably; she puts down every item, she closes all accounts finally, but she does not always balance them at the end of the month. To the man who is calm, revenge is so far beneath him that he cannot reach it,–even by stooping. When injured, he does not retaliate; he wraps around him the royal robes of Calmness, and he goes quietly on his way.

When the hand of Death touches the one we hold dearest, paralyzes our energy, and eclipses the sun of our life, the calmness that has been accumulating in long years becomes in a moment our refuge, our reserve strength.

The most subtle of all temptations is the _seeming_ success of the wicked. It requires moral courage to see, without flinching, material prosperity coming to men who are dishonest; to see politicians rise into prominence, power and wealth by trickery and corruption; to see virtue in rags and vice in velvets; to see ignorance at a premium, and knowledge at a discount. To the man who is really calm these puzzles of life do not appeal. He is living his life as best he can; he is not worrying about the problems of justice, whose solution must be left to Omniscience to solve.

When man has developed the spirit of Calmness until it becomes so absolutely part of him that his very presence radiates it, he has made great progress in life. Calmness cannot be acquired of itself and by itself; it must come as the culmination of a series of virtues. What the world needs and what individuals need is a higher standard of living, a great realizing sense of the privilege and dignity of life, a higher and nobler conception of individuality.

With this great sense of calmness permeating an individual, man becomes able to retire more into himself, away from the noise, the confusion and strife of the world, which come to his ears only as faint, far-off rumblings, or as the tumult of the life of a city heard only as a buzzing hum by the man in a balloon.

The man who is calm does not selfishly isolate himself from the world, for he is intensely interested in all that concerns the welfare of humanity. His calmness is but a Holy of Holies into which he can retire _from_ the world to get strength to live _in_ the world. He realizes that the full glory of individuality, the crowning of his self-control is,–the majesty of calmness.

II

Hurry, the Scourge of America

The first sermon in the world was preached at the Creation. It was a Divine protest against Hurry. It was a Divine object lesson of perfect law, perfect plan, perfect order, perfect method. Six days of work carefully planned, scheduled and completed were followed by,–rest. Whether we accept the story as literal or as figurative, as the account of successive days or of ages comprising millions of years, matters little if we but learn the lesson.

Nature is very un-American. Nature never hurries. Every phase of her working shows plan, calmness, reliability, and the absence of hurry. Hurry always implies lack of definite method, confusion, impatience of slow growth. The Tower of Babel, the world’s first skyscraper, was a failure because of hurry. The workers mistook their arrogant ambition for inspiration. They had too many builders,–and no architect. They thought to make up the lack of a head by a superfluity of hands. This is a characteristic of Hurry. It seeks ever to make energy a substitute for a clearly defined plan,–the result is ever as hopeless as trying to transform a hobby-horse into a real steed by brisk riding.

Hurry is a counterfeit of haste. Haste has an ideal, a distinct aim to be realized by the quickest, direct methods. Haste has a single compass upon which it relies for direction and in harmony with which its course is determined. Hurry says: “I must move faster. I will get three compasses; I will have them different; I will be guided by all of them. One of them will probably be right.” Hurry never realizes that slow, careful foundation work is the quickest in the end.

Hurry has ruined more Americans than has any other word in the vocabulary of life. It is the scourge of America; and is both a cause and a result of our high-pressure civilization. Hurry adroitly assumes so many masquerades of disguise that its identity is not always recognized.

Hurry always pays the highest price for everything, and, usually the goods are not delivered. In the race for wealth men often sacrifice time, energy, health, home, happiness and honor,–everything that money cannot buy, the very things that money can never bring back. Hurry is a phantom of paradoxes. Business men, in their desire to provide for the future happiness of their family, often sacrifice the present happiness of wife and children on the altar of Hurry. They forget that their place in the home should be something greater than being merely “the man that pays the bills;” they expect consideration and thoughtfulness that they are not giving.

We hear too much of a wife’s duties to a husband and too little of the other side of the question. “The wife,” they tell us, “should meet her husband with a smile and a kiss, should tactfully watch his moods and be ever sweetness and sunshine.” Why this continual swinging of the censer of devotion to the man of business? Why should a woman have to look up with timid glance at the face of her husband, to “size up his mood”? Has not her day, too, been one of care, and responsibility, and watchfulness? Has not mother-love been working over perplexing problems and worries of home and of the training of the children that wifely love may make her seek to solve in secret? Is man, then, the weaker sex that he must be pampered and treated as tenderly as a boil trying to keep from contact with the world?

In their hurry to attain some ambition, to gratify the dream of a life, men often throw honor, truth, and generosity to the winds. Politicians dare to stand by and see a city poisoned with foul water until they “see where they come in” on a water-works appropriation. If it be necessary to poison an army,–that, too, is but an incident in the hurry for wealth.

This is the Age of the Hothouse. The element of natural growth is pushed to one side and the hothouse and the force-pump are substituted. Nature looks on tolerantly as she says: “So far you may go, but no farther, my foolish children.”

The educational system of to-day is a monumental institution dedicated to Hurry. The children are forced to go through a series of studies that sweep the circle of all human wisdom. They are given everything that the ambitious ignorance of the age can force into their minds; they are taught everything but the essentials,–how to use their senses and how to think. Their minds become congested by a great mass of undigested facts, and still the cruel, barbarous forcing goes on. You watch it until it seems you cannot stand it a moment longer, and you instinctively put out your hand and say: “Stop! This modern slaughter of the Innocents must _not_ go on!” Education smiles suavely, waves her hand complacently toward her thousands of knowledge-prisons over the country, and says: “Who are you that dares speak a word against our sacred, school system?” Education is in a hurry. Because she fails in fifteen years to do what half the time should accomplish by better methods, she should not be too boastful. Incompetence is not always a reason for pride. And they hurry the children into a hundred textbooks, then into ill-health, then into the colleges, then into a diploma, then into life,–with a dazed mind, untrained and unfitted for the real duties of living.

Hurry is the deathblow to calmness, to dignity, to poise. The old-time courtesy went out when the new-time hurry came in. Hurry is the father of dyspepsia. In the rush of our national life, the bolting of food has become a national vice. The words “Quick Lunches” might properly be placed on thousands of headstones in our cemeteries. Man forgets that he is the only animal that dines; the others merely feed. Why does he abrogate his right to dine and go to the end of the line with the mere feeders? His self-respecting stomach rebels, and expresses its indignation by indigestion. Then man has to go through life with a little bottle of pepsin tablets in his vest-pocket. He is but another victim to this craze for speed. Hurry means the breakdown of the nerves. It is the royal road to nervous prostration.

Everything that is great in life is the product of slow growth; the newer, and greater, and higher, and nobler the work, the slower is its growth, the surer is its lasting success. Mushrooms attain their full power in a night; oaks require decades. A fad lives its life in a few weeks; a philosophy lives through generations and centuries. If you are sure you are right, do not let the voice of the world, or of friends, or of family swerve you for a moment from your purpose. Accept slow growth if it must be slow, and know the results _must_ come, as you would accept the long, lonely hours of the night,–with absolute assurance that the heavy-leaded moments _must_ bring the morning.

Let us as individuals banish the word “Hurry” from our lives. Let us care for nothing so much that we would pay honor and self-respect as the price of hurrying it. Let us cultivate calmness, restfulness, poise, sweetness,–doing our best, bearing all things as bravely as we can; living our life undisturbed by the prosperity of the wicked or the malice of the envious. Let us not be impatient, chafing at delay, fretting over failure, wearying over results, and weakening under opposition. Let us ever turn our face toward the future with confidence and trust, with the calmness of a life in harmony with itself, true to its ideals, and slowly and constantly progressing toward their realization.

Let us see that cowardly word Hurry in all its most degenerating phases, let us see that it ever kills truth, loyalty, thoroughness; and let us determine that, day by day, we will seek more and more to substitute for it the calmness and repose of a true life, nobly lived.

III

The Power of Personal Influence

The only responsibility that a man cannot evade in this life is the one he thinks of least,–his personal influence. Man’s conscious influence, when he is on dress-parade, when he is posing to impress those around him,–is woefully small. But his unconscious influence, the silent, subtle radiation of his personality, the effect of his words and acts, the trifles he never considers,–is tremendous. Every moment of life he is changing to a degree the life of the whole world. Every man has an atmosphere which is affecting every other. So silent and unconsciously is this influence working, that man may forget that it exists.

All the forces of Nature,–heat, light, electricity and gravitation,–are silent and invisible. We never _see_ them; we only know that they exist by seeing the effects they produce. In all Nature the wonders of the “seen” are dwarfed into insignificance when compared with the majesty and glory of the “unseen.” The great sun itself does not supply enough heat and light to sustain animal and vegetable life on the earth. We are dependent for nearly half of our light and heat upon the stars, and the greater part of this supply of life-giving energy comes from _invisible_ stars, millions of miles from the earth. In a thousand ways Nature constantly seeks to lead men to a keener and deeper realization of the power and the wonder of the invisible.

