Today's front page recounts the usual: a war against a brutal tyrant waged between his goons and a "liberating" force dedicated to commensurate brutality has driven a million refugees into neighboring countries, where they now dwell in makeshift tents unwanted, hungry and freezing as winter begins. Oh, and far from hungry, obese Americans who use certain unregulated, over-the-counter dietary supplements are discovering that they now have irreversible liver damage. Then there's this week's expose by investigative journalists: for 15 years after World War II, the crew of a U.S. tanker were repeatedly ordered to dump barrels of radioactive waste into the Atlantic Ocean (barehanded no less!) and have since been dying off from rare ailments linked to radiation--and their VA claims for benefits were roundly rejected....And we're the "good guys"?
Welcome to samsara, our world of diversity, of "this" and "that", of the implacable play of misguided ideation. How can we--how dare we--call such a den of suffering mere appearance, an illusion?
Yet we must ask ourselves, if mankind knew deeply and experienced convincingly peace, contentment, acceptance and assurance that the eternal is the only reality and that each of us is in fact that very timeless, space-less abode of Being-Consciousnes-Bliss, that each of us make up an ocean yet think ourselves a wave, would our morning newspaper ever bear such sad tidings again?
Yes, this world is illusion and we are deluded participants in it. But so is a dream, and the pain and fear and joy and wonder of a dream are very real to the dreamer. We cry during tear-jerker movies, we scream during horror flicks, we are riveted by thrillers, we fall in love with one character and hate another. We are enthralled, convinced by their verisimilitude. We live our lives in such a theater--illusion is reality for most of us. Must we escape it? Can we escape it?
Yes and yes and only then will that heart-wrenching newspaper resolve back into the living tree of truth from which it was rendered.
Welcome to samsara, our world of diversity, of "this" and "that", of the implacable play of misguided ideation. How can we--how dare we--call such a den of suffering mere appearance, an illusion?
Yet we must ask ourselves, if mankind knew deeply and experienced convincingly peace, contentment, acceptance and assurance that the eternal is the only reality and that each of us is in fact that very timeless, space-less abode of Being-Consciousnes-Bliss, that each of us make up an ocean yet think ourselves a wave, would our morning newspaper ever bear such sad tidings again?
Yes, this world is illusion and we are deluded participants in it. But so is a dream, and the pain and fear and joy and wonder of a dream are very real to the dreamer. We cry during tear-jerker movies, we scream during horror flicks, we are riveted by thrillers, we fall in love with one character and hate another. We are enthralled, convinced by their verisimilitude. We live our lives in such a theater--illusion is reality for most of us. Must we escape it? Can we escape it?
Yes and yes and only then will that heart-wrenching newspaper resolve back into the living tree of truth from which it was rendered.
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