The mistake -- a sick joke
The idea that any one of us can ascend to the top of the Empire State Building and from there proclaim our supremacy, King Kong, lord and master of all he surveys, king of the jungle, is an absurdity. When what it really expresses is the littleness of our un-self-awareness. Not who we really are but its opposite, a loudmouth fraud, an imposter, deranged and delusional. “A stranger wandering through the house of Truth,” as Jesus puts it in A Course in Miracles. A pipsqueak nobody. Seriously -- a joke.
When what the attainment of our real Worth, our empowerment, actually requires isn’t being the center of attention but getting out of the way. Getting off stage instead of at the center in the spotlight. Not involving bodies and the beast, their havoc-wreaking animal brains, in anything. But letting the idea out the back door, that they’re who we are. That anything “external” to Reality that can only be one and inseparable is worth taking seriously. Because it isn’t. It’s a delusion. A mistake. A perversion of the Truth. A sick joke.
Leni’s Triumph of Flatulence
Glorified in Leni Riefenstahl’s “Triumph of the Will,” her documentary, commissioned by Hitler, of the 1934 Nazi party congress in Nuremberg. The coming together of one individual’s derangement with an entire nation captive to its delusion and its talent for self-glorification through the creativity of imagination -- art, imagery, illusion. Its talent for propagandizing derangement, the arrogation of authority from all Creation to itself, from Logic and Love that govern Reality and Truth with wisdom, kindness and compassion, sensitively, inclusively, to a poseur bent on supremacy by crushing the opposition. “Triumph of the Will,” theatre of the absurd on a tiny stage of make-believe, the letting of flatulence in the context of another Will that knows nothing of it. Of the Logic and Love where Will resides. Where the Authority of Necessity is shared freely with its Creations but cannot be shared with a dream. With nothingness. A joke.
The nonsense that Leni Riefenstahl “immortalized” was mortality. Death itself, because the idea that it expresses, that will can be concentrated in any part of the dream of an unconscious mind, is stillborn. It just didn’t happen. The ruler and his regimented ranks of sameness in their Teutonic uniforms, for all the racket they made, for all the anguish they caused, didn’t make a dent in Reality. The Reality of Will whose essence is sharing, affirmation, and empowerment. Whose essence is Life, not death. That arrogates nothing to itself, concentrates nothing to the exclusion of its Creations, the focus of its striving to attain an Ideal. Its caring focused not upon itself but upon them. Upon their gifts and talents and the Beauty and perfection of their Creativity. Their artistry. Their work -- the Worth of all of Creation.
Good riddance to spiked helmets and swastikas
What more pathetic absurdity can there be than “Triumph of the Will” that celebrates all of history’s poster-child madman? What more blatant contradiction of Truth and sanity? How more obvious can our own madness get -- the madness of “realists” taken in by this shit. Instead of making fools of ourselves, strutting on center stage in the regalia of authority, in our madman’s delusion of “supremacy,” when will we wake up? When will we and our madness get out of the way?