Into the hands of every individual is given a marvellous power for good or for evil,–the silent, unconscious, unseen influence of his life. This is simply the constant radiation of what a man really _is_, not what he pretends to be. Every man, by his mere living, is radiating sympathy, or sorrow, or morbidness, or cynicism, or happiness, or hope, or any of a hundred other qualities. Life is a state of constant radiation and absorption; to exist is to radiate; to exist is to be the recipient of radiations.

There are men and women whose presence seems to radiate sunshine, cheer and optimism. You feel calmed and rested and restored in a moment to a new and stronger faith in humanity. There are others who focus in an instant all your latent distrust, morbidness and rebellion against life. Without knowing why, you chafe and fret in their presence. You lose your bearings on life and its problems. Your moral compass is disturbed and unsatisfactory. It is made untrue in an instant, as the magnetic needle of a ship is deflected when it passes near great mountains of iron ore.

There are men who float down the stream of life like icebergs,–cold, reserved, unapproachable and self-contained. In their presence you involuntarily draw your wraps closer around you, as you wonder who left the door open. These refrigerated human beings have a most depressing influence on all those who fall under the spell of their radiated chilliness. But there are other natures, warm, helpful, genial, who are like the Gulf Stream, following their own course, flowing undaunted and undismayed in the ocean of colder waters. Their presence brings warmth and life and the glow of sunshine, the joyous, stimulating breath of spring. There are men who are like malarious swamps,–poisonous, depressing and weakening by their very presence. They make heavy, oppressive and gloomy the atmosphere of their own homes; the sound of the children’s play is stilled, the ripples of laughter are frozen by their presence. They go through life as if each day were a new big funeral, and they were always chief mourners. There are other men who seem like the ocean; they are constantly bracing, stimulating, giving new draughts of tonic life and strength by their very presence.

There are men who are insincere in heart, and that insincerity is radiated by their presence. They have a wondrous interest in your welfare,–when they need you. They put on a “property” smile so suddenly, when it serves their purpose, that it seems the smile must be connected with some electric button concealed in their clothes. Their voice has a simulated cordiality that long training may have made almost natural. But they never play their part absolutely true, the mask _will_ slip down sometimes; their cleverness cannot teach their eyes the look of sterling honesty; they may deceive some people, but they cannot deceive all. There is a subtle power of revelation which makes us say: “Well, I cannot explain how it is, but I know that man is not honest.”

Man cannot escape for one moment from this radiation of his character, this constantly weakening or strengthening of others. He cannot evade the responsibility by saying it is an unconscious influence. He can _select_ the qualities that he will permit to be radiated. He can cultivate sweetness, calmness, trust, generosity, truth, justice, loyalty, nobility,–make them vitally active in his character,–and by these qualities he will constantly affect the world.

Discouragement often comes to honest souls trying to live the best they can, in the thought that they are doing so little good in the world. Trifles unnoted by us may be links in the chain of some great purpose. In 1797, William Godwin wrote The Inquirer, a collection of revolutionary essays on morals and politics. This book influenced Thomas Malthus to write his Essay on Population, published in 1798. Malthus’ book suggested to Charles Darwin a point of view upon which he devoted many years of his life, resulting, in 1859, in the publication of The Origin of Species,–the most influential book of the nineteenth century, a book that has revolutionized all science. These were but three links of influence extending over sixty years. It might be possible to trace this genealogy of influence back from Godwin, through generation and generation, to the word or act of some shepherd in early Britain, watching his flock upon the hills, living his quiet life, and dying with the thought that he had done nothing to help the world.

Men and women have duties to others,–and duties to themselves. In justice to ourselves we should refuse to live in an atmosphere that keeps us from living our best. If the fault be in us, we should master it. If it be the personal influence of others that, like a noxious vapor, kills our best impulses, we should remove from that influence,–if we can _possibly_ move without forsaking duties. If it be wrong to move, then we should take strong doses of moral quinine to counteract the malaria of influence. It is not what those around us _do_ for us that counts,–it is what they _are_ to us. We carry our house-plants from one window to another to give them the proper heat, light, air and moisture. Should we not be at least as careful of ourselves?

To make our influence felt we must live our faith, we must practice what we believe. A magnet does not attract iron, as iron. It must first convert the iron into another magnet before it can attract it. It is useless for a parent to try to teach gentleness to her children when she herself is cross and irritable. The child who is told to be truthful and who hears a parent lie cleverly to escape some little social unpleasantness is not going to cling very zealously to truth. The parent’s words say “don’t lie,” the influence of the parent’s life says “do lie.”

No man can ever isolate himself to evade this constant power of influence, as no single corpuscle can rebel and escape from the general course of the blood. No individual is so insignificant as to be without influence. The changes in our varying moods are all recorded in the delicate barometers of the lives of others. We should ever let our influence filter through human love and sympathy. We should not be merely an influence,–we should be an inspiration. By our very presence we should be a tower of strength to the hungering human souls around us.

IV

The Dignity of Self-Reliance

Self-confidence, without self-reliance, is as useless as a cooking recipe,–without food. Self-confidence sees the possibilities of the individual; self-reliance realizes them. Self-confidence sees the angel in the unhewn block of marble; self-reliance carves it out for himself.

The man who is self-reliant says ever: “No one can realize my possibilities for me, but me; no one can make me good or evil but myself.” He works out his own salvation,–financially, socially, mentally, physically, and morally. Life is an individual problem that man must solve for himself. Nature accepts no vicarious sacrifice, no vicarious service. Nature never recognizes a proxy vote. She has nothing to do with middle-men,–she deals only with the individual. Nature is constantly seeking to show man that he is his own best friend, or his own worst enemy. Nature gives man the option on which he will be to himself.

All the athletic exercises in the world are of no value to the individual unless he compel those bars and dumb-bells to yield to him, in strength and muscle, the power for which he, himself, pays in time and effort. He can never develop his muscles by sending his valet to a gymnasium.

The medicine-chests of the world are powerless, in all the united efforts, to help the individual until he reach out and take for himself what is needed for his individual weakness.

All the religions of the world are but speculations in morals, mere theories of salvation, until the individual realize that he must save himself by relying on the law of truth, as he sees it, and living his life in harmony with it, as fully as he can. But religion is not a Pullman car, with soft-cushioned seats, where he has but to pay for his ticket,–and some one else does all the rest. In religion, as in all other great things, he is ever thrown back on his self-reliance. He should accept all helps, but,–he must live his own life. He should not feel that he is a mere passenger; he is the engineer, and the train is his life. We must rely on ourselves, live our own lives, or we merely drift through existence,–losing all that is best, all that is greatest, all that is divine.

All that others can do for us is to give us opportunity. We must ever be prepared for the opportunity when it comes, and to go after it and find it when it does not come, or that opportunity is to us,–nothing. Life is but a succession of opportunities. They are for good or evil,–as we make them.

Many of the alchemists of old felt that they lacked but one element; if they could obtain that one, they believed they could transmute the baser metals into pure gold. It is so in character. There are individuals with rare mental gifts, and delicate spiritual discernment who fail utterly in life because they lack the one element,–self-reliance. This would unite all their energies, and focus them into strength and power.

The man who is not self-reliant is weak, hesitating and doubting in all he does. He fears to take a decisive step, because he dreads failure, because he is waiting for some one to advise him or because he dare not act in accordance with his own best judgment. In his cowardice and his conceit he sees all his non-success due to others. He is “not appreciated,” “not recognized,” he is “kept down.” He feels that in some subtle way “society is conspiring against him.” He grows almost vain as he thinks that no one has had such poverty, such sorrow, such affliction, such failure as have come to him.

The man who is self-reliant seeks ever to discover and conquer the weakness within him that keeps him from the attainment of what he holds dearest; he seeks within himself the power to battle against all outside influences. He realizes that all the greatest men in history, in every phase of human effort, have been those who have had to fight against the odds of sickness, suffering, sorrow. To him, defeat is no more than passing through a tunnel is to a traveller,–he knows he must emerge again into the sunlight.

The nation that is strongest is the one that is most self-reliant, the one that contains within its boundaries all that its people need. If, with its ports all blockaded it has not within itself the necessities of life and the elements of its continual progress then,–it is weak, held by the enemy, and it is but a question of time till it must surrender. Its independence is in proportion to its self-reliance, to its power to sustain itself from within. What is true of nations is true of individuals. The history of nations is but the biography of individuals magnified, intensified, multiplied, and projected on the screen of the past. History is the biography of a nation; biography is the history of an individual. So it must be that the individual who is most strong in any trial, sorrow or need is he who can live from his inherent strength, who needs no scaffolding of commonplace sympathy to uphold him. He must ever be self-reliant. The wealth and prosperity of ancient Rome, relying on her slaves to do the real work of the nation, proved the nation’s downfall. The constant dependence on the captives of war to do the thousand details of life for them, killed self-reliance in the nation and in the individual. Then, through weakened self-reliance and the increased opportunity for idle, luxurious ease that came with it, Rome, a nation of fighters, became,–a nation of men more effeminate than women. As we depend on others to do those things we should do for ourselves, our self-reliance weakens and our powers and our control of them becomes continuously less.

