Players

[poliphilo]

I think Spirit is like clear, untainted water poured out into earthen vessels.

Earthen vessels- that's Biblical innit?

I think this world is an experiment.

And not to be taken entirely seriously.

I like Shakespeare's insight- the one he keeps coming back to- "all the world's a stage/ and all the men and women merely players."

We are here to try on different roles. To find out what can be done with a certain set of genes and social circumstances.

Why?

Well, why not? Perhaps for no better reason than that it's an interesting thing to do.

Between lives we are subject to the judgement of our peers. They are not unkind. They will have made the same mistakes themselves.

Is this experiment devised by God? I think not. I hate hierarchy. I think the only God or Goddess that exists is Spirit- omnipresent, unstructured, playful- and that we're It.

Comments

[jackiejj.livejournal.com]

(I also like the image of your son running around the house barking like a dog.)

Children can think in startlingly original ways. I always take their ideas seriously.

My son, when four or five, once announced at the dinnertable: "This is all imaginationing."

"What is?" I asked him, baffled.

He waved his fork around at the room. "All of this," he said. "Everything."

Another time, I found him sitting in his toybox holding up an airplane. "The world is God's toy," he said.

[manny-script.livejournal.com]

Here is the best advice I ever saw on parenting:


On Children
from The PROPHET, by Kahlil Gibran

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.