How alien would an incorruptible, unspoiled person be to this world? Envision the persecution this world would have in store for that person. After all, he or she would end our never ending parade, our festival of ignorance we desperately cling to. When the music abruptly stops and the commotion subsides, can we then see what we’ve become? The incorruptible person most assuredly won’t be you or me. This person won’t resemble any of the false images we may have of a perfect, enlightened being. No matter what delusions about the Earth many adhere to, this being certainly won’t be welcomed here. The perfect being stands as the embodiment of truth, and humans on this planet react to truth as they cope with grief: initially with denial, following with anger, bargaining, and depression and finally, if humans ever reach this phase, acceptance. Don’t we find it peculiar that the word we use for the sun rising in the East is a homonym of mourning? Did it dawn on us that Buddha’s first Noble Truth, that life is suffering, was known before we even realized it? The truth illuminates. The truth is that wild instincts can never be fully extinguished. Despite any suffocating, domineering society, this world cannot be completely orderly and predictable. We won’t find ourselves in a sterile, pristine, and static white room, and we cannot reach the last door of exploration. The study of the wild west will forever remain incomplete.
The vacuum, although being pristine, holds no life. That’s why we are the mess. Born into this world, we brought our mess as sinners, and without that mess there could only be a void, the white room. Considering the frailty of our minds, correct perception is tenuous, open to flaws in judgment. Once we believe we’ve attained total and comprehensive knowledge of a subject, we repel useful information that would have otherwise reached us. Have our brains swelled, engorged with such lies of self-importance, to the point of abandoning our search for truth? Can our hands function efficiently without them being empty in the first place? We can mitigate this mess, this imprecise perception, by emptying our minds and inviting truth in. Unfortunately in this world, truth isn’t treated as a guest marking an auspicious occasion. Truth is a muddy dog. Truth wanders the neighborhood, the place whose residents left for the marketplace on a cold and windy night. As eternal shoppers and eternal salespersons, they never come back home. No one’s home.
Go to the state and federal capitals, and you’ll find the same shoppers and salespersons. Go to church, and you’ll find the same shoppers and salespersons. There is only one fire sale. How can the residents ignore the flames? The muddy dog, like all living beings, pays the price for society’s fumbling. Those who operate on pure habit, especially when beliefs are considered, do more than make this mess. They make life more unbearable that it has to be. Rigid, insular beliefs are the hallmark of adulthood. Children may be less knowledgeable, but the lack of ingrained, predictable modes of thought and their curiosity make them more intelligent than the average adult. Did we fool ourselves into thinking civilization could completely tame us? The festering sore most of us feel is the infection disintegrating the brains of civilization. What did Gary Webb receive for exposing what he found about the “War On Drugs?” Apparently, Nixon’s 1971 message to the public, which Reagan supported with more enthusiasm than Ford and Carter, actually meant fighting wars while on illicit drugs. We fought for drugs while drugged.
The Central Intelligence Agency has a history of permitting drug lords to continue their business in exchange for intelligence. They cooperated with Manuel Noriega in Panama, raised funds for the Nicaraguan Contras by distributing cocaine in addition to selling arms to Iran. They also cooperated with Juma Khan of Afghanistan, the main poppy producing country worldwide. There are countless other examples, including their involvement with drug dealing during the Vietnam War and the secret wars in Laos and Cambodia. The CIA as the United States drug kingpin shouldn’t be surprising since the British East India Company dominated the opium trade in the past or since Operation Underworld, the collaboration of the federal intelligence agencies with the 20th Century mafia. Once the shoppers and salespersons come home, if it will ever happen, we all can help clean the mess the best we can. It will require everyone’s contribution. Finally, if we engage in coercion of any kind, we’ve undone the progress we’ve made up to that point. Coerce and we would replay the music even louder and return to our petty, everlasting parade.