Without being either disrespectful or frivolous, I sometimes think a (wo)man could do worse than to choose a spiritual persuasion with the same gusto s/he might buy a Twinkie.
For those who love Twinkies, the passion is undeniable. There they sit on the supermarket shelf, positively begging you to buy them. And a visceral, non-verbal drive within surrenders to the petitioning. Chocolate, vanilla ... no matter ... this is important and its imperatives will not be denied.
And that first bite positively proves you were right. The mouth fills up with ecstatic wonder. The taste buds devolve into a soaring delight. Temple spires reach wondrously towards heaven. It is as profound as profundity itself and almost as impossible to encompass as the singing of the hymn, "Jerusalem." Subtle, significant, delicious, complex, ineluctable forces are at work. Juices flow and they are lively. Was there ever anything as wondrous as an orgasm when first encountered? No one ... no one could know such a blissful embrace ... it leaves the rational and emotional mind in the rear-view mirror.
Minute by minute, day by day, week by week, year by year ... Twinkies. God, heaven, hell, angels, enlightenment, emptiness, compassion, clarity, delusion ... lordy, lordy! To those who say Twinkies are small potatoes and spiritual endeavor is roast beef, I say, think again.
But the punchline on all of this awe, wonder and surrender is the same. Unwrap the Twinkie, dissolve into its wondrousness, expend the vast efforts necessary, and ... swallow. Once having swallowed, you may notice at last that Twinkies as a way of life are not very nourishing. Delicious, informative, wondrous, consuming, sure. But not terribly nourishing as a diet to cling to. And they'll rot your teeth. They're spectacular in their time, but their time is not forever.
And the lesson?
Just don't litter.
Put your Twinkie wrapper in the nearest trash barrel.
No need to have others cleaning up behind you.
Welcome to my litter box.