Something is always telling something not only that it thinks, but what it thinks and is thinking about. And by the telling of what it thinks and is thinking about, it betrays it is thinking. An “it”, a some “thing”, is in consciousness.
And the spirit rejoices. For the work is perfect.
My dearest atheist friends who would most strenuously object to having any thinking like my own, often express by word they cannot recognize how very alike we are. Especially those who, informed by what is commonly called science, maintain our estate is nothing more than, and neither can be attributed to, anything other than merely assembled dust. We are both, even all, dust with thoughts and opinions. And, no less, with some ability to both know them and share them.
How absolutely alike we are! What boundary is there between us?
Who, or what “makes” us different? Causes us to know distinction amongst ourselves? Or even promotes some enforcing of it? It would appear (at least to me) self identity is, for want of a better word, sacred to each. The very highest of form is, to a man, the ownership of his own thoughts and being.
And though sacred may be a word some naturally shy away from, such shying away from what is frankly too obvious only makes a point also seemingly too obvious for mention; that need to maintain distinction. A maintenance of that self identity. Do any ever consider how much work (and often grievous) is devoted to it?
O! the depths of it! Man engages the very thing for maintenance that brings the deepest horror to himself, isolation. Do I lie? That he is caught here? This very thing of his own choosing that allows him to make both either alien or friend of another, is itself to him ruler. And he can never doubt its benevolence to himself, for above all, it is his most engaged faculty for the knowing of himself. The which, even if or by denial, is most sacred to himself.
A man said:
He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.
When a man finds that thing by which he thinks he preserves himself, and therefore his own life, and it is no less the very thing isolating himself from all true knowing of relationship, he may be finally finding something fit for the losing.
Show me a man who, in some way or fashion has not betrayed wife and children, or wife having not done likewise to husband and children if even in self preference of thought, and either you or they (as myself) are all too easily shown liar.
Do I lie?
How easily are broken even that which we believe we uphold as greatest of agreements. Our maintenance of what we call our self, our integrity (imagined) of unity in and to our “self” is such a fractured thing, divided in every way.
The question of whether there is a who willing to abandon his own estate for the purpose of “making friends”, able to deny self without denying relationship, is either what one is thinking about or has not yet even begun to be considered. For once truly considered, it is an inescapable reality full of all and every pursuit of “how then is such a one?”
One either believes or is locked up to self.
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