Suicide Letter


We are born, and then we die. It’s as simple as that. There is probably no fact in the universe that is 100% accurate, except that. It is more true than anything else even God, even love. It is a terrifying fact but fortunately we have about 70 years in between, a normal 21st century life expectancy, to make sure everything is worth dying for.

Our children are diagnosed with new diseases everyday. Even though we know they are the result of how we live, we continue to pump them with new treatments that don’t work. That’s if you live somewhere where the treatments are available. If you live in Syria right now, you probably die. Another war that is probably just about money since money makes the world go round. It is a concept made of pieces of paper and electronic data, yet it has almost destroyed a 4.5 billion year old planet. It has changed a billion year old atmosphere even though it has existed for less than 100 thousand years. Our DNA is not able to evolve fast enough to such drastic changes. We’re already struggling with bizarre weather patterns every year. It proves that we still have not figured nature out and it probably is serious, and we do nothing. To understand nature we must build a relationship with it. We don’t even know how to build them with each other. Every relationship whether emotional, business, political or religious is failing, yet we continue to practice their thousand year old rituals. If not in this lifetime, then at least afterwards there will be escape.


In karmic law we are continually reborn until we are realized and become one with the source. In every life only three things matter. How strong you loved, how hard you laughed and how gracefully you let go of things not meant for you. I refuse to come back to longer life expectancies of dysfunction but if I must, let them swell with sacred experience. When the choice is made to stop participating in the ridicule, the other side is revealed. The place where beauty is a mirror image. It is a choice where no luggage is permitted. One must be the weightless density of wind, the simple silence of trees and the wise fecundity of space. It is a death of the unnecessary, a spiritual suicide. I shed the body of the human I have been to bring forth what I am. I am of love. I am of peace. I am of abundance, just like you. Everything that was is not needed any longer, it is a net too full for catch, but now the sea will flood the dreams of the spirit that I have cast.


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