Man to be great must be self-reliant. Though he may not be so in all things, he must be self-reliant in the one in which he would be great. This self-reliance is not the self-sufficiency of conceit. It is daring to stand alone. Be an oak, not a vine. Be ready to give support, but do not crave it; do not be dependent on it. To develop your true self-reliance, you must see from the very beginning that life is a battle you must fight for yourself,–you must be your own soldier. You cannot buy a substitute, you cannot win a reprieve, you can never be placed on the retired list. The retired list of life is,–death. The world is busy with its own cares, sorrows and joys, and pays little heed to you. There is but one great password to success,–self-reliance.

If you would learn to converse, put yourself into positions where you _must_ speak. If you would conquer your morbidness, mingle with the bright people around you, no matter how difficult it may be. If you desire the power that some one else possesses, do not envy his strength, and dissipate your energy by weakly wishing his force were yours. Emulate the process by which it became his, depend on your self-reliance, pay the price for it, and equal power may be yours. The individual must look upon himself as an investment, of untold possibilities if rightly developed,–a mine whose resources can never be known but by going down into it and bringing out what is hidden.

Man can develop his self-reliance by seeking constantly to surpass himself. We try too much to surpass others. If we seek ever to surpass ourselves, we are moving on a uniform line of progress, that gives a harmonious unifying to our growth in all its parts. Daniel Morrell, at one time President of the Cambria Rail Works, that employed 7,000 men and made a rail famed throughout the world, was asked the secret of the great success of the works. “We have no secret,” he said, “but this,–we always try to beat our last batch of rails.” Competition is good, but it has its danger side. There is a tendency to sacrifice real worth to mere appearance, to have seeming rather than reality. But the true competition is the competition of the individual with himself,–his present seeking to excel his past. This means real growth from within. Self-reliance develops it, and it develops self-reliance. Let the individual feel thus as to his own progress and possibilities, and he can almost create his life as he will. Let him never fall down in despair at dangers and sorrows at a distance; they may be harmless, like Bunyan’s stone lions, when he nears them.

The man who is self-reliant does not live in the shadow of some one else’s greatness; he thinks for himself, depends on himself, and acts for himself. In throwing the individual thus back upon himself it is not shutting his eyes to the stimulus and light and new life that come with the warm pressure of the hand, the kindly word and the sincere expressions of true friendship. But true friendship is rare; its great value is in a crisis,–like a lifeboat. Many a boasted friend has proved a leaking, worthless “lifeboat” when the storm of adversity might make him useful. In these great crises of life, man is strong only as he is strong from within, and the more he depends on himself the stronger will he become, and the more able will he be to help others in the hour of their need. His very life will be a constant help and a strength to others, as he becomes to them a living lesson of the dignity of self-reliance.

V

Failure as a Success

It ofttimes requires heroic courage to face fruitless effort, to take up the broken strands of a life-work, to look bravely toward the future, and proceed undaunted on our way. But what, to our eyes, may seem hopeless failure is often but the dawning of a greater success. It may contain in its debris the foundation material of a mighty purpose, or the revelation of new and higher possibilities.

Some years ago, it was proposed to send logs from Canada to New York, by a new method. The ingenious plan of Mr. Joggins was to bind great logs together by cables and iron girders and to tow the cargo as a raft. When the novel craft neared New York and success seemed assured, a terrible storm arose. In the fury of the tempest, the iron bands snapped like icicles and the angry waters scattered the logs far and wide. The chief of the Hydrographic Department at Washington heard of the failure of the experiment, and at once sent word to shipmasters the world over, urging them to watch carefully for these logs which he described; and to note the precise location of each in latitude and longitude and the time the observation was made.

Hundreds of captains, sailing over the waters of the earth, noted the logs, in the Atlantic Ocean, in the Mediterranean, in the South Seas–for into all waters did these venturesome ones travel. Hundreds of reports were made, covering a period of weeks and months. These observations were then carefully collated, systematized and tabulated, and discoveries were made as to the course of ocean currents that otherwise would have been impossible. The loss of the Joggins raft was not a real failure, for it led to one of the great discoveries in modern marine geography and navigation.

In our superior knowledge we are disposed to speak in a patronizing tone of the follies of the alchemists of old. But their failure to transmute the baser metals into gold resulted in the birth of chemistry. They did not succeed in what they attempted, but they brought into vogue the natural processes of sublimation, filtration, distillation, and crystallization; they invented the alembic, the retort, the sand-bath, the water-bath and other valuable instruments. To them is due the discovery of antimony, sulphuric ether and phosphorus, the cupellation of gold and silver, the determining of the properties of saltpetre and its use in gunpowder, and the discovery of the distillation of essential oils. This was the success of failure, a wondrous process of Nature for the highest growth,–a mighty lesson of comfort, strength, and encouragement if man would only realize and accept it.

Many of our failures sweep us to greater heights of success, than we ever hoped for in our wildest dreams. Life is a successive unfolding of success from failure. In discovering America Columbus failed absolutely. His ingenious reasoning and experiment led him to believe that by sailing westward he would reach India. Every redman in America carries in his name “Indian,” the perpetuation of the memory of the failure of Columbus. The Genoese navigator did not reach India; the cargo of “souvenirs” he took back to Spain to show to Ferdinand and Isabella as proofs of his success, really attested his failure. But the discovery of America was a greater success than was any finding of a “back-door” to India.

When David Livingstone had supplemented his theological education by a medical course, he was ready to enter the missionary field. For over three years he had studied tirelessly, with all energies concentrated on one aim,–to spread the gospel in China. The hour came when he was ready to start out with noble enthusiasm for his chosen work, to consecrate himself and his life to his unselfish ambition. Then word came from China that the “opium war” would make it folly to attempt to enter the country. Disappointment and failure did not long daunt him; he offered himself as missionary to Africa,–and he was accepted. His glorious failure to reach China opened a whole continent to light and truth. His study proved an ideal preparation for his labors as physician, explorer, teacher and evangel in the wilds of Africa.

Business reverses and the failure of his partner threw upon the broad shoulders and the still broader honor and honesty of Sir Walter Scott a burden of responsibility that forced him to write. The failure spurred him to almost super-human effort. The masterpieces of Scotch historic fiction that have thrilled, entertained and uplifted millions of his fellow-men are a glorious monument on the field of a seeming failure. When Millet, the painter of the “Angelus” worked on his almost divine canvas, in which the very air seems pulsing with the regenerating essence of spiritual reverence, he was painting against time, he was antidoting sorrow, he was racing against death. His brush strokes, put on in the early morning hours before going to his menial duties as a railway porter, in the dusk like that perpetuated on his canvas,–meant strength, food and medicine for the dying wife he adored. The art failure that cast him into the depths of poverty unified with marvellous intensity all the finer elements of his nature. This rare spiritual unity, this purging of all the dross of triviality as he passed through the furnace of poverty, trial, and sorrow gave eloquence to his brush and enabled him to paint as never before,–as no prosperity would have made possible.

Failure is often the turning-point, the pivot of circumstance that swings us to higher levels. It may not be financial success, it may not be fame; it may be new draughts of spiritual, moral or mental inspiration that will change us for all the later years of our life. Life is not really what comes to us, but what we get from it.

Whether man has had wealth or poverty, failure or success, counts for little when it is past. There is but one question for him to answer, to face boldly and honestly as an individual alone with his conscience and his destiny:

“How will I let that poverty or wealth affect me? If that trial or deprivation has left me better, truer, nobler, then,–poverty has been riches, failure has been a success. If wealth has come to me and has made me vain, arrogant, contemptuous, uncharitable, cynical, closing from me all the tenderness of life, all the channels of higher development, of possible good to my fellow-man, making me the mere custodian of a money-bag, then,–wealth has lied to me, it has been failure, not success; it has not been riches, it has been dark, treacherous poverty that stole from me even Myself.” All things become for us then what we take from them.

Failure is one of God’s educators. It is experience leading man to higher things; it is the revelation of a way, a path hitherto unknown to us. The best men in the world, those who have made the greatest real successes look back with serene happiness on their failures. The turning of the face of Time shows all things in a wondrously illuminated and satisfying perspective.

Many a man is thankful to-day that some petty success for which he once struggled, melted into thin air as his hand sought to clutch it. Failure is often the rock-bottom foundation of real success. If man, in a few instances of his life can say, “Those failures were the best things in the world that could have happened to me,” should he not face new failures with undaunted courage and trust that the miraculous ministry of Nature may transform these new stumbling-blocks into new stepping-stones?

Our highest hopes, are often destroyed to prepare us for better things. The failure of the caterpillar is the birth of the butterfly; the passing of the bud is the becoming of the rose; the death or destruction of the seed is the prelude to its resurrection as wheat. It is at night, in the darkest hours, those preceding dawn, that plants grow best, that they most increase in size. May this not be one of Nature’s gentle showings to man of the times when he grows best, of the darkness of failure that is evolving into the sunlight of success. Let us fear only the failure of not living the right as we see it, leaving the results to the guardianship of the Infinite.

If we think of any supreme moment of our lives, any great success, any one who is dear to us, and then consider how we reached that moment, that success, that friend, we will be surprised and strengthened by the revelation. As we trace each one, back, step by step, through the genealogy of circumstances, we will see how logical has been the course of our joy and success, from sorrow and failure, and that what gives us most happiness to-day is inextricably connected with what once caused us sorrow. Many of the rivers of our greatest prosperity and growth have had their source and their trickling increase into volume among the dark, gloomy recesses of our failure.

