In a retirement center, lives a grand Madame who tries to convince everyone that one can act within goodness through the use of reason which is the key to freedom. I do not believe her, but she charms everyone her convincing speech because it seems all of us posses a certain degree of elaborate judgment.
How easily we are enchanted by those who expose their beliefs if they sound convincing enough! Who cares about facts! I do! I do! I really do care about the truth! Why don’t you?
What is really good has to be based in truth, and that can only be found in a non-judgmental awareness within a whole we haven’t yet realized yet. We are seeing the truth all the time, but don’t realize it. Can you see the contradiction here?
The mask of will blows our minds with desire. The winds' intentionality at its tightest formality, a mask of necessity marking our face. In such heightened state of belief, one becomes the slave of will. One cannot see as our facade becomes that which seems to be free. So much it seems that is no relief to the affliction of impotence, but violence. Will in order, Will with reason to live in freedom, they say, but do not let them know desire itself and not themselves who owns control. Do you think you are free? But have you realized freedom is not in thought? The most treacherous delusion is being trapped in chants of independence while being chained to your own beliefs. But first, realize the trap so you can actually escape from your thirst. Trapped in the expectations of those beliefs, trapped in the desires of those who grief, trapped in the hush of untamed time. In such state of affairs, there is no place to run. In a world of aggression we inhabit for they say that all that cannot be possessed has not been desired with enough power and so they resolve: Nothing is unwilling, only keep billing those willing. Where does actuality lie? While the colorblind cry for more power, the attentive release their wills waiting for the flower of reality to bloom through their multicolored breath as one becomes one with the wind. The exhalation of perfection is the seed that gives birth to that which cannot be willed but only attended as the opening of petals in a delicate flow of rivers and foam that falls into the ocean of love.
At the end, remove the mask and perhaps, this time when you will… It won’t be desire, but consent that rips apart chains.