Dog Poet Transmitting.......
Stranger and stranger... mysteries swirl and twist in the invisible wind like dust dervishes. Images comes and go but nothing is clear. It is too quick to register or identify the images because of the spinning and like dust dervishes, their path is unpredictable. We live in the middle of their coming and going. For some it is just a prolonged uncertainty with undercurrents of incipient fear. They don't know much about the wind and nothing about what moves it and the images are swirling in the back of their minds, beyond the reach of the conscious self. In between these images and the conscious self are the programmed images that have been placed there and which they cannot defend themselves against because they are not informed about the value of an empty mind. They are unaware that the world is a lie and unwilling to consider it because it could well render everything they do and everything they want as something unreal... or a lie. It could render what they believed in to be as unreal as the world they live in. There aren't many people who can handle the truth and that is why the world is a lie. The lies make the passage between birth and death seem more comfortable, as if... even though they know they were born, they don't believe that they will die. They see people dying all around them and do not believe that they will die. So they face their lives with closed eyes and their value systems are adjusted accordingly.
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