Just can't handle progress and joy
By they_speak
8/31/2012 12:42:46 AM
Man, everything has went wonderful since I quit my job. I remember a thought came to my mind as soon as I walked out the door for the last time "a man never has more than when he has nothing. the possibilities are endless." I hadn't felt that in well over 2 years in my vocational life. Maybe more like close to 4 or 5. Since then it just feels like thing after thing has providentially fallen into place. The least of which not being going back to school. It's the first time i've been back to school since I first had an affair, freaked out, and dropped out. I think my exact quote from my first post on here was "I'm failing out school, work...and life". I'm back! Finally. Perhaps i'll graduate and finally go to graduate school (neurology). Maybe even med school. I'd love to surprise myself. Everything is...perfect.

And my !@#$ing addict can't stand it and is trying to ruin everything!!! Just acted out for 4 hours. Why is this happening to me? Why would God set me up all nice and perfect just to drop me on my ass? I say that because seriously if it would have been left to me and my ambition there is no way I would have ended up back in school. It was kind of last minute and miraculous by my account. It was as literally, and i'm not schitzophrenic, as if some unseen hand made it happen independent of much if any will of my own. If it was so important and You can take control there...why would You not continue managing the situation??? It makes no sense. I know all is not lost but Dude...please don't let me fail out (quit) because of something so petty as porn. Help me stay awake! I have learned from a life time of experience that I can not fret You into helping me. So i'm going to trust. Or try. I just don't see how i'm back in school just to have it rubbed in my face that - in spite of all the brains in the world and the very assistance of God himself putting me in a position to use them - I don't have what it takes. I can not accept that. I'll start again tomorrow.


Some Thoreau (came to mind when I said "awake" and "tomorrow")    
"for anyone who want's a good (long) read. Something to look forward to.

Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself. I have been as sincere a worshipper of Aurora as the Greeks. I got up early and bathed in the pond; that was a religious exercise, and one of the best things which I did. They say that characters were engraven on the bathing tub of King Tching-thang to this effect: "Renew thyself completely each day; do it again, and again, and forever again." I can understand that. Morning brings back the heroic ages. I was as much affected by the faint burn of a mosquito making its invisible and unimaginable tour through my apartment at earliest dawn, when I was sailing with door and windows open, as I could be by any trumpet that ever sang of fame. It was Homer's requiem; itself an Iliad and Odyssey in the air, singing its own wrath and wanderings. There was something cosmical about it; a standing advertisement, till forbidden, of the everlasting vigor and fertility of the world. The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to be expected of that day, if it can be called a day, to which we are not awakened by our Genius, but by the mechanical nudgings of some servitor, are not awakened by our own newly acquired force and aspirations from within, accompanied by the undulations of celestial music, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air- to a higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the darkness bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less than the light. That man who does not believe that each day contains an earlier, more sacred, and auroral hour than he has yet profaned, has despaired of life, and is pursuing a descending and darkening way. After a partial cessation of his sensuous life, the soul of man, or its organs rather, are reinvigorated each day, and his Genius tries again what noble life it can make. All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere. The Vedas say, "All intelligences awake with the morning." Poetry and art, and the faire stand most memorable of the actions of men, date from such an hour. All poets and heroes, like Memnon, are the children of Aurora, and emit their music at sunrise. To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning. It matters not what the clocks say or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me. Moral reform is the effort to throw off sleep. Why is it that men give so poor an account of their day if they have not been slumbering? They are not such poor calculators. If they had not been overcome with drowsiness, they would have performed something. The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?

We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to "glorify God and enjoy him forever.""
posted at 00:46:49 on August 31, 2012 by they_speak

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"One of the false notions of our society is that we are victims of our appetites and passions. But the truth is that the body is controlled by the spirit which inhabits it."

— Terrance D. Olson

“Teaching Morality to Your Children,” Ensign, Mar. 1981