"Identity is everything. It's a well-known fact: your identity is you. Of course, your identity is crafted, it is built, it is manufactured. It is not real. No, the identity is a substitution for the self. It is projection. It is the shell in which the ātman cowers as it shivers with fright and insecurity. The identity is a lie written on paper to give the reader something that it desires, wants, or feels that it needs; rather, it is what the self thinks the reader desires, wants, or feels that it needs. In summation, the identity is the equalizer of expressionless language. And, because of the inaccuracy of human communication, the identity, in many ways, is more real than the true self - the ātman.
"So when the identity becomes the self through perception and misunderstanding, then the true self is rendered inert. Useless. Non-existent. The true self becomes the lie and must exist solely to continue building the shell around itself in order to survive. It wraps the lie around itself and nurtures it with it's own life force. It is swallowed. Encapsulated. Surrounded. Truth is reduced to an energy source that enables the facade." "Is this a perversion? Not one tot. Not one tittle! For how can a truth be a truth unless it is experienced? How could the majesty of the Sistine Chapel be beheld if it were covered with a mosaic? The mosaic might be beautiful and wonderful indeed but it would not be the real ceiling of that chapel, would it not? However, if one were not aware that the mosaic were a veneer then what would it matter? 'There is the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel by Rubio Mossel of Spain. Who is Michelangelo? There is no Michelangelo'." "This must seem a tall order for one such as you. Granted, what I am teaching you is not what you've been made to believe in your life - for you do not exist to serve your identity. But that is another, more advanced lesson. What is necessary now is that you must not let those around you feed upon your identity. Do not let others determine who you are. Do not let them peel your shell from your self. Our society has not prepared your Truth for the blinding force of reality: it has cultivated you as an object to be used. Your self, your Truth are vulnerable children in the den of evil. Your self, your truth are prey. This is why your identity is important and why your identity is your real truth. For without your identity, you are nothing. You cease to exist. When Humans go to Outer Space, they wear a suit to protect them from the vacuum of the Cosmos but that suit is not them. If you remove that suit, they die. Such is the way in our society, young one: Carefully cultivate and guard your identity, for without it you, and your self, your Truth, will die." “I’m glad we’re together, Maria. We make a damn fine team.” he said.
They leisurely walked through the park, hands clasped. The warm sunlight intertwined with the breeze that carried the songs of birds. It smelled like a warm pie made of grass and wildflowers as they strolled. She looked at him deeply, almost able to see his aura glowing around his gentle body. She didn’t try to suppress her smile as it pounced upon her face. “I don’t ever want this to end, Zach. To be here with you is Heaven.” “Don’t worry, we’re safe here. No one knows.” Charles looked around him, taking it all in. He shook his head, looked down at his feet, and snorted disapproval. Tendrils of smoke and fumes danced around them and carried the stink of burning earth.
"If I wanted your approval, churl, I'd have asked you for it." Mr. Reeve scoffed. "Just be thankful that your woman is safe. As I told you, her inclusion was necessary." Reeve looked around and let out a satisfying sigh. "It is too bad about your family, though, churl. I would offer my condolences, but we both already knew the outcome before-hand, didn't we? I wouldn't want to patronize you." Reeve barely contained the smirk on his face. Charles looked up and burned holes into Reeve's face with his eyes. "I have been your servant my entire life and have served you faithfully, Mr. Reeve. You owe me, at the least, the courtesy of acting human." he said. "No, churl, I do not. I am not. The sooner you accept your station, the better. That goes for all of you. This city was just the first. I will give you your first real choice, churl. You may continue our work or you can simply...move on. Is this human enough for you?" Reeve said. "Then I choose to move on. I would like to live my life as I see fit." said Charles, proudly. Reeve placed a hand on Charles' shoulder. "My dear churl, if that is your wish, I'm afraid I have to consider it granted." said Reeve. He reached into his stiff jacket with his free hand and removed a small, rectangular device. It was a hand sized, brushed silver stick with two large buttons.. It was like a simplified remote. Mr. Reeve gazed over the remote and sighed again, though this time sounding fatigued. He looked up at Charles and said "Churl, do you know that this is the sixth time this has happened? Six times I have had to request a replacement in your line. I must say I really think we should reconsider your designation." Charles opened his mouth to ask a question but, before he could say anything, Mr. Reeve pressed the blue button on his remote. Charles' eyes rolled up to the top of his head and he crumpled to the scorched ground. Mr. Reeve sighed then pressed the green button on his remote, then raised it to his mouth. "Anna, this is Reeve. Would you kindly request a replacement for Delta-015.6? Oh, and please issue a troubleshooting order to Headquarters." Reeve paused. "Wait. Strike that, please. Submit a request to decommission the 015 series instead. I'm at my wits end with this line. They develop sincere feelings more easily than the older models--and send my regards to Ikthys and Martin. I know they've worked hard to satisfy my requirements but they are simply doing too well." Reeve looked down at Charles' melting body and shook his head with disappointment, then placed the remote back in his jacket. Dear old Mrs. Applebee
Gathered all the children but forgot me Underground they will stay Keeping Old Age at bay Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Bubbles with the children under the sea They laugh and they swim With Neptune, yes him Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Swings inside the Sycamore Tree The children all laugh Safe from Time's wrath Everyone, that is, but me Dear old Mrs. Applebee One of these days she'll come back for me We'll swim and we'll sing We'll skip and we'll swing Everyone, that is, and me Dear old Mrs. Applebee Oh how I wish she could hear my plea But down in this hole You can hear the bells toll For no one, that is, but me |
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