Pure heart love.

A debate about why the symbol of the cross has persisted.
He will persist in his insistence that there is no God or gods, and you will increasingly return to your Christian roots, your primal Christian beginnings before Christ became a slogan on t-shirts and bumper stickers, and people mindlessly spouted faith statements they only put into practice for fifty minutes each week.

But, indeed, why has the cross persisted as a potent symbol?
At the time, you said it seemed to be somewhat like the shape of a man, and he snorted in disgust at such a notion.
If it were a symbol like a human being, wouldn’t it look more like a star or pentagram?

But now you see how Pure Heart Love works and why Love tainted by sexual urges becomes demonic when it isn’t ordered by marriage.

You see that the symbol of the cross is like a person standing with arms outstretched, but feet together. This indicates the openness of the individual to give and receive the Pure Heart Love, whose wisdom includes the intellect of the brain, but the brain doesn’t overpower the heart.

The feet together indicate that the love and desire of the sex is muted, ordered and controlled. For those who have taken vows of celibacy and Christ, it is non-existent. For those who have taken vows of marriage, it is rightly focused on a single partner and not splayed out wantonly.

Man-as-pentagram or star indicates a human whose intellect is partly driven and pulled about by the sex, but is still also open to giving and receiving some heart love.

Man-as-triangle or pyramid indicates a human who has become completely disconnected from any Pure Heart Love spirituality, and operates in spheres of intellect and sex alone. This is the will of the Illuminati, to ultimately convert us all to being solely in this state or condition, and of course, we at the bottom of the pyramid are much more driven by our lust than by our intellects.

Those who operate solely in the sphere of the I or i are completely divorced from the Pure Heart Love and lust. They might think they are immune to the Satanic ways of the Illuminati, but they are only temporarily disconnected as islands unto themselves. They will eventually find themselves being held accountable for their willful misdirection away from the heart love and the Pure Heart Love will be unable to act as a bulwark when the all-pervasive Illuminati consciousness temporarily rules this earthly sphere.

Christ is the only perfect human embodiment of the Pure Heart Love, and as such, his primary symbol is the cross. Because he took on the sins of all mankind while cast in the symbol of Pure Heart Love, Christ-on-the-cross is always the best symbol to return to when lost or adrift in this reality or any other. In fact, it should be proactively sought, rather than reactively sought in times of distress and oppression.

Jesus Christ

Jesus Christ
Makes me happy.
Yes, but so does booze.
Makes me feel fulfilled.
Yes, but so does art, music, books and nature.
Gives me peace.
Yes, but so do some drugs and a nice hot shower.
Gives me hope.
Yes, but so does my child and stories of people helping each other.
Makes me feel like I am not alone.
Yes, but so does my wife, friends and extended family.

But, what about the days when loved ones are far away, all of the news is bad news, the drugs aren’t working, the booze gives me a nasty hangover, the shower is cold, and so are the art, music, books and nature?

Am I enough by myself to soldier myself onward alone until the good things of life come back around again? I was when I was twenty-five, but not at thirty-five. All of the above, except Jesus, started to seem either beyond my reach (in the case of wife, friends, family, and future child), or empty and one-dimensional.

Jesus Christ was there to meet me when I was sad, unfulfilled, angry, upset, hopeless and lonely. Other things and people were as well, but all of them added up together still didn’t amount to as much as the presence of Jesus did. The more I embraced Jesus, the more of Him there seemed to be for me. His love was boundless, but mine was not. Nor was my capacity to receive love.

My capacity to receive love was still so low, because I was still so full of myself. I still thought that filling me up with me would make me into the kind of man who could take on life. Of course, each time I filled myself up with me, I always met men and women with bigger egos who could knock me down, and I always scared away the humble ones who were full of something else other than themselves.

I need to experience the fullness of Christ before beginning to write. I am hopelessly caught up in writing in the first person when I try to put down whatever is happening inside or out, but I can at least begin to seem less self-centered, if I see Christ when I look inside me, then hopefully I will in turn produce words that are less about me and more about Christ and those whom he loves, of which I am but one.

What is more discomforting for anyone other than the concept of dying

What is more discomforting for anyone other than the concept of dying? An atheist roommate once remarked to me, “but now, we don’t have to worry about death any longer,” as if not believing in the afterlife meant you stopped worrying about death. While you might now longer fear what will happen to your soul when you die, you still are afraid of what will become of your legacy, as you race through your twenties and thirties to do something that makes an impact, leaves a mark. Somewhere deep inside, you know that whatever book you get published or building you commission as an architect or a rich person with your name on it–of these kinds of things, none of them will be around for more than a generation or two before they are forgotten. Perhaps deeper inside, you know that there really is an afterlife, and you are scared to death of what would happen if you actually did sit down and face this head on. So, you surround yourself with trivial things that gratify your senses, and probably do a little charity work here and there to prove that as an atheist, you have a heart after all. But, you know that when you die, in this world, your life won’t have mattered much. You may have been close to history-making events or even helped precipitate some of them, but who really cares about history, other than the old and puny who lurk about in libraries? You probably didn’t care nearly as much about history as you claimed to.

I know there are things I still do that I wish I had stopped doing long ago. I don’t want to find myself doing them when I die. Some of these things are probably things that a lot of people do, and in this modern, permissive world, they are accepted as standard adult stuff, as long as you don’t involve children. So, drinking a little too much, masturbating to a harmless fetish, picking my nose (not standard adult stuff, but one that carried over from childhood), watching too much television instead of listening to God–really, doing a lot of self-gratifying stuff instead of trying to listen to God. These are things I don’t want God to tell me were just too much a part of my identity for me to be forgiven of them.