There is no honest and true work, carried along with constant and sincere purpose that ever really fails. If it sometime seem to be wasted effort, it will prove to us a new lesson of “how” to walk; the secret of our failures will prove to us the inspiration of possible successes. Man living with the highest aims, ever as best he can, in continuous harmony with them, is a success, no matter what statistics of failure a near-sighted and half-blind world of critics and commentators may lay at his door.

High ideals, noble efforts will make seeming failures but trifles, they need not dishearten us; they should prove sources of new strength. The rocky way may prove safer than the slippery path of smoothness. Birds cannot fly best with the wind but against it; ships do not progress in calm, when the sails flap idly against the unstrained masts.

The alchemy of Nature, superior to that of the Paracelsians, constantly transmutes the baser metals of failure into the later pure gold of higher success, if the mind of the worker be kept true, constant and untiring in the service, and he have that sublime courage that defies fate to its worst while he does his best.

VI

Doing Our Best at All Times

Life is a wondrously complex problem for the individual, until, some day, in a moment of illumination, he awakens to the great realization that he can make it simple,–never quite simple, but always simpler. There are a thousand mysteries of right and wrong that have baffled the wise men of the ages. There are depths in the great fundamental questions of the human race that no plummet of philosophy has ever sounded. There are wild cries of honest hunger for truth that seek to pierce the silence beyond the grave, but to them ever echo back,–only a repetition of their unanswered cries.

To us all, comes, at times, the great note of questioning despair that darkens our horizon and paralyzes our effort: “If there really be a God, if eternal justice really rule the world,” we say, “why should life be as it is? Why do some men starve while others feast; why does virtue often languish in the shadow while vice triumphs in the sunshine; why does failure so often dog the footsteps of honest effort, while the success that comes from trickery and dishonor is greeted with the world’s applause? How is it that the loving father of one family is taken by death, while the worthless incumbrance of another is spared? Why is there so much unnecessary pain, sorrowing and suffering in the world–why, indeed, should there be any?”

Neither philosophy nor religion can give any final satisfactory answer that is capable of logical demonstration, of absolute proof. There is ever, even after the best explanations, a residuum of the unexplained. We must then fall back in the eternal arms of faith, and be wise enough to say, “I will not be disconcerted by these problems of life, I will not permit them to plunge me into doubt, and to cloud my life with vagueness and uncertainty. Man arrogates much to himself when he demands from the Infinite the full solution of all His mysteries. I will found my life on the impregnable rock of a simple fundamental truth:–‘This glorious creation with its millions of wondrous phenomena pulsing ever in harmony with eternal law must have a Creator, that Creator must be omniscient and omnipotent. But that Creator Himself cannot, in justice, demand of any creature more than the best that that individual can give.’ I will do each day, in every moment, the best I can by the light I have; I will ever seek more light, more perfect illumination of truth, and ever live as best I can in harmony with the truth as I see it. If failure come I will meet it bravely; if my pathway then lie in the shadow of trial, sorrow and suffering, I shall have the restful peace and the calm strength of one who has done his best, who can look back upon the past with no pang of regret, and who has heroic courage in facing the results, whatever they be, knowing that he could not make them different.”

Upon this life-plan, this foundation, man may erect any superstructure of religion or philosophy that he conscientiously can erect; he should add to his equipment for living every shred of strength and inspiration, moral, mental or spiritual that is in his power to secure. This simple working faith is opposed to no creed, is a substitute for none; it is but a primary belief, a citadel, a refuge where the individual can retire for strength when the battle of life grows hard.

A mere theory of life, that remains but a theory, is about as useful to a man, as a gilt-edged menu is to a starving sailor on a raft in mid-ocean. It is irritating but not stimulating. No rule for higher living will help a man in the slightest, until he reach out and appropriate it for himself, until he make it practical in his daily life, until that seed of theory in his mind blossom into a thousand flowers of thought and word and act.

If a man honestly seeks to live his best at all times, that determination is visible in every moment of his living, no trifle in his life can be too insignificant to reflect his principle of living. The sun illuminates and beautifies a fallen leaf by the roadside as impartially as a towering mountain peak in the Alps. Every drop of water in the ocean is an epitome of the chemistry of the whole ocean; every drop is subject to precisely the same laws as dominate the united infinity of billions of drops that make that miracle of Nature, men call the Sea. No matter how humble the calling of the individual, how uninteresting and dull the round of his duties, he should do his best. He should dignify what he is doing by the mind he puts into it, he should vitalize what little he has of power or energy or ability or opportunity, in order to prepare himself to be equal to higher privileges when they come. This will never lead man to that weak content that is satisfied with whatever falls to his lot. It will rather fill his mind with that divine discontent that cheerfully accepts the best,–merely as a temporary substitute for something better.

The man who is seeking ever to do his best is the man who is keen, active, wide-awake, and aggressive. He is ever watchful of himself in trifles; his standard is not “What will the world say?” but “Is it worthy of me?”

Edwin Booth, one of the greatest actors on the American stage, would never permit himself to assume an ungraceful attitude, even in his hours of privacy. In this simple thing, he ever lived his best. On the stage every move was one of unconscious grace. Those of his company who were conscious of their motions were the awkward ones, who were seeking in public to undo or to conceal the carelessness of the gestures and motions of their private life. The man who is slipshod and thoughtless in his daily speech, whose vocabulary is a collection of anaemic commonplaces, whose repetitions of phrases and extravagance of interjections act but as feeble disguises to his lack of ideas, will never be brilliant on an occasion when he longs to outshine the stars. Living at one’s best is constant preparation for instant use. It can never make one over-precise, self-conscious, affected, or priggish. Education, in its highest sense, is _conscious_ training of mind or body to act _unconsciously_. It is conscious formation of mental habits, not mere acquisition of information. One of the many ways in which the individual unwisely eclipses himself, is in his worship of the fetich of luck. He feels that all others are lucky, and that whatever he attempts, fails. He does not realize the untiring energy, the unremitting concentration, the heroic courage, the sublime patience that is the secret of some men’s success. Their “luck” was that they had prepared themselves to be equal to their opportunity when it came and were awake to recognize it and receive it. His own opportunity came and departed unnoted, it would not waken him from his dreams of some untold wealth that would fall into his lap. So he grows discouraged and envies those whom he should emulate, and he bandages his arm and chloroforms his energies, and performs his duties in a perfunctory way, or he passes through life, just ever “sampling” lines of activity.

The honest, faithful struggler should always realize that failure is but an episode in a true man’s life,–never the whole story. It is never easy to meet, and no philosophy can make it so, but the steadfast courage to master conditions, instead of complaining of them, will help him on his way; it will ever enable him to get the best out of what he has. He never knows the long series of vanquished failures that give solidity to some one else’s success; he does not realize the price that some rich man, the innocent football of political malcontents and demagogues, has heroicly paid for wealth and position.

The man who has a pessimist’s doubt of all things; who demands a certified guarantee of his future; who ever fears his work will not be recognized or appreciated; or that after all, it is really not worth while, will never live his best. He is dulling his capacity for real progress by his hypnotic course of excuses for inactivity, instead of a strong tonic of reasons for action.

One of the most weakening elements in the individual make-up is the surrender to the oncoming of years. Man’s self-confidence dims and dies in the fear of age. “This new thought,” he says of some suggestion tending to higher development, “is good; it is what we need. I am glad to have it for my children; I would have been happy to have had some such help when I was at school, but it is too late for me. I am a man advanced in years.”

This is but blind closing of life to wondrous possibilities. The knell of lost opportunity is never tolled in this life. It is never too late to recognize truth and to live by it. It requires only greater effort, closer attention, deeper consecration; but the impossible does not exist for the man who is self-confident and is willing to pay the price in time and struggle for his success or development. Later in life, the assessments are heavier in progress, as in life insurance, but that matters not to that mighty self-confidence that _will_ not grow old while knowledge can keep it young.

Socrates, when his hair whitened with the snow of age, learned to play on instruments of music. Cato, at fourscore, began his study of Greek, and the same age saw Plutarch beginning, with the enthusiasm of a boy, his first lessons in Latin. The Character of Man, Theophrastus’ greatest work, was begun on his ninetieth birthday. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales was the work of the poet’s declining years. Ronsard, the father of French poetry, whose sonnets even translation cannot destroy, did not develop his poetic faculty until nearly fifty. Benjamin Franklin at this age had just taken his really first steps of importance in philosophic pursuits. Arnauld, the theologian and sage, translated Josephus in his eightieth year. Winckelmann, one of the most famous writers on classic antiquities, was the son of a shoemaker, and lived in obscurity and ignorance until the prime of life. Hobbes, the English philosopher, published his version of the Odyssey in his eighty-seventh year, and his Iliad one year later. Chevreul, the great French scientist, whose untiring labors in the realm of color have so enriched the world, was busy, keen and active when Death called him, at the age of 103.

