2
" The problem, often not discovered until late in life, is that when you look for things in life like love, meaning, motivation, it implies they are sitting behind a tree or under a rock. The most successful people in life recognize, that in life they create their own love, they manufacture their own meaning, they generate their own motivation. For me, I am driven by two main philosophies, know more today about the world than I knew yesterday. And lessen the suffering of others. You'd be surprised how far that gets you. "
― Neil deGrasse Tyson
5
" Perfectly Imperfect
We have all heard that no two snowflakes are alike. Each snowflake takes the perfect form for the maximum efficiency and effectiveness for its journey. And while the universal force of gravity gives them a shared destination, the expansive space in the air gives each snowflake the opportunity to take their own path. They are on the same journey, but each takes a different path.
Along this gravity-driven journey, some snowflakes collide and damage each other, some collide and join together, some are influenced by wind... there are so many transitions and changes that take place along the journey of the snowflake. But, no matter what the transition, the snowflake always finds itself perfectly shaped for its journey.
I find parallels in nature to be a beautiful reflection of grand orchestration. One of these parallels is of snowflakes and us. We, too, are all headed in the same direction. We are being driven by a universal force to the same destination. We are all individuals taking different journeys and along our journey, we sometimes bump into each other, we cross paths, we become altered... we take different physical forms. But at all times we too are 100% perfectly imperfect. At every given moment we are absolutely perfect for what is required for our journey. I’m not perfect for your journey and you’re not perfect for my journey, but I’m perfect for my journey and you’re perfect for your journey. We’re heading to the same place, we’re taking different routes, but we’re both exactly perfect the way we are.
Think of what understanding this great orchestration could mean for relationships. Imagine interacting with others knowing that they too each share this parallel with the snowflake. Like you, they are headed to the same place and no matter what they may appear like to you, they have taken the perfect form for their journey. How strong our relationships would be if we could see and respect that we are all perfectly imperfect for our journey. "
― Steve Maraboli , Life, the Truth, and Being Free
8
" I used to think Romeo and Juliet was the greatest love story ever written. But now that I’m middle-aged, I know better. Oh, Romeo certainly thinks he loves his Juliet. Driven by hormones, he unquestionably lusts for her. But if he loves her, it’s a shallow love. You want proof?” Cagney didn’t wait for Dr. Victor to say yay or nay.
“Soon after meeting her for the first time, he realizes he forgot to ask her for her name. Can true love be founded upon such shallow acquaintance? I don’t think so. And at the end, when he thinks she’s dead, he finds no comfort in living out the remainder of his life within the paradigm of his love, at least keeping alive the memory of what they had briefly shared, even if it was no more than illusion, or more accurately, hormonal.
“Those of us watching events unfold from the darkness know she merely lies in slumber. But does he seek the reason for her life-like appearance? No. Instead he accuses Death of amorousness, convinced that the ‘lean abhorred monster’ endeavors to keep Juliet in her present state, her cheeks flushed, so that she might cater to his own dissolute desires. But does Romeo hold her in his arms one last time and feel the warmth of her blood still coursing through her veins? Does he pinch her to see if she might awaken? Hold a mirror to her nose to see if her breath fogs it? Once, twice, three times a ‘no.’”
Cagney sighed, listened to the leather creak as he shifted his weight in his chair.
“No,” he repeated. “His alleged love is so superficial and selfish that he seeks to escape the pain of loss by taking his own life. That’s not love, but obsessive infatuation. Had they wed—Juliet bearing many children, bonding, growing together, the masks of the star-struck teens they once were long ago cast away, basking in the comforting campfire of a love born of a lifetime together, not devoured by the raging forest fire of youth that consumes everything and leaves behind nothing—and she died of natural causes, would Romeo have been so moved to take his own life, or would he have grieved properly, for her loss and not just his own? "
― , The Cobb Legacy
12
" It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life. "
― W. Somerset Maugham , Of Human Bondage
18
" When it shall be desired to enlighten man, let him always have truth laid before him. Instead of kindling his imagination by the idea of those pretended goods that a future state has in reserve for him, let him be solaced, let him be succoured; or, at least, let him be permitted to enjoy the fruit of his labour; let not his substance be ravaged from him by cruel imposts; let him not be discouraged from work, by finding all his labour inadequate to support his existence, let him not be driven into that idleness that will surely lead him on to crime: let him consider his present existence, without carrying his views to that which may attend him after his death: let his industry be excited; let his talents be rewarded; let him be rendered active, laborious, beneficent, and virtuous, in the world he inhabits; let it be shown to him that his actions are capable of having an influence over his fellow men, but not on those imaginary beings located in an ideal world. "
― Baron d'Holbach
19
" God, who needs nothing, loves into existence wholly superfluous creatures in order that He may love and perfect them. He creates the universe, already foreseeing - or should we say " seeing" ? there are no tenses in God - the buzzing cloud of flies about the cross, the flayed back pressed against the uneven stake, the nails driven through the mesial nerves, the repeated incipient suffocation as the body droops, the repeated torture of back and arms as it is time after time, for breath's sake, hitched up. If I may dare the biological image, God is a " host" who deliberately creates His own parasites; causes us to be that we may exploit and " take advantage of" Him. Herein is love. This is the diagram of Love Himself, the inventor of all loves. "
20
" Were you there?”
She shook her head. “No. I was here in Nain having a
child.”
“Then why do you weep as though you had part in his
crucifixion? You had no part in it.”
“I’d like nothing better than to think I would have
remained faithful. But if those closest to him—his
disciples, his own brothers—turned away, who am I to
think I’m better than they and would have done
differently? No, Marcus. We all wanted what we
wanted, and when the Lord fulfilled his purpose rather
than ours, we struck out against him. Like you. In anger.
Like you. In disappointment. Yet, it is God’s will that
prevails.”
He looked away. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know you don’t. I see it in your face, Marcus. You
don’t want to see. You’ve hardened your heart against
him.” She started to walk again.
“As should all who value their lives,” he said, thinking of
Hadassah’s death.
“It is God who has driven you here.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “I came here of my own
accord and for my own purposes.”
“Did you?” Marcus’ face became stony.
Deborah pressed on. “We were all created incomplete
and will find no rest until we satisfy the deepest hunger
and thirst within us. You’ve tried to satisfy it in your own
way. I see that in your eyes, too, as I’ve seen it in so
many others. And yet, though you deny it with your last
breath, your soul yearns for God, Marcus Lucianus
Valerian.”
Her words angered him. “Gods aside, Rome shows
the world that life is what man makes of it.”
“If that’s so, what are you making of yours?”
“I own a fleet of ships, as well as emporiums and
houses. I have wealth.” Yet, even as he told her, he
knew it all meant nothing. His father had come to that
realization just before he died. Vanity. It was all vanity.
Meaningless. Empty.
Old Deborah paused on the pathway. “Rome points the
way to wealth and pleasure, power and knowledge. But
Rome remains hungry. Just as you are hungry now.
Search all you will for retribution or meaning to your life,
but until you find God, you live in vain. "
― Francine Rivers , An Echo in the Darkness (Mark of the Lion, #2)
