For many
spiritual people, spirituality is a walk in the park on a sunny day, bubbling
with pretty notions of peace on earth and good will toward men. It's softcore
spirituality, full of soft focus and soft lighting and soft music, everything
soft and fluffy, all moving towards some earthshaking climax that never seems
to materialize. Anyone involved in the actual process of awakening would view
such frivolity the way men on a bloody battlefield view children playing war in
backyards. You talk about a revolution, but revolutions aren't like afternoon
tea parties with fine china and extended pinkies - they're hellish nightmares
from which you can't wake up. Real spirituality is a savage insurrection, the
oppressed rising up in a do-or-die bid for freedom. It's not something people
do to improve themselves or earn merit or impress friends or to find greater
joy and meaning in life. It's a suicidal assault on a foe of unimaginable superiority.
Like David and Goliath. Our Goliath is large and powerful and cunning and
all-seeing. Our David is puny and weak and stupid and blind. He has no
advantage in this fight whatsoever, except the heart to fight and his rock. We
can think of the rock as truth, and truth is the giant-killer. Truth destroys
everything. Goliath has every power and advantage except truth, and that's why
we can fight and win; we have truth and Maya doesn't. Still, it's not a
one-shot deal where David throws the rock and Goliath tips over dead. It's a
long, ugly struggle because we are both friend and foe- David and Goliath
reside within. Every inch of ground takes everything we have. Lessons aren't
delivered as quaint little parables and allegories, but as irreparable losses, lesson after lesson, loss after loss. Every step is a loss and as long as
there's more to lose, there are more steps to take. Everything is lost. Nothing
is gained.
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