A line from the cave…

As some may have noticed, I haven’t been posting a whole lot lately. To be honest, it hasn’t really dawned on me that I’ve had anything worthwhile to say. Not because I’m down on myself or don’t value my own opinion; those of you who know me personally know that I happen to value my own opinion a great deal and generally don’t mind sharing when the opportunity arises.

Lately however, things have been moving along at an increasingly intense clip. Since my job folded some six months ago I’ve been focused primarily on the workings of my own household: spending time with my wife, developing my healing practice, fostering my students, playing in the dirt…

Paring down financially and socially has really begun to help me see what’s important in my life. And this has led to an almost complete unplugging from mass media and all that goes along with it. Yes, I’m aware of the situation in Paris. I’m also aware, depending on what you choose to read, that aliens walk among us, Monsanto is the devil, chemtrails are dumbing us down, and that the Georgia Guide Stones spell out the directives by which some uber-secret organization plans to almost completely depopulate the world and control the survivors.

Oh, and then there’s the Masons…

At any rate, my official awakening some years back was something very akin to that of Neo in the matrix. (”They had good noodles…”) The main difference being, however, that while Neo went on to fight the system, I, like many I’ve seen, chose instead to bitch about it under the guise of “waking people up”. This has led me on a deeply introspective journey. And it has also shown me that one can either wage some type of war against the things one hates, or one can serve the greater good by promoting the things one loves.

And therein lies the tricky part.

As a teacher of mine once put it, “every time you make a purchase your foot is on the throat of someone else.” Wear cotton clothing to protect the environment? Somebody picked it. Buy running shoes? Chances are a child labored in a sweatshop to make them. Use a plastic toothbrush? Petroleum products and their pollution made it possible. The list goes on and on.

So what do we do? How do we continue to exist in the world without bringing pain and suffering to others? How do we wander through the hall of mirrors without becoming blinded and yet still interact compassionately with those who have?

I don’t claim to have an answer to this yet. I do, however believe that there’s a good chance that answer might be found in a life of service. Not in some arbitrarily adopted lifestyle chosen simply because someone you’ve been trained to worship has done the same. I’m talking about a life based upon the realization and utilization of whatever gifts one possesses for the greater good of others. Not everyone can be Gandhi, Mother Theresa, or Jesus Christ. Yet the volunteer who holds the hand of a dying hospice patient is no less important.

I’ll tip my hat to the mad prophets of the world. The David Ickes, Alex Joneses, et al who scream from their mountain tops about the evils lurking among us. They serve, in a way, as alarm clocks, stirring those who’ll listen from their socially ingrained slumber and sending them on their way. Yet, like with the nagging wail of an alarm clock, those who refuse to listen can simply ignore it or turn it off. And those who are awake no longer need it.

There are many out there whose paths of service are multilane highways paved in prominence: earthshaking individuals meeting with heads of state and boards of directors, deciding policies with global repercussions. For my own part, I‘ve no desire to, and seen no indication that I’ll ever become one of them. So I’ve backed away from the global issues and chosen instead to serve in my own small way; one person at a time.

It’s a much simpler path, and allows me to throw my efforts into places where they’re more effective. . .

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