File talk:Mode of Cosmic Therapy Do We Really Have Any Control?

When we finally arrive at that venerated place where the familiar walls crumble and the voices of love festered support recede, we have begun our spiraling ascended descent into the multitude of the labyrinth vortexes of unrevealed liberating esoteric [bone-chilling] latent truth. In other words, we see ourselves for the first time without the disguises of staged show dreamy theatrics.

How long does it genuinely take for us to “let go” of the need to feel special? [For as long as we desire to experience misery.] It’s certainly not easy or comfortable to step over the cautiously guarded threshold of what one so tenaciously cleaves to as a necessary, vital, life-sustaining part of life. But, placing one foot in front of the other without craftiness will inevitably reveal what has been hidden as a meticulously cared for ‘pack of lies.’

We don’t want to hear that we have lived the majority of our lives in never-never land coveting a secretly held romantic vision of grandeur for ourselves that would one day come to be. We simply want to turn a deaf ear, prove the other wrong, show proof of sincere validity in clear plain declaration: ‘what it meant then’ and ‘what it still means now.’ No. No. No. It was what it was and is what it is. What it has been, it is not. And, what it is not can ever be manifested. Our true infinite desire for things sustains them. Nothing short of the ruthless soul’s intent will meet our unflinching sacred human experimental requirements. We have moved on. The “wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round.’

WE have arrived at the place in our lives where we can no longer induce an extended veil of hypocrisy. We are no longer lulled to sleep by the sound of our own voices whispering the ‘sweet nothing’s” in semblance drone. We are ready to face our inner world completely naked without reservation, hesitation or expectation. We face the ‘teary eyed’ musicians we hired to play at the whimsical dance we booked in our honor; then, we send then home. The clock has struck midnight and we are alone.

''We are satisfied with that. Our minds are placidly serene yet boldly unpretentious.

'' Now embraces us with the sensual fervor of wildly unexpected bliss. We have shed the garment of self-compensated despair. We no longer respond to the call of ‘desperately seeking relationship’ horn. We are disinterested, unmoved, unimpressed and happy. That’s as much as we need to know.