Mr Thomas P. Lind

Flying with Seagulls: Rituals of the Mind Mr Thomas P. Lind

Man is problematic to himself, because he does not understand his existential position, which is to accept responsibility for life?his life! It is a duty not an obligation. He is not obligated, but whatever, he does have moral consequences. Without making a commitment to himself, he cannot live a moral and ethical life. Morality is utilitarian. This is not meant in a selfish way, for the commitment is to life. Even so, life only becomes meaningful and purposeful through the individual?we each lives in a vast expanse of ?nothingness? behind us, ahead and around us, which has no intrinsic or extrinsic meaning. Meaning and purpose come to us from the reality, we produce in consciousness. Truth is only in the reality we can conceive, perceive. And we only believe that to which we have made a commitment. So if we make a commitment to life, we can believe in ourselves, and live as close to the truth as we produce it in action. This book, ?Flying With Seagulls?, discusses these questions in poetic form, making it pleasurable to read, and at the same time enlightening. Its objectives are to share many perceptions, which could expand our Universe, giving us the insights, by which it?s possible to live peacefully on earth as genuine, authentic human beings. We could really stop deceiving us and accept ourselves unconditionally. So many of us insult the intellect with our beliefs; but Critical Thinking is not criticism, it?s an assent of the intellect?a recognition that that sets us apart, unique, relevant to the Universe. Every heart throb of life beats In unison with the contrition And the forgiveness of the Universe. Through the tendrils of imagination Our bodies entwines with the Universe, Every sinew binds as ligaments. The Universe is an expansion, A reflection in consciousness, of A Universal mind. The Universal mind is our mind. Our body is the Universe. Neither exists without the other! In the dark long crawling night Where my eyes awake robs my sleep. Away in the distance I hear the whispers Of a trillion stars. Resuscitate me, they say, in you dream; If ever you dream again! For without the dream we are: A sparkle of light without meaning. Vortices of energy unto itself, imploding!