Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 70

           

           Sean,myYogicIrishdairyfarmer,explainedittomethisway."Imaginethattheuniverseisagreatspinningengine,"hesaid."Youwanttostaynearthecoreofthething-rightinthehubofthewheel-notoutattheedgeswhereallthewildwhirlingtakesplace,whereyougetcanfrayedandcrazy.Thehubofcalmness-that’syourheart.That’swhereGodliveswithinyou.Sostoplookingforanswersintheworld.Justkeepcomingbacktothatcenterandyou’llalwaysfindpeace."

           Nothinghasevermademoresensetome,spirituallyspeaking,thanthisidea.Itworksforme.AndifIeverfindanythingthatworksbetter,Iassureyou-Iwilluseit.

           IhavemanyfriendsinNewYorkwhoarenotreligiouspeople.Most,Iwouldsay.EithertheyfellawayfromthespiritualteachingsoftheiryouthortheynevergrewupwithanyGodtobeginwith.Naturally,someofthemareabitfreakedoutbymynewfoundeffortstoreachholiness.Jokesaremade,ofcourse.AsmyfriendBobbyquippedoncewhilehewastryingtofixmycomputer:"Nooffensetoyouraura,butyoustilldon’tknowshitaboutdownloadingsoftware."Irollwiththejokes.Ithinkit’sallfunny,too.Ofcourseitis.

           WhatI’mseeinginsomeofmyfriends,though,astheyareaging,isalongingtohavesomethingtobelievein.Butthislongingchafesagainstanynumberofobstacles,includingtheirintellectandcommonsense.Despitealltheirintellect,though,thesepeoplestillliveinaworldthatcareensaboutinaseriesofwildanddevastatingandcompletelynonsensicallurches.

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