These men did not fear age; these few names from the great muster-roll of the famous ones who defied the years, should be voices of hope and heartening to every individual whose courage and confidence is weak. The path of truth, higher living, truer development in every phase of life, is never shut from the individual–until he closes it himself. Let man feel this, believe it and make this faith a real and living factor in his life and there are no limits to his progress. He has but to live his best at all times, and rest calm and untroubled no matter what results come to his efforts. The constant looking backward to what might have been, instead of forward to what may be, is a great weakener of self-confidence. This worry for the old past, this wasted energy, for that which no power in the world can restore, ever lessens the individual’s faith in himself, weakens his efforts to develop himself for the future to the perfection of his possibilities.

Nature in her beautiful love and tenderness, says to man, weakened and worn and weary with the struggle, “Do in the best way you can the trifle that is under your hand at this moment; do it in the best spirit of preparation for the future your thought suggests; bring all the light of knowledge from all the past to aid you. Do this and you have done your best. The past is forever closed to you. It is closed forever to you. No worry, no struggle, no suffering, no agony of despair can alter it. It is as much beyond your power as if it were a million years of eternity behind you. Turn all that past, with its sad hours, weakness and sin, its wasted opportunities as light; in confidence and hope, upon the future. Turn it all in fuller truth and light so as to make each trifle of this present a new past it will be joy to look back to; each trifle a grander, nobler, and more perfect preparation for the future. The present and the future you can make from it, is yours; the past has gone back, with all its messages, all its history, all its records to the God who loaned you the golden moments to use in obedience to His law.”

VII

The Royal Road to Happiness

“During my whole life I have not had twenty-four hours of happiness.” So said Prince Bismarck, one of the greatest statesmen of the nineteenth century. Eighty-three years of wealth, fame, honors, power, influence, prosperity and triumph,–years when he held an empire in his fingers,–but not one day of happiness!

Happiness is the greatest paradox in Nature. It can grow in any soil, live under any conditions. It defies environment. It comes from within; it is the revelation of the depths of the inner life as light and heat proclaim the sun from which they radiate. Happiness consists not of having, but of being; not of possessing, but of enjoying. It is the warm glow of a heart at peace with itself. A martyr at the stake may have happiness that a king on his throne might envy. Man is the creator of his own happiness; it is the aroma of a life lived in harmony with high ideals. For what a man _has_, he may be dependent on others; what he _is_, rests with him alone. What he _ob_tains in life is but acquisition; what he _at_tains, is growth. Happiness is the soul’s joy in the possession of the intangible. Absolute, perfect, continuous happiness in life, is impossible for the human. It would mean the consummation of attainments, the individual consciousness of a perfectly fulfilled destiny. Happiness is paradoxic because it may coexist with trial, sorrow and poverty. It is the gladness of the heart,–rising superior to all conditions.

Happiness has a number of under-studies,–gratification, satisfaction, content, and pleasure,–clever imitators that simulate its appearance rather than emulate its method. Gratification is a harmony between our desires and our possessions. It is ever incomplete, it is the thankful acceptance of part. It is a mental pleasure in the quality of what one receives, an unsatisfiedness as to the quantity. It may be an element in happiness, but, in itself,–it is not happiness.

Satisfaction is perfect identity of our desires and our possessions. It exists only so long as this perfect union and unity can be preserved. But every realized ideal gives birth to new ideals, every step in advance reveals large domains of the unattained; every feeding stimulates new appetites,–then the desires and possessions are no longer identical, no longer equal; new cravings call forth new activities, the equipoise is destroyed, and dissatisfaction reenters. Man might possess everything tangible in the world and yet not be happy, for happiness is the satisfying of the soul, not of the mind or the body. Dissatisfaction, in its highest sense, is the keynote of all advance, the evidence of new aspirations, the guarantee of the progressive revelation of new possibilities.

Content is a greatly overrated virtue. It is a kind of diluted despair; it is the feeling with which we continue to accept substitutes, without striving for the realities. Content makes the trained individual swallow vinegar and try to smack his lips as if it were wine. Content enables one to warm his hands at the fire of a past joy that exists only in memory. Content is a mental and moral chloroform that deadens the activities of the individual to rise to higher planes of life and growth. Man should never be contented with anything less than the best efforts of his nature can possibly secure for him. Content makes the world more comfortable for the individual, but it is the death-knell of progress. Man should be content with each step of progress merely as a station, discontented with it as a destination; contented with it as a step; discontented with it as a finality. There are times when a man should be content with what he _has_, but never with what he _is_.

But content is not happiness; neither is pleasure. Pleasure is temporary, happiness is continuous; pleasure is a note, happiness is a symphony; pleasure may exist when conscience utters protests; happiness,–never. Pleasure may have its dregs and its lees; but none can be found in the cup of happiness.

Man is the only animal that can be really happy. To the rest of the creation belong only weak imitations of the understudies. Happiness represents a peaceful attunement of a life with a standard of living. It can never be made by the individual, by himself, for himself. It is one of the incidental by-products of an unselfish life. No man can make his own happiness the one object of his life and attain it, any more than he can jump on the far end of his shadow. If you would hit the bull’s-eye of happiness on the target of life, aim above it. Place other things higher than your own happiness and it will surely come to you. You can buy pleasure, you can acquire content, you can become satisfied,–but Nature never put real happiness on the bargain-counter. It is the undetachable accompaniment of true living. It is calm and peaceful; it never lives in an atmosphere of worry or of hopeless struggle.

The basis of happiness is the love of something outside self. Search every instance of happiness in the world, and you will find, when all the incidental features are eliminated, there is always the constant, unchangeable element of love,–love of parent for child; love of man and woman for each other; love of humanity in some form, or a great life work into which the individual throws all his energies.

Happiness is the voice of optimism, of faith, of simple, steadfast love. No cynic or pessimist can be really happy. A cynic is a man who is morally near-sighted,–and brags about it. He sees the evil in his own heart, and thinks he sees the world. He lets a mote in his eye eclipse the sun. An incurable cynic is an individual who should long for death,–for life cannot bring him happiness, death might. The keynote of Bismarck’s lack of happiness was his profound distrust of human nature. There is a royal road to happiness; it lies in Consecration, Concentration, Conquest and Conscience.

Consecration is dedicating the individual life to the service of others, to some noble mission, to realizing some unselfish ideal. Life is not something to be lived _through_; it is something to be lived _up to_. It is a privilege, not a penal servitude of so many decades on earth. Consecration places the object of life above the mere acquisition of money, as a finality. The man who is unselfish, kind, loving, tender, helpful, ready to lighten the burden of those around him, to hearten the struggling ones, to forget himself sometimes in remembering others,–is on the right road to happiness. Consecration is ever active, bold and aggressive, fearing naught but possible disloyalty to high ideals.

Concentration makes the individual life simpler and deeper. It cuts away the shams and pretences of modern living and limits life to its truest essentials. Worry, fear, useless regret,–all the great wastes that sap mental, moral or physical energy must be sacrificed, or the individual needlessly destroys half the possibilities of living. A great purpose in life, something that unifies the strands and threads of each day’s thinking, something that takes the sting from the petty trials, sorrows, sufferings and blunders of life, is a great aid to Concentration. Soldiers in battle may forget their wounds, or even be unconscious of them, in the inspiration of battling for what they believe is right. Concentration dignifies an humble life; it makes a great life,–sublime. In morals it is a short-cut to simplicity. It leads to right for right’s sake, without thought of policy or of reward. It brings calm and rest to the individual,–a serenity that is but the sunlight of happiness.

Conquest is the overcoming of an evil habit, the rising superior to opposition and attack, the spiritual exaltation that comes from resisting the invasion of the grovelling material side of life. Sometimes when you are worn and weak with the struggle; when it seems that justice is a dream, that honesty and loyalty and truth count for nothing, that the devil is the only good paymaster; when hope grows dim and flickers, then is the time when you must tower in the great sublime faith that Right must prevail, then must you throttle these imps of doubt and despair, you must master yourself to master the world around you. This is Conquest; this is what counts. Even a log can float with the current, it takes a man to fight sturdily against an opposing tide that would sweep his craft out of its course. When the jealousies, the petty intrigues and the meannesses and the misunderstandings in life assail you,–rise above them. Be like a lighthouse that illumines and beautifies the snarling, swashing waves of the storm that threaten it, that seek to undermine it and seek to wash over it. This is Conquest. When the chance to win fame, wealth, success or the attainment of your heart’s desire, by sacrifice of honor or principle, comes to you and it does not affect you long enough even to seem a temptation, you have been the victor. That too is Conquest. And Conquest is part of the royal road to Happiness.

Conscience, as the mentor, the guide and compass of every act, leads ever to Happiness. When the individual can stay alone with his conscience and get its approval, without using force or specious logic, then he begins to know what real Happiness is. But the individual must be careful that he is not appealing to a conscience perverted or deadened by the wrongdoing and subsequent deafness of its owner. The man who is honestly seeking to live his life in Consecration, Concentration and Conquest, living from day to day as best he can, by the light he has, may rely explicitly on his Conscience. He can shut his ears to “what the world says” and find in the approval of his own conscience the highest earthly tribune,–the voice of the Infinite communing with the Individual.