I have started to make a more intense effort to see a lot of my unsavory character traits, including bad habits, thoughts and just plain silliness as being part of some kind of entity inside of me that started to rise up in childhood, saw its full flourishing during the summer after sixth grade, and has been in a state of ever trying to get the better of me even as I struggle to grow up and remain more of an adult than a juvenile clown. I’ve done my share of blaming parents, teachers, older siblings and other children on the creation of this entity, but as I review it more, I think that perhaps it is just an unwanted piece of me that I need to carve away enough to be able to always stand apart from it so that I can view it objectively, and condemn it when it starts to rise up.

Most of the nonsense seems to be driven by an infantile and then adolescent kind of sexuality–one that may have been exacerbated or misguided by certain individuals but was likely mostly one of my own creation. I am of the opinion that our present culture has itself devolved into embracing much of the characteristics of this kind of sexuality, but what the world approves or disapproves of shouldn’t be my yardstick for the kind of person I want to be when I stand before God on Judgment Day.

Most certainly, being simply older and less full of biological urges has helped. Though I must say that I have at times discovered a more raw, masculine and primitive sexuality lurking underneath the Clown, as we’ll call it. Who knows? Maybe under different conditions, if I’d joined the military and had the Clown beat out of me, then I would be just another good old boy, all-American hero of some sort. But, instead, I have had life itself beat the Clown out of me over time, and I’ve had to watch myself very carefully and be on guard for when the Clown rises up at inopportune moments in social conversation.

With the Clown dead, I can still see myself prone and susceptible to all of the standard vices, and so killing the Clown doesn’t necessarily mean I become a saint the next day. It simply means I become a regular man.

I am more inclined to take an interest in sports, cars, whiskey and traditionally sexy women when the Clown is being smothered and tamped down. I am less likely to be interested in artsy stuff, and having pretensions toward being a great literary so-and-so. However, I am also able to recognize that I am too old and have lived too long in soft circumstances to ever legitimately become a hard sort of man. Were I to go behind my wife’s back and buy a motorcycle, get a tattoo, and develop and interest in sports betting, I would seem more appropriately like a mere mid-life crisis than a man’s man.

With my young son now in the world, I have also discovered a different kind of way to love someone. This is different than the love for the dog, Mom, Dad, friends, etc. — other non-sexual kinds of love you have for people. I love my young son in such a way that I would not think twice about laying down my own life to make sure that his persists. This isn’t a love that one has to be any sort of gender or degree of sinlessness to perceive, and I don’t necessarily think you have to have a child to perceive this kind of love.

I also think that my relationship with death has changed. Since I am no longer constantly worried about dying before I get something done, and I am happy to die for my son if the need were to arise, I see death in a whole new way. Death is not the same as it was when I was in my teens and twenties and was convinced that I would be forever young. Nor is it like it was as I moved into my thirties, and began to acutely sense my own mortality and utter finiteness of my life. Death has become more of a thing that is utterly in God’s hands, which doesn’t mean I get to live recklessly, but it also means I don’t need to be overly concerned with whether I live to be 40,60, 80 or older.

The will is to transform in such a way that I am not recognized by anyone

The will is to transform in such a way that I am not recognized by anyone who knew me before the transformation. The ceaseless urge to go from being a scrawny nerd to a muscle-bound hero, or from an English major to a math genius. To go from being soft-spoken and often left out of decisions people are making to being the assertive power player who can confidently say the right thing to any collection of people in order to get them to do his bidding and like it. To go from being a messy, lover of worldly things to being an extremely righteous man of God, who is constantly praying for others and expressing gratitude to God for this gift of life.

And then, the terrible moments when the same old me that was there when I was twelve years of age pops out, and I am happily letting him turn me into a foolish ass until I am reprimanded by someone. Suddenly, the entire reason for being here in this life collapses again, and I am at a loss to explain who I really am and give good examples of how I’ve grown up.

Because, underneath the foolish ass that was on display in front of others, there was also a very serious and old-man self who was quite capable of finding something to do with his time when left alone. But, the old man in me never connected well with anyone. At least the foolish ass could make some friends, even if they weren’t the most helpful friends when it came to growing up.

To the old man’s eyes, most of what the world had to offer was foolish and immature. There was little that was sensible about chasing after cars and women for the sake of a quick, fleeting feeling of gratification. The kinds of things most men spent their time pursuing and obsessing over seemed to pertain mostly to figuratively and sometimes literally comparing dick sizes, and little else. The stuff that women found amusing seemed to be even more trivial.

Most of the world seemed to content to find some kind of activity that enabled it to pretend that death wasn’t knocking right outside its door. More than a few also tried to pretend that they could find a trade that would make them immortal, but were at best left with their names on buildings or streets and little else.

Meanwhile, the world did get bigger, and the old man in me discovered that most of the world actually meant people living in abject poverty and barely surviving to pass along their DNA.

Being a foolish ass clown does attract an audience, but the people you really want to befriend will soon tell you that you are much too immature for them and their world. Even the old man in you is stunned, because you can’t see a difference between your goofing around and their trivial chatter.

Silly fool, in order to break into the world of the sophisticated yuppie children, you should have been practicing being one of them for the past fifteen years. You can’t just wake up one day and get a haircut and some new clothes and like some of the same shows and things that they do!