Chapter 31: Bucket Theory

“They are only human,” the Inspiring One said, “Why were you so hard on them?”

“No one else I know cares enough about them to tell them the truth,” I said.

He was silent.

“There is no hatred greater than to leave the insane alone in their insanity without even offering them any true thing. It is delusion that fuels insanity. It is the truth that combats it.

They are like a bucket of muddy water to heavy to even tip. The only way to clean the water in the pot is to add pure clean water until the muddy water is no longer anywhere in the pot, but clean water has taken its place. Who do you think They are? What purpose does it serve if you ask them to do what you can easily do yourself, or to give you what you already have? They are not your slave. So do what you have the power to do and leave the rest to Them. And if you do not know what to do with that you have will They not teach you how to use it especially if you ask Them?” I said, “But who pours water with a little mud into into such a pot, what is the purpose of it? Are they ever going to make the water in the pot clean or pure? Insanity offered by those who are less insane serves no purpose and is foolishness at best, insanity in its least part. Seek Their pure water. If you have none why do you refuse to ask Them for some?”

“But you are not sane,” he said, “For They have been doing that since their birth.”

“They were born sane,” I said, “And have rejected both Them and Their sanity. Even if their minds were healed by Them, they would reject it as if it were a type of insanity they should reject and it does no good at all. I know what is in them, even as They do, but I have the ability to love them because I was like them confused to the point I could barely accept Their sanity that I might be sane again.

Unlike me, they cannot remember when they were not insane. I can. And I often drew upon that experience. That is why I was able to accept Their sanity when it came to me. I knew like a believer who believes in the real Light knows the Light when it returns and gladly is changed by it and healed by it of all things.

I am not religious. I know Them and They know me. And I love Them sanely. It is the way I am wired then to want to share everything I know about Them, even the tiny bit in this book written by my writer who is like me in this matter also.

What I do with the insane may be futile but I would gladly do it even if only one insane person is made sane by Them. No one should be left to suffer like I did. Therefore though it may be absolutely futile it is not insane. I have to try. It is who and what I am. And it is not insane to be your self.”

“But I do not understand what you are doing?” he said.

“Nor do They,” I said, “But trust me some of those who read this would not have even listened to Them and would treat you like an alien and either reject your inspiration or believe it was their own creative abilities which no one of them seems to think comes from anyone else for they do not understand even their DNA was placed in them in order to render them usable to the object lesson.

I dare to venture that most who read this do not believe you inspire me or that you even inspire my writer. Do you see? They are like fish who think they are a cat. Every time you show them a tree they want to climb it. But the wise know fish cannot climb trees. And I am as one of them who tried to climb a tree. You cannot empathize with their emotions or understand why they think the thoughts they do. I felt those emotions. I thought those thoughts. I know them and they know me. I can love them. Even the ones who will not come to the point of abandoning their delusions I love, for I very nearly did that myself and in fact did that very thing for a short time. You and They regret they are like that and rejoice when they come to You. But I grieve when they are like that and my grief is very painful when they do not survive. You accept they were nothing, easier than I do, for I too was once nothing also.”

“I see now what They are up to,” he said, “Forgive me for being puzzled. I thought you were even more involved than you are and I became concerned for you. I love you.”

“And I love you,” I said, “Even more than I love the insane until they too survive and become sane. But even if they only survive to die again in the insanity of this world I still love them though it is very difficult to love those whose bodies are alive though their minds make no sense. It is easy for me even to just ignore them, perhaps more than for you and Them since I can feel their pain if I allow myself to hurt that much.

In the group home we have one like that. His mind is insane. His body is in great shape. But when I talk to him about anything that does not concern his body he does not understand a word I say. And he thinks delusions that others cannot even track and if they can track them they cannot understand why anyone would not have rejected such purely inane thoughts as nonsense. He really believes them though and thinks he is sharing something important when he shares them. I feel for him and felt very deeply for him when I first moved in. But I had to pull myself out of it for he is as bad off as an old man who is retarded that lives there and is really an aged Third Grader who flunked that grade and has progressed very little beyond that point. He is not even very trainable past the level of a ten year old despite all his years.

Perhaps They might repeat the life of such a young person who was killed or died of something in Third Grade. But there is no chance They would repeat the DNA of either of the two in the example above. What would be the point? Their stories are like a ruff draft that is incomprehensible to the writer who wrote it. How can it be rewritten? And surely if it made that little sense it would be nothing but redundant gibberish if it were to be rewritten.

But that is Their decision. I hope They do not make them needlessly suffer through yet even one more life time. Even I can't reach them. And they are miserable and they tend to make everyone around them miserable even though they love them.

But I cannot even love the retarded one. I have difficulty even giving him my sympathy which he rejects immediately in an attempt to be purposely difficult to live with like some children and no one seems to be able to teach him anything especially along those lines. But I deeply love the one who does not now make any sense and since he won't even accept medication I see no way he has a chance to ever be sane. And it grieves me for I was once just like that when I refused to take any form of medication for over five years and made about as much nonsense as he does, has, and probably always will.

Yes, I can and do love even those in ISIS who for all I know are thinking about killing me. They are insane enough to attempt to do that. Was I not in agreement with them twice when suicidal in the past, even though you think it is not futile but insane. The best they can do is kill my writer who is not solely involved.

What he has written surely may inspire others? And a reprisal would grant him instant fame and insure someone would keep me alive if only to spite them. But they are insane and they know it. It depends on whether they accept that fact or become enraged by the truth they cannot in their cowardice accept. In fact as I understand it, there is very little chance they are even teachable anymore they are so far into their insanity. But I have no choice but to love them. They are where I could easily have gone had I had the opportunity. I hope They will put them out of their misery soon. I hate to see them so desperate with so little sanity if any. I therefore plead with Them even as my writer does that They will relieve the Islamic terrorists, the people and the states of their insanity at least to a level acceptable to their insane enemies on earth if for no other reason than to spare my writer even more emotional pain when he even thinks of how pathetic they really are. Please?”