Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Time as a Healer and "The Tale of Wheat Cart"

by John Boodhansingh of Zero Mindfulness

It seems understandable to me that way back in the day a phrase such as, “Time is the greatest healer,” would appear rational.

Then and now alike, there’s no question that if someone has a physical injury, time is required for healing. What’s done is done to address the wound, and then—wait.

Psycho-emotionally, however, past to current ways become disparate.

A Time Forgotten

Back in the day, this "day" gradually ending with the onset of Westernization, people had a very different perspective of life than we do now.

It was, for example, more readily accepted that people die; that we cannot, in fact, evade death. It was more readily accepted that troubles such as war, disease, and so on were a part of life; said differently, people more willingly accepted that “imperfection” is an innate part of “how life is.”

It therefore follows that the non-physical hurt people had experienced was far more about psycho-emotional pain rather than suffering.

By all means, yes, people had their attachments, fears, and junk beliefs, and for these reasons they’d still experienced trauma that had left them to some greater or lesser degree imbalanced and with long-term suffering. Yet, relatively speaking, the more accepting perspective of the conditions of the day provided the space for hurt to rise and pass with less resistance than we now offer toward the same (and often milder).

An example can be illustrated with warfare. In tribal times, if it were accepted that each man is a warrior and it his birth-task to protect his tribe, there would be mechanisms in place within the tribal psyche providing the understanding that a warrior falling for the sake of the tribe is a sacred, honorable sacrifice.

Contrast this with modern times when it’s no longer about tribe-think but anything-you-can-imagine-and-it’s-probably-not-what-your-“tribe”-thinks-think. Consider the Vietnam War: few wanted it, most rejected it, and a great many were sucked unwillingly into it. There was nothing sacred or honorable about the war, and everyone knew it. The physical cost was monumental; the psycho-emotional cost, unfathomable.

Into the Present Day

As we’ve revolutionized into modern man, we’ve done away with all of our false (if once seemingly true) internal securities.

This is a required change for the evolution of humanity, but we’ve realized nothing satisfactory to replace the old securities with. So overwhelming is the resultant inner void that we’ve had to shut down our abilities to feel, to grieve, to empathize; we’ve had to become narrow-minded, stubborn, and “tough” as not to be overcome by our fears of death, literal and metaphorical alike.

We’ve moved into and have become stuck, entranced and entrenched, in a state of limbo, in the Land of Nod. It’s as though we can hardly anymore accept the possibility of the existence of hardship, of imperfection. War or natural disaster occurs and we’re as psycho-emotionally unable to adequately deal with them as is a guy who hates his job, a kid whose team loses “the big game,” or a mother whose baby cries “too often” for unknown reasons.

So numb are we, so unable to naturally feel, we’ve had to delve near-endlessly into ever more refined, intense, and exotic forms of addiction, distraction, and avoidance. These artificial coping mechanisms have become our only perceived way to at least feel something, anything, but without having to face the truths of self and life and death head-on.

But even these coping mechanisms are not at all useful in the sense that they're physical anesthetics that must be used repeatedly and eventuate the destruction of the user. They simply block out physcho-emotional anguish and make “the greatest healer” of time completely powerless, useless.

Psycho-emotionally, time stands still.

The Tale of Wheat Cart

It's time now for the story of Wheat Cart, a 4-wheeled, wooden cart whose task it was to pick up wheat from the miller and deliver it to the residents of nearby towns.

As the story goes, this is just what Wheat Cart did. Take on a small load, deliver a small load; take on a large load, deliver a large load. And although there arose an occasional stressfully heavy load, carrying wheat was an otherwise simple yet meaningful experience. Wheat Cart knew that “this is the way life is—ups and downs, but balanced and okay.”

Then a time came when a few people had gone to see the local healer claiming intestinal hardships. Shortly afterward, a few more distressed citizens showed up with the same. It was determined that a protein found in wheat, called gluten, could cause a small portion of people mild-to-severe intestinal problems. The healer suggested to her patients that they should improve with a strict avoidance of wheat products.

Although a small issue, the greedy wheat miller could not imagine taking a pay cut. He thus kept dumping out the same load of wheat onto Wheat Cart and telling him: “You have to take this. It’s your responsibility. Find someone to buy it.” To be sure, the miller’s arrogance irked Wheat Cart, but Wheat Cart gave in.

And so, Wheat Cart traveled from town to town seeking buyers of the extra wheat but was unable to do so. Eventually, having born the excess load for so long, Wheat Cart became somewhat accustomed to it. The added stress required a small steel reinforcement plate here or an extra screw there, but Wheat Cart had to admit that he was aging, too.

As it happened, more people began claiming issues similar to the ones adversely affected by gluten. Though it was never known whether these latter folks truly had an intolerance or not but were maybe just experiencing like symptoms or insistently imagining things, there happened to be a healer from a distant town who’d been visiting and caught wind of the issue.

Deceitful and profit-driven as this second healer was, he began slyly inquiring of this apparent gluten resistance. “You must tell me all about it. In the name of science. For the health of everyone!” And so the local healer spoke and much to the delight of the distant healer, for the distant healer came to realize the fortune and power he could amass by deceiving all those uneducated, victim-mentality types by funding “scientific” and ”clinical” trials, fabricating results, and then spreading the fear-mongering as “truth” to every town in the realm.

To say this had terrible consequences for Wheat Cart is an understatement. Slowly but surely, in town after town, fewer and fewer people dared eat wheat. Wheat Cart would go to the miller and tell him sales are failing—no more wheat! But both scared of loss and prideful, the miller kept on loading in wheat.

Wheat Cart did sometimes speak up, but the miller would not hear him out. Often the miller would even threaten him. And who am I if not the wheat cart, thought Wheat Cart. Eventually, he simply gave up.

And so Wheat Cart continued, month after month, year after year, with an ever weightier load, unable to let go of the old. I am Wheat Cart, he thought sadly. This is who I am. Gluten has become embedded in all of my parts and now the burden is mine to bear, like it or not…But hopefully it will get better again… Hopefully…

The ever-increasing weight-stress brought with it the need for frequent and increasingly strong replacement parts, reinforcements, and patchwork—artificiality for survival’s sake. Anything to ease the stress, to prevent death.

So caught up was Wheat Cart in his despair and fear, so focused was he on his need for prosthetic stress reducers and his belief that he was, is, and always shall be Wheat Cart, that a better alternative had never occurred to him.

Indeed, he’d never looked within, he’d never asked.

Human Evolution Is a Conscious Choice

You are Wheat Cart.

It’s thus each of yours to decide how your personal story of Wheat Cart ends.

You see, as both burden and dis-ease increase, we’ve been waiting for time to save us, likely in the form of a savior; we’ve been waiting for time to do its supposed magic and take our suffering away.

Our internal and familial/cultural coping mechanisms have gone, and now it lies with each of you to choose: feeling or denial; healing or “patchwork” behaviors absurdly intended to “get you by until things improve.”

What will you choose, Wheat Cart?

Will you continue succumbing to your self-imposed burden? To the selfish miller? To accept the bogus fate of the false healer? To an imitation of life?

Or will you look within, voluntarily unload your life’s burden, and allow healing?

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