Whence Commeth My Help?

Why torture one’s self with the imagery of failure, letting dark incantations emerge from the shadow of the small, dimly lighted mind and submitting indiscriminately? Soon, one seeks relief in small things: physical pleasures, someone else’s suffering. A vicious cycle implodes, spiraling, black-hole-like. I created this! I can un-do it! I look for the hand of a true helper, because the pit is deep. There is no help in the world, for all suffer the same self-in-folded gloom — except those who have pierced the shadow and seen the light in its heart. Though glorious beacons of sonorous melody, they quietly walk unnoticed in a world of veils and illusion. The walking dead all around are really in the mind’s blinded eye. All are glorious souls, many yet sleeping. I am a sleeping king of my own kingdom! I listen to the true Voice of the One who knows and loves. Gradually, melody replaces malady. Music fills the darkness with Sound.

Nature’s Revelation Through Love

Nature surrenders her secrets very slowly and painfully to the intellectual or scientist whose interest is control, profit or merely mental reward. It is like pulling raisins from the hand of a dead man, in many ways, because such prying inquiry is often relegated to the confinements of the lab, or other sterile enforcements, and while it seeks rubies, it ends up with dessicated bits that are but wilted fragments of the greater truth. But to the sincere lover of life, whether philosopher, artist, home-maker, or scientist, she opens her book of wisdom with a warm smile. The intoxicating wonder thereby imparted renders moot the arrogant mind’s quest for dominance and control, and opens a youthful heart to simple joy and unconditional service.