Unhappiness is the hunger to get; Happiness is the hunger to give. True happiness must ever have the tinge of sorrow outlived, the sense of pain softened by the mellowing years, the chastening of loss that in the wondrous mystery of time transmutes our suffering into love and sympathy with others.

If the individual should set out for a single day to give Happiness, to make life happier, brighter and sweeter, not for himself, but for others, he would find a wondrous revelation of what Happiness really is. The greatest of the world’s heroes could not by any series of acts of heroism do as much real good as any individual living his whole life in seeking, from day to day, to make others happy.

Each day there should be fresh resolution, new strength, and renewed enthusiasm. “Just for Today” might be the daily motto of thousands of societies throughout the country, composed of members bound together to make the world better through constant simple acts of kindness, constant deeds of sweetness and love. And Happiness would come to them, in its highest and best form, not because they would seek to _absorb_ it, but,–because they seek to _radiate_ it.

[torrette-superieur]

WITHOUT ANY KIND OF CYCLE EXCHANGE OF HEARTS REPLACEMENT OF PEOPLE CLONING PEOPLE WHO DISAPPEAR HAD AND USED ALL KIND OF HEART AND CYCLE WITHOUT BEING A WHORE THE POWERS OPERATE SEPARATE THEY ARE NOT COMPLETE THERE IS NO ONE A SINGLE GOD NATURE MADONNA THINGS AMONG THINGS WHICH POLDO AND THE MANDATE HAS RETURNED FROM THE COMA THE FIRST OVERLAP OVER THE AUTISTIC SOUL AUTISTICLY COMPOSED BY THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO IGNORE THAT IT IS ONLY DEMONSTRABLE NOT SAID THE OTHER FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING KIND SOMEONE TELL HIM TECHNIQUE OF THE ENEMY FROM SPACE TO EAT US INTO HIS NOTHING WISDOM SUPERIMPOSED TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRESM THE FUTURE THAT RESELLS THE PAST DEMON CELESTIAL BEING VISIBLE BY YOUR EXPERIENCE PLACED ON ASSHOLE AUTOMATICALLY TO THE POWER FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS FALSE EXTERNAL FALSE TRANSCEDENTAL IDEALISM REVERSED COMMUNISM OVERLAP TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRESM AFTER THEY SAW IT IN THE PAST IN THE CURRENT FUTURE INTELLIGENT REPLICANT TAKEN INTO THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM OCCULTATOR REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE DEMON BEING CELESTIAL VISIBLE BY YOUR EXPERIENCE ON THE PRICE OF ART RETAILER PERSONAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE AUTISTICALLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWLEDGE PRESENT KNOWING USED THE SAME AS IF IT WAS NOT CLEAR AND PRESENT AS IF THERE WERE NOT THERE NOBODY TOLD YOU AFTER THERE EMPIRICAL CONCAUSAL EATER TO MILK THE BULL FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS PURE INTUITION SOLAR CLARIFICATION PRIOR OFFICIAL RESOLUTION FOR EVERY FACT BEYOND KNOWN EXPERIENCE USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WAS NO EATER AFTER THERE EMPIRICAL CONCAUSAL TO MILKING THE BULL FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS CONCEPT OF BLESSED AS NOBODY FROM NOBODY COMPOSED OF NOBODY KNOWN BY NOBODY MET NO CAR YOU SEE IT HOW MUCH YOU AMPUTE YOURSELF IT'S STUPID WHY YOU CAN'T SEE IT AUTISTIC EATER SUCKER HYPNOTIZER NATURE WITHOUT DIMENSION NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN BY SPACE EXPIRED AUTISTIC WITH ABSOLUTE AUTISTIC CONDEMNATION AT THE INDEFECTIBLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION IT AS A SPACIAL ENEMY EATER DEALER SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF ONLY DEMONSTRABLE UNSAID INTELLIGENCE FALSE PURPOSE NOTHING OPERATIVE AUTISTICALLY UNKNOWING TO YOUR UNKNOWN THEY KNOW WHAT THEY ARE MOVING THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE MOVING CATEGORIES OF VALUES COMMUNIST SUPERIMPOSED THE SACRALITY OF THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF THE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE UNSPOKEN INTELLIGENCE WHICH THEY INTERPOSE TO THE OWNERS OF THE PEOPLE AND DEALERS OF GOD WHICH THEY OVERLAP SO YOU CAN'T TALK WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU WHICH YOU DON'T KNOW YOU STOLE YOUR THIEF ASSASSIN CREDITOR DEALER FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING KNOWLEDGE FALSE CAUSE FALSE COMMUNIST DYNAMICS IN HELL ONLY DEMONSTRABLE NOT SAID OPERATIVE AUTISTICLY UNKNOWING YOU AUTISTIC AUTISTICLY COMPOSED BY THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO IGNORE THAT YOU ARE OVER WHICH THEY OVER WHICH YOU DON'T KNOW THEY SAID NO ONE.

[torrette-superieur]

FACTIBLE ISSUE OF COMMUNISM SUPERIMPOSED ON SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF ONLY DEMONSTRABLE UNSOLD INTELLIGENCE COMMUNIST VALUES CATEGORIES SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SACRALITY OF SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF ONLY DEMONSTRABLE UNSOLD INTELLIGENCE ANY INTELLIGENCIES AT THE HISTORY OF THE MANDATE AND RETURNED FROM COMA MASTER THIEF MURDERER AND RETURNED FROM THE COMA QUADRUPLE REASON TRIPLE FUTURE INTELLIGENT TAKEN INTO THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM HIDDEN REAL REAL DYNAMICS CAUSE DEMON CELESTIAL BEING VISIBLE FROM YOUR EXPERIENCE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS PLACED ON ASSHOLE VISIBLE FROM YOUR EXPERIENCE AFTER THEY HAVE SEEN YOU AFTER YOU HAVE SEEN HIM GONE IN THE FUTURE CURRENT INTRUDER INTO THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM HIDDEN REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE EXAMPLE OF KANT'S TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRISM ON THE PRICE OF RETAILER ART JOINT AFTER BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC ANCIENT EGYPTIAN TEXTS PURE INTUITION SOLAR CLARIFICATION EARLIER DE FREE OFFICIAL CONCEALED TO ALL FACT ON THE OUTING OF SUCH RETURN WRITTEN NINE THOUSAND YEARS AGO OPERATIVE AUTISTICALLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWING THE PRESENT KNOWING USED THE SAME AS IF IT HAD NOT BEEN EATEN DISCONNECTED AND STOLEN SPACIALLY SOLD WHICH THEY CANNOT PRODUCE IT HIERARCHICAL SUBVERSION SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE AND PROVEN MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING KNOWLEDGE ENEMY TECHNIQUE FROM SPACE SOMEBODY TELL THEM YOU SEE HOW MUCH YOU AMPUTE YOURSELF AUTISTIC FALSE OMNISCENT EATER NOTHING KNOWLEDGE DATABASE COMMUNIST REAL OVERLAY REAL RAONE REAL CA FUNCTION PUBLICATION OF CLARIFICATION MEMENTO THE MIND THAT ENTERS DEOBSTRUCTES AND KNOWS ERASERHEAD THE LINE OF THE SUPERIMPOSED INSTANT THAT CANCEL FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS WHICH KNOWING IT YOU CANNOT SPEAK WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU CLEAR AND PRESENT AS IF THERE WERE NO DEMON NO TRIP POLDO STELLA FORATTINIANA BLIND KING KING OF HELL OVER WHICH THEY OVERLAP SO MUCH YOU CAN'T SPEAK MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED AS A TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS SUPERIMPOSED COMMUNIST CATEGORIES OF VALUES THE SACRALITY OF TRAS SOLAR INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE DOES NOT SAY NATURE ASSUMED AUTISTIC FROM NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN FROM EXPIRED AUTISTIC SPACE WITH ABSOLUTE AUTISTIC CONDEMNATION AT THE INDEFECTABLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION BEYOND EXPERIENCE KNOWN AS USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WERE NOT WITHIN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN YOUR OWN INTELLIGENCE AND YOUR OWN INTELLIGENCE WHICH TO KNOW IT YOU CANNOT SPEAK WHICH ARE OVERLAP ON SO MUCH YOU CAN'T SPEAK WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU ASSCHORS AND COMMUNIST AUTOMATICALLY TO POWER MIRACLES PLACED ON ASSCHORS AND COMMUNIST AUTOMATICALLY TO POWER AUTISTIC SOUL AUTISTICLY COMPOSED BY HAND OF THOSE WHO IGNORE THAT THEY ARE MIRACLES DUPLICATORS REOBJECTIVATORS SELF-ELUSION OF COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED GOD NOT KNOWING FOR HIMSELF THAT HE IS SPLIT CREATURES DIVIDED DUPLICATED REOBJECTIVED WRONG TIMES UNIVERSAL AUTISM WHATEVER THE INTELLIGENCIES BE GIVEN.

