Swim against the current. . .

The difference between a floating log and a boat made of the same wood is that the boat has oars and can swim against the current.

Dr. N. Sri Ram





I heard these words from his mouth in my distant youth. They haven't met in any of his performances, and I don't know if he's included them in any of his books. They just sounded in one of the conversations.

I thought a lot about them, and when the time came to embody my highest ideals in a classical school of philosophy, the metaphor of the log and the boat left its imprint on all my feelings and thoughts, on all my activities.

Ordinarily men are like logs thrown into the river of life: first strong and dry, and later broken and drenched, they always follow the channel or its branches prepared for them by the powerful of this world. Swimming! Swim, jumping on each other in a fit of senseless violence, dirty, smeared with clay, in an unknown direction and without a definite purpose, until they break into pieces and disappear from the surface of this river, everything flowing from where and where.

They are just tree trunks torn up, with broken branches; they are thrown from side to side, and they barely resist the flow by the force of their own weight! The dark mass crawls, making creaks and moans as it moves – endless, but... so tired! During the day the sun makes visible the black rot of their crust, and at night this chaotic cluster of shadows always moves in the horizontal plane, and only occasionally a log will rise with its end to distant stars.

A stream of logs!

They are more and more, they collide with each other, break, break... A stream of logs! How many times have I thought about it!

But year after year, I learned almost forgotten ways of transforming and healing wood, the wood from which we are all made. Quick pickaxes hit the surface, followed by hot coals inflated again and again. This work, though inspired by the great Teachers of Mankind, is infinitely long and always subject to suffering. After all, you need to get to the very depths, where cowardice and selfishness weave their intricate roots and where you suddenly feel that you are indeed a log and that you are destroying yourself. However, the indefatigable toiler, prompted by his higher will, overcoming all the lamentations of half-extinct matter, you continue your work.

And little by little, the uncooked log turns into a boat. A pointed nose and rounded feed appear. And what was formerly a pothole, a wound, became a clean and beautiful refuge for the Soul Traveler.

From the remnants, a steering wheel and elastic oars are made, with which it will be possible to direct movement. And with infinite patience, they grind the sides until they become light and strong.

So we built a boat!

The pile of logs looks at her with a mixture of fear and hostility, she seems to them empty, taut, worthless, funny, dangerous, unnecessary. And all because it's not a log... It's a boat! And as little as it is, it can swim against the current. That's unforgivable! Does it not conform to fashion and does not accept the color of the mud through which it swims? She has her own look, and she slides over the mud, barely touching her? This is unimaginable!

And her weird passengers?

They say that we are not all the same, and that if we were, we could all be mistaken without any hope of helping each other. They say that identity does not exist in nature, that it is impossible and undesirable. That healthy differences adorn the whole, eliminating boredom and herd instinct. And that all such different religions are only adapted to the place and time interpretations of one Epistle, and therefore no one religion is better or worse than another, for besides this brief Epistle all the rest is brought into them by people, their ignorance and greed. They have been copying each other for thousands of years.

They also claim that they do not believe in God, but know of His Presence, which is obvious – it is enough only to know the ways and follow them. They assert that the Soul is immortal and incorruptible, and one should not confuse it with the masks and guises it periodically assumes. And if there is forgiveness, it is only on the other side of redemption, according to the law of causes and consequences, and this is an immutable law of Nature: he who sows the grain will sooner or later gather the grain, and he who sows the tares will wait only for the chaff.





There is no miracle as such, only levels of knowledge. Everything manifested is secondary. The Babylonian priest who surprised the faithful with small artificial lightning bolts from his palm to his palm would be an electrician today. And St. Patrick is a chemist who knows what happens if you pour water on white phosphorus or quicklime.

Those who sail in a boat do not need to be told lies. They seek and, step by step, find the truth. They will see what they do not see, and they will see what they do not see. They rise to the headwaters of rivers, to clean and undisturbed sources. Their soul is full of enthusiasm and open to joy and beauty.

They hate the noisy cacophony, but like the beautiful melodies of Strauss, full of light and shadows of Wagner’s work, heartfelt sonatas of Mozart. They do not pretend to see anything behind the mash-up of eyes, noses and tails on modernist canvases, but prefer to walk through the snow after Goya, look at the gray sky of Velázquez, marvel at the sheer tears of El Greco or get lost in the fantastic streets of Pompeii.

They believe that drugs can do nothing good, but only do evil, because those who abuse them turn into degenerate animals, killing and stealing in order to get a dose again. They do not see anything good where drunken screams are accompanied by vulgar burps.

But they strongly believe in a harmonious and life-like order that transcends the blind mechanism of programs written by anyone. They believe in freedom to the extent that there are people who value and respect others. They believe in will, goodness, and justice, and that a world without these virtues is but a clay to be harmoniously shaped by the resistance of brute matter. They believe in a new and better world... but in order for it to appear on our horizon, you need to have many new and better rowers. Those who drowned in the river of life, in their own weaknesses and complaints, were irreversibly drawn into their physical, mental and intellectual destruction.

They believe in science in the service of Man, the animal, the plant and, above all, the planet in a global sense, because this is our cosmic home, and we are ruining and shaking it. They believe that obsolete and useless structures should, in the course of the natural renewal of life, give way to others, young and strong, without complexes and limitations that already smell rotten. For the old dies, and it is only the reanimating power of power and money that compels it to move its members, monstrously parodying life.

The crew believes in themselves and the boat they made.

As they sail up the river of life, many of those whose hearts are young and whose minds are awakened set to work turning logs into ships in order to experience the wonderful spiritual adventure of sailing against the current. published



Author: Jorge Angel



P.S. And remember, just changing our consumption – together we change the world!

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Source: www.newacropolis.ru/magazines/5_2002/Plyt_protiv_techen/