The Secret Source of Human Madness (and Its Single Solution) (Blog)

What drives us mad isn't the opposing action of life, or the erratic behavior of someone close to us. What literally makes us crazy, schizophrenic, is that our mind is divided; it is a house set against itself in the truest sense of the words. Honest self-observation provides us with overwhelming evidence:

Our certainty over some carefully selected action is as fleeting as the moment something in us suddenly appears to challenge the soundness of that conclusion. Whatever one part of us is for, another part stands against, ensuring some kind of painful interior debate. For instance, most of our pleasures are accompanied in their taking by the torment that we ought not give in to what another part of us openly desires.

Our choices come complete with judge and jury, replete with parts of us that just aren't sure, that doubt, or otherwise fear the outcome of what we hope won't prove a hasty action; so, we "decide" to postpone...and even though this inaction or procrastination that follows is as punishing as the fear from which it springs, it's never seen as being part of the divided self that secretly sustains both sides of the story.

False beliefs and socially conditioned, culturally corrupted morals go before us like a battering ram, shattering any moment that runs counter to what we think we're supposed to be seeing. Which brings us to this:

We are not "supposed" to see anything other than what we're given to behold in each moment; and then, from out of this pure undivided seeing, to act purely, totally, as it is given to us to do, as we are asked to do by that moment.

We cannot change ourselves by fractions, anymore than we can change soured milk by removing one curd at a time, or by adding fresh milk to it in increments. Either the whole (of us) changes, or not; our being is not its parts, but its celestial and earth-bound sum.

A rose is more than its stem, leaves, petals, and delicate fragrance; it is a creation of the season in which it appears, a passing time that cannot be separated into good and bad, right and wrong, anymore than you can isolate the idea of unconditional love or self-sacrifice from those seemingly uncaring moments in life that herald their sweet but fleeting appearance.

The whole idea of being released from the painful limited boundaries of our present nature is nonsense without (agreeing to) fully realizing everything about the nature that first creates them, and that then steps behind those bars so that it can cry out for the freedom it imagines it has lost.