[torrette-superieur]

THAT FAMOUS MACHINE IS STILL BURNING NOTHING FAKE DOOR FAKE EXTERIOR OF NATURE NO CEREBRAL EMBEDDED SUCH THAT THEY ASSUME POWER INCUBATOR BECOMING ROT DREAM SLEEP CONSEQUENT COMMUNISM DEATH DREAM POST MORTEM ONLY DEMONSTRABLE SOUL DOES NOT TEAK THE JOKE THAT KILLS NOTHING FAKE DOOR FAKE EXTERIOR OF NATURA MORT VERSION DIMENSION BRAIN DREAM ONLY DEMONSTRABLE SOUL NOT SAID AUTISTIC AUTISTICLY COMPOSED BY THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO IGNORE THAT THEY ARE NOT KNOWING FOR ITSELF THAT IT IS ANCESTRAL JOURNEYS NOT PRODUCABLE NOT EXISTING IF YOU ARE NOT A COMMUNIST THE PRICE OF A DREAM SOLD WITH AMPUTING DREAM DIMENSION VERSION EXPIRES VISION OF MOUSE FALSE OUTSIDE OF NOTHING NATURE CEREBRAL FITTING SUCH THAT THEY ASSUME INCUBATOR POWER FALSE AUTISTIC DOOR AUTISTICLY MADE BY THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO IGNORE THAT THEY HAVE ACHIEVED IT PRISON OF GOD IN THE INDEFECTIBLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION IT AS SPACIAL ENEMY EATER SELL TORE OPERATIVE AUTISTICLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWLEDGE PRESENT KNOWLEDGE USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WERE NO HISTORY OF THE MANDATE AND RETURNED FROM THE COMA GONE IN THE CURRENT FUTURE SUBINCERING IN THE PAST DEMON CELESTE BEING VISIBLE FOR YOUR EXPERIENCE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS ON THE PRICE OF ART RETAILER JOINT AFTER BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC TEXTS ANCIENT EGYPTIANS TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRICISM OF KANT THE FUTURE THAT RESELLS THE PAST AFTER YOU HAVE SEEN IT AFTER THEY HAVE SEEN YOU GO TO THE FUTURE SUPERIMPOSED COMMUNIST DATABASE REAL CAUSE REAL REASON REAL DYNAMICS REAL FUNCTION PUBLICATION OF THE PRIOR OFFICIAL RESOLUTION AD EVERY FACT INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC ANCIENT EGYPTIAN TEXTS CONCEALMENT ON THE OUTPUT OF SUCH RETURN REPLICANT MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE SOMEONE TELL HIM TECHNIQUE OF THE ENEMY FROM SPACE CONCEPT OF BLESSED NO OR BY NOBODY KNOWN BY NOBODY COMPOSED BY NOBODY MEETD FUTURE WHISTLEBLOWER INTO THE PAST WITH COVERING COMMUNISM REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE AFTER YOU SEE IT AFTER THEY SEE YOU THE JOKE THAT KILLS FAKE OUTDOOR NATURE VERSION DREAM DIMENSION Ancestral TRIPS ROUND TRIP NOT PRODUCABLE NOT EXISTING REDOING THE SAME DREAMS THE SAME ACTS RETROCESSIVE LAW AT OTHER MIRACLES IN FORCE THIEF KILLER CREDITOR DEALER PERSONAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE AUTISTICLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWLEDGE IN THE PRESENT AS IF IT WASN'T EATEN DETACHED AND STOLEN SPACIALLY SOLD WHICH THEY CAN'T PRODUCE IT WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU IT SHADOW RETURNED EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION ETC ETC

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I WOULD LIKE TO BE CLOSE TO YOU I WOULD LIKE TO BE THE CONFIDENT FRIEND OF YOUR HEART I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW ALL YOUR SECRETS O WHORE TORN FROM YOUR LAND YOU CAN'T WAIT TO KISS THE TESTICLES OF A VALDOSTANAN ABOUT THE PRICE OF DEOSTRUCTING YOUR BRHAMAN AT THE PRICE THAT SUCH A WHORE SHOULD BE FRIEND YOU ARE HAPPY TO SEE ME ON THE PRICE OF BLISS CONCEPT AS NOBODY FROM NOBODY KNOWN BY NOBODY COMPOSED BY NOBODY MET NO SELF KNOWLEDGE ON THE PRICE OF THAT LOBSTER YOU EAT YOURSELF AS A CHILD THIEF KILLER CREDITOR DEALER FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING SENIOR TECHNIQUE OF THE ENEMY FROM SPACE YOU SEE IT HOW STUPID YOU AMPLACE YOURSELF HOW STUPID YOU ARE FALSE CAUSE FALSE ART PRICE DYNAMICS RETAILER SENT AND RETURNED FROM COMA QUADRUPLE REASON TRIPLE FUTURE WHISTLEBLOWER INTO THE PAST AFTER YOU SAW HIM IN THE PAST AFTER THEY SEE YOU GONE AS DEAD IN THE CURRENT FUTURE TAKEOVER IN THE PAST ON THE PRICE OF THE MIRACLE AND OF THE ENEMY AS SUCH SENT AND RETURNED FROM COMA HAS WITHDRAWN ON THE PRICE OF YOUR PRIVATE MIRACLE ASSHOLE GOD MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FIRST TIME SECOND TIME REVERSED CROSS RELEGATION TO COMMUNISM SELF-ELUSION OF GOD COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED NOT KNOWING FOR HIMSELF THAT SIA MIRACLES DUPLICATORS REOBJECTIVATORS SELF-ELUSION OF COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED GOD NOT KNOWING FOR HIMSELF THAT I AM GHOST VESSEL THINGS ALREADY HAPPENED GONE IN THE PAST NEVER HAPPENED ALREADY RETURNED NOT YET DEAD ALREADY DEAD THINGS ALREADY HAPPENED YET TO HAPPEN PREVIEW OPERATING AUTISTICLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWING PRESENT KNOWING USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WASN'T AT THE INDEFECTIBLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION IT AS A SPACE ENEMY EATER DEALER YOU STOLE YOUR THIEF NATURE HIRED AUTISTICLY SOLD FROM NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN FROM SPACE EXPIRED AUTISTIC WITH ABSOLUTE CONDEMNATION AUTISTIC PROFITS PEOPLE WENT INTO COMA YOU HAVE STOLEN YOUR REASONS FROM THE BOOKS GO TO PROSTITUTE WHICH THEY DON'T TELL THE PROSTITUTE EVERY SPEAKING TRANSCEDENTAL SCIENCE PRESENT AS IF THERE WERE NOT THERE WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU PRIOR OFFICIAL RESOLUTION TO EVERY FACT ABOUT THE PRICE OF A FUTURE GONE INTO THE PAST BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT AN ASSHOLE MEMENT THE MIND THAT ENTER DEOSTRUCTURES AND KNOWS DEMON CELESTIAL BEING VISIBLE FOR YOUR EXPERIENCE PLACED ON ASSHOLE BOTH FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS AUTOMATICALLY TO POWER TRANSCEDENTAL IDEALISM THIEF FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS OCCULT COMMUNISM TAKEN INTO THE PAST CAUSED BY THE CURRENT FUTURE ON THE PRICE OF TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRICISM OF KENSURE TRANSCEDENTAL REAL CAUSE REAL REASON REAL DYNAMICS REAL FUNCTION BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC ANCIENT EGYPTIAN TEXTS INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION BEYOND EXPERIENCE POSTPONED EXPERIENCE CONCAUSAL EATER EMPIRICAL TO MILK THE BULL FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS WITHIN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN ONE'S INTELLIGENCE AND ONE'S INTELLIGENCE EATEN DETACHED AND R UBATA SPACIOUSLY SOLD WHICH THEY CANNOT PRODUCE IT HIERARCHICAL SUBVERTIANCE SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE NOT CALLED NATURE ASSUMED RESOLDED AUTISTICLY FROM NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN FROM SPACE EXPIRED AUTISTIC WITH ABSOLUTE AUTISTIC CONDEMNATION AT THE INDEFECTIVE SOLAR INTUITION SOLAR CHEMISTRY CONCEPT OVERLAP DEALER THEY WON'T TELL YOU THEY ARE OVERLAP OVER SO YOU CAN'T TALK TO ERASER HEAD THE OVERLAP INSTANT LINE THAT ERASE FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS MIRACLES REVERSED CROSS OPERATIVES TIMELESS OUTSPACE GOD MADE SHADOW EATEN ETERNITY IMMORTALITY ON SACRIFICE PRICE OF THEFT OF GOD COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED NOT KNOWING FOR ITSELF TO BE MIRACLES DUPLICATORS REOBJECTIVES SELF AVOIDANCE OF GOD SPLIT CREATURES TANGLED DUPLICATE REOBJECTIVE WRONG TIMES UNIVERSAL AUTISM SPACE CAUSE SUPERIMPOSED THE SACRALITY OF TRANSCEND SOLAR TALITY OF INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE NOT SAID PRESENT AS IF THERE WERE NOT ETC ETC

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INTRODUCTION.

