Wednesday, October 31, 2012

The Pathology Of Least Resistance

It always happens like this… the weather I mean. Every Autumn the wind sweeps in across Lake Regina from the distant banks of Ultima-Borea, and then gets sucked into Temperance Valley for all of us villagers to harshly endure.

It's nice to know that certain things are constant and predictable, especially in nature, we humans like our nature dumb, not too many surprises thank you very much!

We have formally acknowledged though, ever since that fateful moment we now call our inevitable rendezvous with destiny, that predictability in people is considered a less than desirable quality.

In those olden days of yore, humans were quite comfortable living lives of very little change. They had often professed how they had wanted 'change', but could rarely see how their pathological behaviour was reinforcing for them their personal prisons. 

Knowledge of 'the Self' has become absolutely essential for survival here in our future community. The good folks here in Nova Avalon can spot denial, and pathological behaviour the very moment it rears it's ugly head.

Yes, I remember how it was in those woeful days, and how people wanted so desperately to transform their lives and manifest for themselves some kind of happiness. However, they would continue making the same ignorant mistakes, by repeating programmed patterns of folly and in turn wonder why their lives had become a proverbial broken record.

Those kind folks of the early decades of the 21st century were simply not conscious about certain aspects of themselves, they had lacked objectivity, and were therefore rarely in a position to use any real creativity or solutions to snap themselves out of their funk.

To cut off a personal dialogue with one's past had become endemic in your time period. History had mostly been a pack of lies anyway, or half-truths at best, to serve the needs of the controlling 'elite'. 

The narratives that were spun had blocked the average man and woman from even remotely scratching the surface of truth. There had been much incentive for those who had been controlling this narrative, and who wished us to swallow it with the same dutifulness as we would one of their phoney pharmaceuticals.

In order to fill the gaps and inconsistencies in one's personal or cultural narrative, absurdities had to be inserted and accepted, for everything to make sense.

On a personal level, this psycho-spiritual filler became the perfect catalyst to take individuals and the cultural collective, into all kinds of Seinfeldian realms.  The cognitive dissonance we had experienced ensured that we lived our lives solely for the purposes of starring in the divine comedy.

Many of us had become not unlike a virus. We had become predictable and ultimately self-destructive, living in vain in order to fulfill our pathological and preordained destiny, and always with the least amount of effort necessary.

Speaking of 'pathology'… please forgive me, but I must go now!  It seems that a fellow Villager named 'Gordon' is on the verge of opening a buxom bottle of Beaujolais with some 'new friends' he's made; a nice couple who argue 'waaaay too much' and are seeking his relationship advice and carpentry skills… and we somehow have got to stop him!

Future CT   Village 5,  Nova Avalon.      Year 17 P.T.E.

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