I Talk to the Dead
September 23, 2012
The ‘art of talking to the dead’ is a rare ability indeed. As life goes on, I find it happening more and more. Each early morning in the dark, I pass by a graveyard on my meditation walk. My ‘talk’ there is of more value than the thousands I meet every year who are the ‘living dead’. People with alleged ‘knowledge’ are filled with the dust of centuries of use and abuse. People may end up in a ‘box’, but it’s rare that I find someone who thinks ‘outside the box’. Not to airbrush humanity into a box of sheeple or robots, but I find even the sheeple see most others as sheeple!! Strange!
I talk to the walking dead! Sleep walking while half awake is the tone of the day. The masses are stuck in ‘role playing’ who they have come to believe they should be. In the US, 85% claim to some degree as being Christian as if they are afraid to just be themselves, or uncomfortable that perhaps the label ‘atheist’ might be attached to the ‘Christian dropout’. People usually stay with their addictions no matter what truthful information stares them in the eyes. Dropping an ‘addiction’ is in reality ‘changing addictions’, and the biggest addiction is believing who you think are.
‘Believing’ is a con game that plays well in Las Vegas, and senior citizen’s casinos filling the landscape of America where belief in Jesus has crumbled to a ‘slot machine’. ‘Believing’ is a ‘crap shoot’, and backing it with old, outdated, twisted information is more like a lottery with infinitesimally lousy odds.
Educated and uneducated, ignorance and blindness to the conscious or spiritual world is ignored for media ‘thought out’ programming whether on TV or in the churches of the robotic sheeple. This week all over the news is a little piece of ancient scroll furnished by a Harvard Christian professor alleging that something in the barely decipherable piece suggests that Jesus may have been married to Mary Magdalene (the prostitute)!
A significant percent of Christians will gobble up the ‘romantic notion’ further cementing them into the illusion machine.
I talk to the living dead as most of them are ‘nice enough’, but my lips need be censored for the practical fear of having no one to talk with. Say this or say that, and all hell could break loose. Kinda like the male riots in the Middle East over cartoons of Muhammad! Sometimes I think ‘talking like the weatherman’ only about the weather is the safest place to be with the living dead. Fear is everywhere, and growing especially in the outer world. It’s all fed by the insecure, fear of love for oneself, and the inability to have a ‘love-let-go’ with anyone where all inhibitions disappear. Try talking yourself into waking up mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Meditation? Hmmm?