life is a story about me.

I think every conscious person, every person who is awake to the functioning principles within his reality, has a moment where he stops blaming the problems in the world on group think, on humanity and authority, and starts to face himself.

Clearly, it is time to become disillusioned, each person to enter his own soul’s desert and look for God, having seen man.

I hate this more than anything. this is the hardest principle within christian spirituality for me to deal with. the problem is not out there; the problem is the needy beast of a thing that lives in my chest.

I talk about love, forgiveness, social justice; I rage against american materialism in name of altruism, but have I even begun to truly control even my own heart? the overwhelming majority of time I spend thinking about myself, pleasing myself, reassuring myself, and when I am done there is nothing to spare for the people i was intended to interact with, inspire, learn from. six billion people live in this world, and I can only manage to consistently muster thoughts for one … me.

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you.

I never had a selfless thought since I was born.

I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;

I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn.

Peace, reassurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek,

I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;

I talk of love – a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek –

But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.