By Tony DeLorger © 2011
How content we are in life with the master’s staff tapping on the floor. It’s relentless marking of life’s slow demise, our keeper. What time we have is too often squandered in useless pursuit: in self-gain, greed and the illuding promise of betterment. The struggle with which we contend is self-created and infers pushing for reward. What pushing creates is the ability to push, nothing more. The consequence always remains the obstacles and strife that can define our lives and so often describes our life journey. The only struggle worthwhile is the pursuit of understanding through knowledge and learning, developing self-realisation and acknowledging truth.
How content we are with our chaos, used to the dramatics of human affairs. Driven to strange and destructive outcomes we hold on to hope and then recreate the process over and again. We invest in attitudes of negativity and somehow expect the results will be different from before. Learning seems far from expectation and we simply surrender to the will of life, or so we think. The driver of our folly is we alone.
How content we are with failure, learning nothing and pushing even harder to force life into submission. We learn to cheat, to thieve, to covert and to fail without grace and with a vengeful anger. Failure is the governor of success, offering the unique lessons in life that affords the path to balanced achievement.
How content we are in relationships, finding needs met and self-worth acknowledged by another. How content we are with love, when we are indulged in sensuality and the pleasures of flesh. Driven to commitment not considered we enter love without even a sense of it for us. How deluded we are to think that love will endure without sacrifice, without a spiritual understanding and respect.
How content we are in truth, when it is perceived by eyes unwilling to admit ineptitude. How blinded we can be by our false perceptions driven by the bias and scares of experience. We so easily hold fast the truths that secure us and ignore the truths that disclose our inner reality.
How content we are to sabotage our bodies, condescend to poison ourselves in the name of image or gluttony and as a consequence drive others to be in our company, to justify the lie. Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, we treat our environment with the same careless abandon, our focus remaining on self-centredness and gain.
How content we are with death ever begging its coming, by the carelessness and thrill seeking of ego. Driven by impassioned experience we endanger ourselves in ruthless exploits and over indulgence in harmful endeavours. Life can become accepted as collateral damage and given less value as a consequence.
How content we are in our illusions, the veil of truth never to see the light of day. How content indeed.
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