A perfectly good religion or spiritual path -- something that succored and supported so many; something that was kind in the face of cruelty; something that attempted to answer the hard questions of death or deep uncertainty; something that offered to heal and bind up -- was the Miracle-Gro territory of mass suicides or self-serving scams or crass manipulations that could leave anyone gasping at the unkindness of it all.
I worked pretty hard, but of course it did not work.
Out of the good springs the no-good. Out of the truth springs the lies. I wrestled and thrashed, but in the end, I could not escape.
Of course those who find spiritual persuasion a delusion from the get-go will pounce with glee at this juncture, forming their own cult of understanding: "See, I toldja so! A crock of shit!" They aren't lying, but that's not the same as saying they are telling the truth.
In Hindu mythology, there is a wondrous swan that is said to be able to sip a single drop of milk from an ocean of water. As a practical matter, this story is a koan: How could such a thing be possible -- to extract nothing but nourishment from a universe full of mixed messages? Where praise can't cut it and blame fares no better; where belief and hope and explanation soar and are profoundly crippled simultaneously ... what works?
I guess only a swan could answer that question.
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