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TWGilbert
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I'm a Gemini, so I'm naturally schizophrenic, so here are two separate answers:
1.) Does One Have a Moral Responsibility to Fight Evil?
I think it actually depends entirely on whether or not one wishes to suffer the consequences associated with that particular path. The old adage, "No good deed ever goes unpunished," may be closer to the reality of existence in this realm of materialization than we would ever hope to imagine.
First: Imagine that we are all in fact immortal (have always been, are now, and always will be), and that all beings (sentient and non-sentient) and all things with "form" containing spiritual counterparts (contents) are also immortal. The shells (vehicles) are utterly expendable, and the souls are permanent.
Second: Imagine that life is an infinite series of Video-like games (Shoots and ladders), and that we all exist to find our ways through the mazes forever, taking on new forms as we progress and grow and expand in consciousness, beginning as thought forms within minerals, progressing to plants, then to animals, then to humans, to planets, to solar systems to galaxies, to universes, etc. When all are immortal, then "time" and all of its variants are absolutely of no consequence (Cycles are a "tad" lengthy.).
Third: The reason for this huge panoramic display of "trial and error" and games in this Fun House of existence is that God, Who we are all integral parts of, is a Singularity, a Single Being, residing permanently perfected in an infinite universe surrounded by Nothing............ and this incessant solitude has resulted in God's taking parts of Himself/Herself/Itself and creating universes and universes of Imagined existence (We are created in his "Image" [which means MIRROR], within that expanse of Nothingness that surrounds this Singularity; and within that mirror all existence transpires. And the cycles of existence recorded in the Vedas and in the ancient records are the happenings of all of us and our ancestors and all of Nature combined happening over and over and over in the hugest cycles of time and space (billions and billions of years) so that we become "Temporarily" (which means "time") unaware of (Ignorance is Bliss) that we are all alone together in a universe surrounded by Nothingness.
Fourth: Have a nice eternity (a very nice long eternity), forever.
Fifth: By fighting Evil, one of the most important aspects in the Divine Play, this "Hugundous" Video game, one discovers that Evil prevents advancing souls from getting to the "Finish line" prematurely.................... so fighting evil will get you "hurt" if you are successful at it, because finding "short cuts" to the end and helping others (ladders) in the game is not generally allowed, unless you are a Master, Bodhisattva, Descended Being, etc.) and are allowed to make special dispensations to a few or just for so many in "special circumstances;" but if you are a lowly peon in the game and you accidently discover secret portals and passageways and help others through them............. be prepared for a major freaking Smack-down.................
Sixth: Of course, as Richard Bach, in his marvelous book Illusions states near the end of the book, "All of this could be wrong."
For any and all interested, I try to fight evil perpetually..................... I just no longer care about the consequences...................Namaste
And 2.) The Agni of God
The agony of God they say is not
why we are here. It is but Love that sends
us down this wayward track of fear. The plot
of hellish twists that soon entangles, rends,
and blinds, is just what God’s mechanics feel
we need to trust what binds: the Fire that
we seek in all the trials that we steal
is found in each experience, the fat
that cooks the meal. It is the basting grease
that flavors all that we consume, the trick
God’s cooks at Heaven’s gate add to release
our doom. Our hunger keeps us ever sick,
and pleading at God’s door, as we explore
Fate’s Fired Love, food scraps upon the floor.
The Daily News
I dash my head against the wall. I don’t
know which breaks first. These lame directions show
me now that guessing which is cursed. I won’t
conjecture that my mind will ever know
the truth, that what’s behind these blessed bricks
will offer to this sleuth the answers that
I’ve sought for ages, hoping there’s a fix,
a hidden meaning, Grail for blood, or cat
in bag of tricks. There are no clues to steer
our course, no signs in this fair Hell. The lost
within this Earthly plane do not yet fear
God’s spell, His magic show in which we‘re tossed
to flounder for an age, without a sage
to help us as we “act” upon life’s stage.
Lighted Beacon Towers
Pied pipers are a sorry lot. Their art
Is forged with din. Their methods to release
some healing come from hugging sin. The part
they play is never sought in times of peace
and joy. Time’s dead-end death, with all that’s feared,
like Helen’s Fated Troy, is when the gods
make use of weapons most would view as weird,
a sling for David, beans for Jack, the odds
are not revered. The poisons of this world
are many, remedies are few. But sand
that oyster’s Fates deliver are soon pearled
anew. Each message in life’s tortured hand
holds trees within each seed. But life and need
are seldom seen when mankind shelters greed.
Rolling the Stone
Embracing Death is hugging life, with yins
and yangs complete. By fostering deep love
for both all evil works retreat, Most sins
are differentiating what’s above
from here. There is no difference at all;
creation is quite clear. The Spirit that
pervades all life is like a crystal ball,
that’s infinite in size through time, a stat
behind life’s wall, or veil, or well, or whale
that’s lost three days adrift at sea, a ship
with Jonah’s soul inside: God’s will to jail
what’s free. The sooner we accept Hell’s tip
that life and death are One, then what’s begun
as frozen death or life will be undone.
