movingalways
Registered: 10/07/08
Posts: 354
|
|
| |
Reply with quote | #1 |
Once upon a time very early last Saturday morning, Eric decided to discover the meaning of life. The night before on public television, he had watched a show about a very old monk who wore a long robe and was supposed to be very smart about these things. Heck, people came from all over the world to kiss him and give him gifts, he was that smart!
Eric had a plan. He would find the very same answer as the long-robed man, but instead of it taking thirty-five years, he would complete the task in one weekend. He'd leave on his journey of discovery at ten this morning and be back before his TV shows came on Sunday night. Perhaps he could get into the "Guinness Book of World Records" as the youngest kid ever to come up with the answer to the meaning of life! The old man in the robe had said that he had taken a long journey, but left no clues as to the nature of this journey. Where had he gone? What did he take with him? Did he speak to other people about their travels? Apparently you had to find these things out for yourself. You couldn't be told. Eric's body tingled with excitement. He couldn't wait to start.
Eric sat down at the wooden desk his father had bought him for his fourth birthday. It was too small for him now; his knees touched the top of the underside, but when his mother had offered to buy him a new desk from the big office store uptown, Eric had refused. Every scratch, every doodle on his wooden desk made him smile when he touched them. No way he was giving up his smiles to a shiny, unused desk!
Eric had brought with him a large piece of paper and his magic green pen. His brother told him his pen was not magic, but he knew better. Something moved inside of him when he wrote with his green pen, like a storm or a song full of colors and warm lava. Eric knew he would be sad the day the green ink ran out.
Eric drew a line down the centre of the page. On the left side of the line he wrote "What to take on my journey" and on the right side he wrote "Where to go on my journey". Having titled his list, Eric clapped his hands. Good, he thought, a beginning.
Five minutes passed, then ten. No storm. No song. No feeling. No words. In his frustration, Eric found himself tapping his magic pen, then rolling his magic pen, and finally, chewing his magic pen. Perhaps, he thought to himself, if I play with my Play Station for a while, I'll come up with some meaning ideas.
Zip, zip, zip around the racetrack he flew. Pop, pop, pop, he killed all the aliens with bumpy skin and gnarled purple fingers in record time. His thumbs moved faster than the speed of light, pumping the buttons frantically as the screen flashed numbers and creatures jumped and leaped from here to there. Four games, then six, then eight; he could have played more, he wanted to play more, but time was pressing on his mind. He had a mission to accomplish!
Back to his desk, back to the list. As he stared at the twelve words on the paper, his right leg started to jiggle, his bum was getting sore and his pen just seemed to pop itself back into his mouth. Perhaps, Eric thought to himself, if I take a bath, I'll come up with some meaning ideas.
As he ran the water, the rainbow bubbles grew and popped madly and Eric carefully dropped his boat collection into the middle of the tub. First the tanker, his favourite; big, grey and dangerous looking. Next, the clipper ship with the many sails, then the three speed boats and finally, the miniature birch bark canoe. When he was satisfied that the boats were placed just so, he climbed into the water, sliding slowly into its warm bubbly depths.
For over an hour, he swam with his boats. The battles they fought, the people they rescued, the storms they endured! Even he was amazed at the adventures they had taken in that short hour. The bubbles gone, the water cold, Eric returned his boats to their special places on the back rim of the tub.
OK, OK, Eric sighed, enough splashing and fighting, back to the list. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. The paper was slightly soggy from his right arm; apparently he hadn't dried himself too well. Well, if the paper was soggy, it needed time to dry. He'd go and look at his baseball card collection, and by the time he was done, the paper would be dry and the words would come. He couldn't write on wet paper, not even with his magic green pen!
Leaving the almost empty sheet of paper sitting on the edge of his doodly wooden desk, Eric reached under his bed and pulled out his box of baseball cards. He had to keep them under his bed at the very back so his sticky-fingered three year old brother couldn't get his hands on them. They were very valuable, or at least they would be one day when he was a grandfather. He had it all figured out. He would give his baseball card collection to his grandson on his twenty-first birthday. He could sell it and buy a BMW or a Corvette, if they had cars in the future. He smiled as he thought of himself at seventy or eighty, heck, he'd have wrinkles, wear old holey sweaters and maybe even have a bald head.
