Heal Yourself from the Sickness

Let the healing of powers of the universe overcome you.  I am healer, which is why I am here.  There is no other reason or explanation for my vision.  I am a spiritual being.    I exist to exist, mainly because I have no other choice. 

Journeys are important for a character to make.  They may find themselves, at the end of their journey, in an office with giants that mean little to their soul and spirit.  They may find themselves sacrificing Nirvana for a BMW, or worse, a Subaru Baja.

We eat, breathe, and live.  The complexities of life do not get more intricate than this.  We define ourselves by status, how well we fit in, and if this makes sense to the world around us.  Popularity is as much an issue in middle school as it is in the corporate office.  In the corporate office, they simply call it “politics” instead of “geekery”. 

Money grows on trees and is shared by the discoverer.  The discoverer gets the chance to choose who it will bequeath its wealth upon.  Sometimes, the discoverer revels in their discovery.  But all their drama is nonsense.  Their underlings rejoice in the submission and acceptance of their superior, a sick game, really.  They decide to find Nirvana in a Subaru Baja, or worse, a Honda Civic.

What humans really want transcends success, status, money, and even hard work.  Humans simply want love, discovery, compassion, knowledge, growth, and harmony. 

This is the healing process I am trying to bequeath onto society, a cure from the sickness.  I urge you to feel the sickness when you go out on weekend get-togethers.  I urge you to find the American sickness that is killing us all through its lack of love, caring, acceptance, hope and peace.  Try to heal them.  As Jesus would say, they know not what they do.

For some, it is too late.  They have lost the desire to climb to the highest mountain and jump off of a waterfall.  They have no inclination to play video games until they are cross-eyed and pale from a virtual victory.  They no longer see the sky as a place their soul will transcend once they die.  No, instead, they see only the material possessions around them.  They do not feel the intense warmth when they pet their dog, or the glorious feeling of sleeping next to their soul mate.  They simply exist, and they wake up the next day for their Starbucks Latte, their run at their gym which costs them $50 a month, and the ride to work in the $500-a-month car payment.

No wonder we have overmedicated each other with antidepressants.  We have forgotten to go deep within the forests, as far away from any voice in human civilization, and just breathe, to not hear any other human being’s voice or hopes or worries or dreams or nightmares, but to just simply hear our own voices.

If you threw away all the voices, if you healed yourself from the sickness, what would your soul say you wanted?

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