I find that like so many things syncretic, and pleasing to the modern, western, post-religious sensibility, that Paulo Coelho’s writings are always so wonderful…when the bills are paid and there’s money in the bank. It’s when real shit happens…as it happens, that’s when one realizes, one doesn’t “create” a reality anymore than one creates other people and surroundings. Then those Oprah-ish notions are like pouring vinegar on a bad tooth.
It seems self-actualization is the opium of the pampered masses…until the echo-chamber funded by disposable income is broken by messy and undeniable, uncontrollable reality.
Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Shall a faultfinder contend with the Almighty?
He who argues with God, let him answer it.
Will you even put me in the wrong?
Will you condemn me that you may be in the right?
Who has first given to me, that I should repay him?
Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine.
living in a hypersexualized world is actually very spiritually exhausting and alienating
C.S. Lewis on this very topic, ie. hypersexualization as a symptom of malfunction of human sexuality…
Chastity is the most unpopular of the Christian virtues. There is no getting away from it; the Christian rule is, ‘Either marriage, with complete faithfulness to your partner, or else total abstinence.’ Now this is so difficult and so contrary to our instincts, that obviously either Christianity is wrong or our sexual instinct, as it now is, has gone wrong. One or the other. Of course, being a Christian, I think it is the instinct which has gone wrong.
But I have other reasons for thinking so. The biological purpose of sex is children, just as the biological purpose of eating is to repair the body. Now if we eat whenever we feel inclined and just as much as we want, it is quite true most of us will eat too much: but not terrifically too much. One man may eat enough for two, but he does not eat enough for ten. The appetite goes a little beyond its biological purpose, but not enormously. But if a healthy young man indulged his sexual appetite whenever he felt inclined, and if each act produced a baby, then in ten years he might easily populate a small village. This appetite is in ludicrous and preposterous excess of its function.
Or take it another way. You can get a large audience together for a strip-tease act – that is, to watch a girl undress on the stage. Now suppose you come to a country where you could fill a theatre by simply bringing a covered plate on to the stage and then slowly lifting the cover so as to let every one see, just before the lights went out, that it contained a mutton chop or a bit of bacon, would you not think that in that country something had gone wrong with the appetite for food? And would not anyone who had grown up in a different world think there was something equally queer about the state of the sex instinct amount us?
Le monde est désormais habité par des êtres horriblement indépendants, complexés, insatisfaits; des amoureux incapables d’aimer, des moutons qui refusent d’être des moutons, mais broutent quand même, en se fantasmant à l’écart du troupeau; bref d’excellents clients pour Freud, Bouddha, Fashion TV et Facebook.
True worth is in being, not seeming,-
In doing, each day that goes by,
Some little good-not in dreaming
Of great things to do by and by.
For whatever men say in their blindness,
And spite of the fancies of youth,
There’s nothing so kingly as kindness,
And nothing so royal as truth.
We get back our meet as we measure-
We cannot do wrong and feel right,
Nor can we give pain and gain pleasure,
For justice avenges each slight.
The air for the wing of the sparrow,
The bush for the robin and wren,
But always the path that is narrow
And straight, for the children of men.
‘Tis not in the pages of story
The heart of its ills to begulie,
Though he who makes courtship to glory
Gives all that he hath for her smile.
For when from her heights he has won her,
Alas it is only to prove
That nothing’s so sacred as honor,
And nothing so loyal as love!
We cannot make bargains for blisses,
Nor catch them like fishes in nets;
And sometimes the thing our life misses
Helps more than the thing which it gets.
For good lieth not in pursuing,
Nor gaining of great nor of small,
But just in the doing, and doing
As we would be done by, is all.
Through envy, through malice, through hating,
Against the world , early and late,
no jot of our courage abating-
Our part is to work and wait.
And slight is the sting of his trouble
Whose winnings are less than his worth;
For he who is honest and noble,
Whatever his fortunes or birth.