Allen writes, “I hated work that has to be done over; washing dishes, sweeping floors, paying bills. As a boy I had to chop weeds between rows of corn; all spring and summer they would grow and I’d chop them, and always they grew back. I never finished. So little time to shape permanence, and this was wasting it; and as I grew older I avoided or minimized everything that gets repeated – writing letters, even eating. It’s quicker to get a hamburger at the joint on the corner, to stand up and wolf it down, than to sit at a table set with linen and silver and crystal. The hunger for immortality makes food plain. I had no flowers; they have to be watered, fertilized, pruned, and put in the sun, and whatever you do to them you have to do again; you’re never through. Houses have to be painted, roofs patched, plumbing fixed, furnaces cleaned; I lived in furnished rooms. Pets have to be fed and walked and taken to the vet. I had none. Friendships too have to be looked after; so mine were few. My wish to live forever was in a fair way of preventing me from living at all. The sacrifice upon which talent was to flourish was starving any talent I may have had.” Allen Wheelis from the “the illusionless man”
Marianne Williamson writes, “Our greatest weakness is the weakness of an undisciplined mind. We need not let fear steel the morning; we can consciously choose not to allow our minds to be programmed by the worldly viewpoint that dominates the earth. “
And Marianne continues, “Remember, it’s not just the workers but souls who are gathered in the workplace; we’re not just here to ‘achieve’ in a worldly sense, but to spiritually learn and grow. That is the purpose of work, because it is the ultimate purpose of everything. The ego’s work drama is always centered on who does what, who works for whom, and how much money can be made. But beneath the ego’s drama lies a deeper set of issues.”
Where do you fit? Where do you want to fit?
An excerpt from “the illusionless man” by Allen Wheelis
“Once upon a time there was a man who had no illusions about anything. While still in the crib he had learned that his mother was not always kind; at two he had given up fairies; witches and hobgoblins disappeared from his world at three; at four he knew that rabbits at Easter lay no eggs; and at five on a cold night in December, with a bitter little smile, he said good-bye to Santa Claus. At six when he started school illusions flew from his life like feathers in a windstorm: he discovered that his father was not always brave or even honest, and that presidents are little men, that the Queen of England goes to the bathroom like everybody else, and that his first grade teacher, a pretty round faced young woman with dimples, did not know everything, as he had thought, but thought only of men and did not in fact know much of anything. At eight he could read, and the printed word was a sorcerer at exorcising illusions – only he knew there were no sorcerers. The abyss of hell disappeared into the even larger abyss into which a clear vision was sweeping his beliefs. Happiness was of course a myth; love a fleeting attachment, a dream of enduring selflessness glued onto the instinct of a rabbit. At twelve he dispatched into the night sky his last unheard prayer. As a young man he realized that the most generous act is self-serving, the most disinterested inquiry serves interest; that lies are told by printed words, even by words carved in stone; that art begins with a small “a” like everything else, and that he could not escape the ruin of value by orchestrating a cry of despair into a song of lasting beauty; for beauty passes and deathless art is quite mortal. Of all those people who love illusions he lost more than anyone else, taboo and prescription alike; and as everything became permitted nothing was left worthwhile.”
That is a description of a life that is empty, empty of hope, happiness, joy, and a future.
Find happiness in what you do and in who you are. Seek joy in what you do. Chart a path that is filled with joy and follow it.