Eric lovingly handled every one of his cards, from Ken Griffey Jr. (his first), to "Goose" Gossage (his most recent), and when each one had been placed back in his rightful spot, he put the lid back on the shoe box and returned it to his home under the bed.
Eric slipped into his desk chair and stared at his meaning of life list. The paper was dry, the pen was ready. Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. The words had not grown at all. What was wrong with his green pen? Had it lost its magic? Was his brother right after all?
As the minutes ticked by and the pen remained still, Eric felt himself getting sleepy. Try as he might, he could not keep his lashes from slipping down from the bottom of his brows to the top of his cheeks. When sleep finally came, his head dropped gently on top of his "What to take" and "Where to go" list and his magic green pen slipped out of his hand and dropped to the floor.
A door slammed downstairs and Eric opened his eyes gently. As he picked up his green pen, he struggled to remember why he was sitting at his desk. Did he have homework to do? Was this piece of paper the math questions Mrs. Delaney had assigned for Monday morning?
No, it wasn't math homework, it was his list, his meaning of life list! He was going on his adventure and this was his list so he would know where to go and what to take. He looked at the clock. Sheesh! It was 4:30 in the afternoon, too late to go now! It would be time for supper in a few hours and besides, his best friend Jake usually came calling around this time on a Saturday afternoon to shoot a few baskets.
Grabbing his basketball and a cherry popsicle, Eric ran outside onto the porch to wait for Jake.
~ Pam
__________________
Man's journey of thought is the swallowing up of his conditioned awareness unto his unconditioned awareness. |
| Loading... | | |
lovesvoice
Registered: 05/30/08
Posts: 526
|
|
| |
Reply with quote | #2 |
Enjoyed this very much Pam. Thank you!
__________________
With the gentleness a parent teaches a child, so let your heart teach your mind .... |
| Loading... | | |
movingalways
Registered: 10/07/08
Posts: 354
|
|
| |
Reply with quote | #3 |
lovesv  ice
__________________
Man's journey of thought is the swallowing up of his conditioned awareness unto his unconditioned awareness. |
| Loading... | | |
movingalways
Registered: 10/07/08
Posts: 354
|
|
| |
Reply with quote | #4 |
THE FORMING OF "THE LIST" BY THE MAGIC PEN IS THE NEVERENDING STORY OF THE SPIRIT OF IGNORANCE OF THE LORD GOD OF GENESIS TWO:
Man is a spirit being as stated in Genesis One, the realization of which eliminates all thoughts of becoming. as suggested in Genesis Two.
It is the lie that God is becoming us, or that we are becoming God that keeps us trapped in our belief that the the One God of Infinite Thought changes his mind. It is this insane belief that God doubts God that is responsible for all the suffering in the mind of man. How can God doubt God, when God is all He IS? How can God be incomplete, when God is all He IS? How can God become more or less than God, when God is all He IS?
Eric is Adam-Eve within the collective human world of the belief in becoming. Eric suffers his wandering in his imagination of an incomplete Creator, and in his suffering of sensing Life's incompletion, forms worlds of good and evil gods of Eric. As a child mind of the unsophisticated intellect, he forms dividing gods of baseball card collections and video games. As an adult mind of the sophisticated intellect, he forms dividing gods of higher and lower mental or spiritual dimensions or realms.
God did not say "let there become." God spoke The Word, let there BE light, and there was light. How does man expand into the realization of the truth of BEING his light?
First, by repenting his belief that he can see, by his intellect of the dust, the face of God. Second, by standing firm on his realization of the truth of his completeness, of his perfection, of his wholeness and of his purity in God's finished creation. Third, by being obedient to the activity of "God, in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself." The activity of consciousness that resists not evil, allowing every thought of becoming to be exposed to the light of "let there be, and there was."
Precept by precept, line by line, here a little, there a little, Eric is dissolved. Before Abraham was, I Am.
__________________
Man's journey of thought is the swallowing up of his conditioned awareness unto his unconditioned awareness. |
| Loading... | | |
