The incomprehensible frivolity of those who deem it enjoyable and sporting to make a game of killing and suffering!
Such acts and attitudes are symptoms of a horridly sick society indeed. To make a sport of the tragedies of mankind is to demonstrate a madness of the vilest kind on earth, worse than that which we find in asylums because those out and about, free to do as they please, are pleased to mimic the worst there is, though they are judged by the rest of society to be sane and responsible. The judges are as ill as the judged, if they find no fault or harm in such behavior.
War games? War games? War games!
Play, everybody, play!
And play the dreaded things that one never plays again
When the real appears.
In all its horror and confusion,
The incredible, the imagined takes its form from nowhere,
But not from nothing.
Frolicking souls, restless souls, selfish souls,
Dull, simple, foolish and ghoulish;
Shoot and kill! Play the game without the blood in sight,
Though the blood already gushes forth
With its life spilled to the ground.
While they play and rejoice in mock victories,
Storm clouds swiftly creep.
Even the rain spatters to warn but none take care
And none suspect that the rain is red.
Now they say, “Better red than dead” until they say
“I wish I were dead.”
Now they only pretend, like children,
Running and laughing, not watching,
Until they fall into the strong hands of a stranger,
One of whom they have heard,
One of whom they have talked and laughed.
Suddenly, the reality.
Children, play your games.
Soon there’ll be no games to play, and
The memory of them will willingly fade away,
But the reality of them will stay
To exact the price for playing. (Ecclesiastes 11:9-10)
IF YOU CANNOT TAKE SOCIETY NOW, HOW WILL YOU COPE WHEN IT TAKES YOU?
Lethbridge, July 20, 1984
Spanish – English So very much of our conversation belies our true nature and convictions. We say we love God, we speak of thanking and praising Him when we “are in church” or in a religious setting trying to impress others but let the guard down and listen to the words of our mouths and our hearts. Now these hearts are supposed to be the new ones we received in our “new birth.” With one set of words we proclaim we are new creatures, thankful to God in all things. With another set, we let others know where we really stand. Often, the arm raised in praise has a clenched fist and the lips of thanksgiving conceal gnashing teeth. Because conditions are never perfect, the spirit of complaint can never be stilled or appeased. Our ceasing to complain cannot hinge therefore on a change in conditions but must come solely by change in spirit and attitude. The source or cause of complaint is never the circumstances but always the subject in same. At any given time our lives can view from either of two perspectives, positive or negative, like two sides to a coin. Each side truly exists and we are right either way but we become what we behold. Therefore must we decide what to behold. Isn’t it awful? Isn’t it hot out? It’s enough to fry one’s brains! It’s so dry and dusty…. If only we had a little rain. You want rain? Plan a picnic! Where did all these terrible flies come from? Sure it’s raining…just washed my car! If it doesn’t rain, it pours! Is it ever muggy out! ...
Poems on The Path of Truth
It is bad enough to watch a dog vomit though by vomiting it may well expel that which ails it. Then it is a pleasant experience to behold a healthy creature. But bad is bad when one witnesses the return of a dog to its vomit only to lick it up again. I do not know of many more disgusting spectacles to witness in all of existence. Up from the pits of Hell Come the vilest of the vile; These are the has-beens of yester-year, Full of venom and guile. These have known the truth of God; They have known His love and power, His mercy to loveless men; His goodness has made them sour. Why do angels fall? Why do just men call On gods who have nothing to give? Why do fools choose death In order that they may live? Now here is a marvelous thing That would make any devil sing: It is easier to find The seeing man crying to be blind Than it is the blind to see. Lethbridge, Alta., June 1985