equanimity

Bastante climbed back into his body from the dream world, and woke up in the morning.  It sucked, but it couldn't be helped.  Mornings were always nice anyway.  The weather on the tropical islands far out in the Great Western Ocean was basically the best weather in the world.

He crawled to life, of necessity.  He didn't like it that much, but there was no choice.  So he lived.  He lived marginally, on the outskirts of society.  He did not succeed at anything; he remained anonymous and hidden.  He led the life of a guerilla revolutionary, and a yogi.  It was a chore.

But he had to take a stand.  He had to do something.  He'd been lied to by everyone.  Church, State, and School, the big three were all total lies.  All three existed to propagate propaganda. Illuminati propaganda, about how Jesus was born on Dec. 25 and the pyramids were built by farming tribesmen, and lending money at interest was nothing historically controversial whatsoever, and secret societies never had anything to do with fomenting world events from behind the scenes.   He'd been lied to about the World Wars, about Vietnam, about the Gulf War, about Iraq, about 911, about JFK, about MLK jr., about Malcolm X, about RFK, about who build the pyramids, about how old humanity was, about where humanity really came from, the truth about fallen angels and extraterrestrials and the origins of high civilization on ancient planet Earth, and throughout the galaxy...  He'd been lied to about money, and about sex, and about God, and he'd been lied to about his purpose in the world, and humanity's purpose in the world, and injustice was pervasive and the truth was buried and ignored and the dharma was neglected and the world was suffering unnecessarily, and Bastante was morally obligated to skillfully intervene for the benefit of all beings.  The Truth had to be told, and the Truth had to be lived.  It was simply required of him, and it sucked.  He didn't know how to skillfully intervene.  He didn't want to intervene at all.  But it was demanded of him; it was his dharma.  So he led the life of a nonviolent guerilla revolutionary, and a dedicated yogi.  More than anything, he just wanted to feel loved, and feel like he belonged.  But he'd basically given up on that.  So he stayed ruthless and looked for an opening, and prayed for peace-