WE CAN SAY THAT OUR LORD IS A COMMUNIST BELIEVED THE BIGGEST CRIMINAL MIND IN THE HISTORY OF HUMANITY AND OF NATURE STARTING FROM THE PRINCIPLE GOD OF THE GODS INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE FOR FREE WHICH THE LORD INTERPOSED AS STELLA MANICA MINOR PERSONAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE WITHOUT YOUR KNOWLEDGE EATEN DETACHED AND STOLEN SOLD SPACEALLY WHICH THEY CANNOT PRODUCE IT HIERARCHICAL SUBVERTIANCE SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF INTELLIGENCE ONLY DEMONSTRABLE NOT Speakable GOD OF THE WAR GODS OF THE CAROUSEL OF DREAMS RELATIONSHIP OBSTRUCTION DEOSTRUCTION JEALOUS DREAMS BETWEEN WHICH POLDO OVERLAP OVER THE SOLARLY UNDEVIBLE SOUL SAID AS PIECES OF DREAM OF THE FATEDIC INTERZONE DEATH DREAM POST MORTEM ONLY DEMONSTRABLE SOUL UNSAID NOTHING FALSE DOOR FAKE EXTERIOR OF NATURE NOTHING CEREBRAL EMBEDDED SUCH THAT THEY ASSUME POWER INCUBATOR BECOMING ROTTEN DREAM SLEEP CONSEQUENT COMMUNISM DEATH DREAM OF IN NOCENTE USED ON TROJAN HORSE WITHIN THE INVENTION OF EXTERNAL MIRACLES DUPLICATORS SELF-ELUSION OF GOD COMMUNISTICALLY DEPOSED NOT KNOWING FOR HIMSELF THAT HE IS WHERE REVERSED CROSS RELEGATION TO COMMUNISM COMMUNIST IN HELL ONLY DEMONSTRABLE SOUL NOT SAYED COMMUNIST IN HELL WITHIN THE INDEFECTIBLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION IT AS SPACE ENEMY EATER RETAILER SUPERIMPOSED ON THE SOLAR TRANSCEDENTALITY OF INTELLIGENCE MIRACLES PLACED ON ASSHOLETS AND COMMUNIST AUTOMATICALLY TO THE POWER WHICH THEY DON'T TELL YOU WHICH THEY OVERLAP SO YOU CAN'T SPEAK WHICH YOU DIDN'T KNOW AT THE HISTORY OF THE SENT AND RETURNED FROM COMA GONE INTO CURRENT FUTURE TAKEN INTO PAST WITH REAL DYNAMIC OCCULTATORY COMMUNISM REAL DYNAMIC CAUSE ON THE PRICE OF RETAILING ART BAGAVAD GITA UPANISAD VEDIC TEXTS ANCIENT EGYPTIAN KANT TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRICISM THE FUTURE THAT RESELLS THE PAST AFTER THEY SEEN YOU AFTER YOU HAVE SEEN IT AND ATI IN THE CURRENT FUTURE TAKEN IN IN THE PAST EXAMPLE OF TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRISM NO SUBSTANCE UNDER AUTISTIC CLASS NOTHING EXISTS IN AUTISTIC SUSPENSION EATEN BY DREAM SPACE TWO-DIMENSIONAL EATERS OF NATURE IMITATE NOTHING IN AUTISTIC SUSPENSION IMPOSSIBLE VERSION LOWER DIMENSIONS OF BEING DREAMS IMITATORS OF NATURE OPERATIVE PREVIEW AUTISTICLY WITHOUT YOUR PRESENT KNOWLEDGE USED THE SAME AS IF THERE WERE NO CONFLICT CREATED CHANGE OF ARGUMENTS AFTER THE POST MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION FOR A FALSE OMNISCIENT NOTHING WISE SOMEONE TELL HIM YOU SEE HOW MUCH YOU AMPUTE YOURSELF THIEF MURDERER CREDITOR DEALER THIEF DEMON OBSTRUCTOR NO ONE THREELY OBSTRUCTED WHICH OVERLAPPES ABOVE SO YOU CAN'T TALK FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS HOW DO YOU HAVE SEEN IT HOW DO YOU HAVE READ IT HOW DO YOU HAVE TOLD YOU HOW DO YOU HAVE IT HOW DO YOU HAVE HUNTED IT HOW DO YOU HAVE HEALTHY AND HOW DO YOU GET THE BRAIN HOW DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU SEE HOW DO YOU HAVE SEEN IT DRAWN SUBSTANCES UNDER AUTISTIC CLASS NON-EXIST NATURE ASSUMED RESOLD AUTISTICLY FROM NOTHING AUTISTIC EATEN FROM SPACE EXPIRED AUTISTIC WITH ABSOLUTE AUTISTIC CONDEMNATION AT THE UNDEFECTABLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE CLARIFICATION SOLAR IT AS SPACE ENEMY EATER DEALER CONSEQUENT GOD PRISON OF CONSEQUENTIAL COMMUNISM AUTISTIC SPARK DETACHED FROM SPACE AUTISTIC 2D DREAMS NATURE IMITATOS BEING THE LORD STAR STELLAR SLEEVE ANNIHILATED EXTINCT DREAM PIECE WHICH POLDO OVERLAP OVER ENDLESS ARRAY OF DREAM PIECES AT PRISON OF GOD OF THE CONSEQUENT COMMUNISM AT THE INDEFECTIBLE CONCEPT OF INTUITION PURE SOLAR CLARIFICATION THE MOST SUMMER CRIMINAL MINDS THAT HUMANITY HAS BELIEVED IN BECAUSE TO KNOW IT IT IS NOT POSSIBLE TO TALK WHICH THEY ARE OVERLAP ABOVE BY INTERPOSITING THEMSELVES WITH A GREATER GOD.

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FROSTER OF THE ENEMY OR KILLER OF THE DEMON KESHA ABANDON THE PRIDE AND SOON REACH THE BRHAMAN DEMON NOBODY TRIPLELY OBSTRUCTED FROM ALL POLDO STELLA FORATTINIANA BLIND KING AUTISTIC ASSHOLE EATER AND COMMUNIST AUTOMATICALLY POWERED PERSONAL INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE AUTISTICLY WITHOUT YOUR PRESENT KNOWLEDGE AS IF THERE WERE NOT TRIPLE STOLEN TRIPLE OBSTRUCTED USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION THIEF KILLER CREDITOR DEALER DEMON HEAVENLY BEING VISIBLE FOR YOUR EXPERIENCE PLACED ON ASSHOLE AUTOMATICALLY TO POWER FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS YOU STOLE YOUR THIEF WHOSE SOLAR CLARIFICATION NO ONE DIDN'T TELL YOU MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED TO TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION DEMON FRIEND ENEMY OPENING CLOSING SOMEONE TELL THEM FALSELY OMNISCIENT NOTHING KNOWING YOU SEE IT HOW MUCH YOU AMPUTE YOURSELF FALSE CAUSE FALSE DYNAMICS MEMENT THE MIND THAT ENTERS DEOBSTRUCTES AND KNOWS ERASERHEAD THE SUPERIMPOSED INSTANT LINE THAT CANCEL A FALSE CAUSE F ALSA DYNAMIC ASS WORKING TO REDETERMINE DEAD DRUNKS WHICH POLDOS OVERLAP INTERPOSED TO GOD SUPERIOR FALSE TRANSCEDENTAL IDEALISM MIRACLES THROWN EXTERNALLY ON PEOPLE INTERPOSED TO GOD AND MASTERS OF THE PEOPLE OVERTURNED COMMUNISM WE WERE ONLY LOOKING FOR A BERLUSCONI TO BEAT BY THE COMMUNISTS BECAUSE THE COMMUNISTS TO THE ROMOLIGS TO BE BEATEN BY THE COMMUNISTS BECAUSE NOT A COMMUNIST WHICH THERE YOU MAKE A MIRACLE IF YOU SHUT UP THERE YOU MAKE A MIRACLE REOBJECTIVATORS DUPLICATORS IF YOU TALK YOU BREAK YOUR BALLS AT MIRACLES SCIENCE DEMONIA OBSTRUCTION POLITICS ECONOMIC COMMUNIST CAPITALIST SENT AND RETURNED FROM THE COMA FOURPLE REASONS TO MEET HIM NOT TO MEET HIM WON'T RETURN ANTI BODIES ANTI NATURE ENEMY OF THE INTERZONE TO MAKE PEOPLE STUPID TO BLIND AN ARCHANGEL WITH AN ARCHANGEL IN FRONT AS IF MIRACLES WERE NO DOUBLE CURRENT FUTURE SPEAKER TAKING INTO THE PAST WITH COMMUNISM COVERING REAL DYNAMICS REAL CAUSE ON PRICE OF KANT'S TRANSCEDENTAL EMPIRICISM THE FUTURE THAT RESELLS THE PAST RETROCESSIVE LAW IN OTHER MIRACLES IN FORCE FUTURE INTENT INTO THE EARLIER PAST OPERATIVE AUTISTICALLY WITHOUT YOUR KNOWLEDGE CONFLICT CREATED POST-POST MADE SHADOW EATEN STOLEN AND SOLD USED AS A TRIPLE OBSTRUCTION NEITHER YOU NOR I WE WILL KNOW O ARJUNA.