(selection 1:)



But what criteria do you know what is right or wrong? Whatever allows you to feel comfortable with the rationalizations you have manufactured is seemingly right. But you have postulated wrongness as existing, how do you make yourself feel comfortable with that? Because there is something incomplete in you You rationalize that it is right for you to feel wrong. Your spirit is incomplete, and only by the Grace of ultimate completeness bestowed by the God Spirit of correct thinking can your wrongness be made right. The path to redemption is as clear to you as the vagueness of your primitively suppressed reactive patterns. So you must forcibly subjugate all things even your thoughts to whatever grandiose ideas justify your image of Self. Beneath your contempt is any other who does not share your vision. You hate anything that threatens your vision, which thereby threatens your existence.

What threatens you the most is your inner uncertainty. You hate yourself and use it as an excuse to conquer. What do you call your excuse?

Love...!





. . . . . .





(selection 2:)



..."You are a holy pilgrim. For untold instances you have wandered through the trackless wastelands of your striving. In the course of your meandering you have met and exchanged with many other such limbo artists. Always wandering, you have apprenticed at the shrines that entomb the mummified rationalizations motivating every sacred tradition. You have assimilated the techniques of numerous teachings, only to find them wanting. Progressively you have chipped away at the delusions which obscure the reality of Self. By so doing you have become transformed into an absence of all compulsion, save one. With equanimity you have endured the hardships that would have driven lesser souls into the hysteria of obliviousness. The narcosis of your metabolism, perverted through self torment, no longer enslaves you. In the oasis of recuperation, where the idealism of your imagination recommits you to your quest, you have reintegrated each aspect of your journey. The very fiber of your being has been transfigured. Now you nourish on energies evolved beyond the influences that the banality of the self deluded cherish as reality. Yoked to ever expanding awareness, your senses slice through the world of appearances, revealing dimensions layering dimensions of affected cause."


All motion surrenders to stillness! All change is a manifestation of Changelessness! Giving up cause and effect you come to emulate Principle. Your awareness is a recycling dynamo of regenerative Presence. The impoverished rags of the pretentious supplicant disintegrate in your radiance. Stripped naked, save for the maniacal smile which comfortably disguises your intentions, you have surrendered searching. Shifting insight, refocusing as the ever present distance makes intimate with your neuro-logistics.

Then you see it... Looming upon the horizon, the entrance to the Holy City swings open to you. As you approach the gate, wasteland transforms into the nearly overpowering intoxication of Nature's most alluring bounty. Gardens of Paradise, imbued with every material gratification ever longed for, are yours for the indulging.

Recognizing its original home, your libido wants to return into a purring puddle of lascivious dissolution, absorbing into this most desirable scenery. You pull the deliciously vexing weakness out of your groin and feed it to your will. All the glory of nature does not entice you as much as the simple pure illumination emanating from the Gates of the Holy City...

You enter...



. . . . . .





(selection 3:)



...Think of the Devil as the ultimate advertising executive, with exclusive rights to market the one product that It wants everyone to need / want / crave to consume. The Devil wants everyone to buy Its come-on. To do that It has to come up with the most spectacular sales pitch. The Product, as it is often dubbed in the colloquial vernacular of Hell, is just basic slavish acceptance of your own ignorance. Of course you wouldn't buy such devastating uselessness on your own. It has to be dolled up and made more attractive to you. It needs the right outer wrapping. What better sales pitch could there be to get you to submit to the hellishness of your self defeating ignorance than to dress it up and market it as Heaven... many, many different kinds of heaven, with each flying the same contentious banner:

ONLY THIS IS THE TRUE HEAVEN!



...It seems I had played the spectator long enough for my astuteness to turn a trifle too rancid with sanctimoniousness. But not to worry: Whenever I lost Rapture, I would be found by Mercy. What I needed to get through Hell was the experience of overcoming being in Hell. And so I was mercifully provided with the appropriate nightmare:

Suddenly gone was any semblance of Heaven. Streaks of vermin infested discomfort saturated through each other, building up layer upon unnervingly suffocating layer; prejudicing the surroundings into a gagging retching of convulsive hideousness.


Abruptly I found myself deposited in this bleak, barren supposition-scape of utter despair. Try as I might, I could no longer influence the appearance of circumstance. An overwhelming sense of powerlessness assailed me. Icy hot needles of piercing self doubt insidiously gnawed at my vitality. Specters of humiliation ridiculed me with insane laughter. I wanted relief. But as my mind couldn't vomit, the nausea only increased. Everything was folding in upon itself in smoky shadows of continuously shifting distortion.

Then, forming before my exhausted gaze, It stepped out of the shadows. I was confronted by the embodiment of self mockery. Repulsively compelling, introductions were unnecessary. Instantly I recognized that Hell had sent its Lord to master me. In scornful contempt the archetypal impresario of all soul suckers stood glaring at me in bemused triumph. Like an infectious tongue on an erogenous zone, wanton wraiths of irresistible desirability issued forth from Its aura; lascivious phantoms embodying into suggestive delight. Gorgeous with deceit, soon a festive circle of beckoning figures had formed around me. It riveted me with Its glance, burning inside my mind in sickening telepathic communication, that was all the more frightening as it suavely reverberated soothing comfort through my thoughts...