Imagine
(I•m•a•gi•ne)
I am a genii in a lamp, the Chi
within the Lamb. I am not freed unless
I’m graced by Hell’s fiend’s blaster sham. The fee
is that I pledge three ages all to bless
the poor, the meek, the ill, the wretched pained,
while Fates convey our score. The trials placed
in my cold hands aren’t black and white, but stained.
The daily magnets seeking peace are braced
from coffers drained. All consequences blame
fair choices, hurdles kissed by clocks. The lines
of blind recipients all play this game
like rocks, have poker faces stamped with signs
revealing hopes not fed. What must be said
is that this Hell’s eternity’s not dead.
Wonderland
We humans are the devastation prayed
upon by Earth. Our death here’s our unbuil-
ding, for God’s damned our every worth. God’s made
our resurrection an impossibil-
ity, to keep us helpless through charmed fate
and blind reality. Our Om is what
is promised though we cannot find that gate.
It’s hidden in a lane of love, Earth’s rut
disguised with hate. All outward forms of lib-
eration are lost hands of cards. The deal-
ers ask you ante up, and pay Hell’s crib
of guards. There’s always payment, lives to steal,
the very fruit of souls, those daily tolls
of want and greed, an emptiness of holes.
Inside out
Our bodies are not sacred, they are trash
in Heaven’s dump. Recycled bits of earth
and dust, a masticated lump. The stash
of Soul that wears this mask is not much worth
the trip, that endless round-about in time
a Mobius-like strip. We’re led to think
we have a goal that’s up this hill we climb,
if we but struggle with each step and drink
God’s words sublime. We are just fools in Heav-
en’s school, the blood in Arthur’s Grail. The lost
sheep in a nursery rhyme, that dunce in Sev-
en’s Jail. This Earth plane where we’ve all been tossed
is bottom of the heap, where we can keep
our precious dreams, remaining fast asleep.
And 3.) (I lied)
Here is William Shakespeare's (excuse me, Francis Bacon's) "angry" sonnet, of which I have always been impressed:
“The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and, till action, lust
Is perjured, murd’rous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted and, no sooner had,
Past reason hated as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof and, proved a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.”
And some of my own, which hopefully reflect dimly his sentiments:
The clock beeps tones, as I awake, the noise
unravels dreams, the thought of work shreds peace
of mind, a consciousness of streams. The joys
I felt when sound asleep are lost and cease
to be. The News last night of wars and debt
were real on my T.V. Foreclosures now
have raced through towns and states where neighbors bet
on lotto cards their last pay checks, that’s how
their bills are met: a **** when what’s bought
gets lost, like dreams and lives and hopes, a last
faint gasp, a living death, like chattel caught
in ropes. Church-job-state-school all tie one fast
to wheels of tortured bliss; what people miss
to ice life’s cake is blessed by death’s first kiss.
I stagger through the bathroom door to stare
at what stares back. The mirror strains to pass
me off as nothing but a hack. I dare
to stretch the truths I’ve found that seem so crass
and failed, and wonder if those dreams so fresh
will help me when I’m jailed: this body sits
like worlds aflame, a fence of tortured flesh:
what’s inside-out and up-side-down that fits
like Satan’s crèche. The News treats life like storms
without, and stirs these pots with glee. The schools
have failed to teach the young, the state reforms
what’s free. The churches preach such misplaced rules
that fear of Hell (for those, who never chose
this nether world) is offered as repose.
Where does one go; whom does one seek, to fix
this wretched state, this goddamned piece of crap
called life, which fosters lost debate? The tricks
of time and space are such that not one sap
comes close to sharing truths of how we get
beyond what’s so morose: this Hell of Hells,
this ruse in ruse, this game where winners fret
the free pass to start once again, where bells
mark what’s reset. The game of life is just
a game, a chance to dream a lie, a time
to wander through ‘What ifs,’ and learn to trust
or die, to play at love or hate or crime
and not dream, “We’re alone”; that dreaded koan
that mocks all fear, and rips all veils if known.
What does one know, when all alone, when left
to ponder Self? Is One content to peer
at night, when Nothing’s on the shelf, bereft
of time, and space, and dreams, all still and clear
of thought, when all, there is, is Being Still,
that state all saints have sought? If this be so,
what brings forth "space," what brings forth "time" to kill?
Who places sparks of light far flung that grow
in Matter’s spill? Who places worth in plays
of will, to strive back to The Source, where One
should never have set forth, or left what stays
all force? Why trap what’s freed? Why free what’s none?
Who makes this game exist? Why are we grist
for God’s millstone? Who’s placed us in Hell’s fist?
Any other speculations would be highly appreciated.................Blessings and Namaste, TG
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