We should not be content to feed and be fed the scraps from their table. The fear of death is so overwhelming; and it is engineered to be so, in order that people are willing to accept being mechanized slaves to primitive drives and corruption, all in the service of elite power. Our reward is to be anesthetized from the sensation of the nearness of death. Yet all the while it is the awareness of death's proximity which acts to usher us in to waking life. But nothing ruins the usefulness of a slave more than self-awareness. It is to this task that we must dedicate ourselves entirely rather than to the one of bare survival which promises a life only wasted. The addiction to novelty grasps everyone; as we inevitably tire of one thing and crave for another. And on, and on. Yet when truth is revealed, the task of those that profit from deception becomes frustrated. Live above mere pleasure, above mere gratification, above the pendulum of craving and clinging- there beyond the fulcrum lies a space which is ever-plentiful, where scarcity becomes meaningless and the impossible promise of desire extinguishes utterly. The method is simple: Mind expectations, mind habitual thinking. Mind attachments, mind cravings and desire- Mind the mind. Suffering, growth and beauty- they are facets of the very same jewel, petals on the same flower. What a tragedy to tear them apart. So many doors open; so many windows let the light in. Walls separate in the least expected times and places. Where once passing beyond and through seemed only vain hope and dream. But it is always ours to will to walk through the spaces and paths left behind by saints and sages, those made by God's own hands. What is a candle's light compared to that of the sun, moon and stars? The magnitude of the sisterhood of the later dwarfs the former. Yet they are all of the same kind; children formed in one womb, born of the same mother: light is light and light is the shadow of Light, just as these individual minds are shadows of the One Mind. We are lost souls, wanderers, drifters in our conditioned mind and common life, experiencing various states of a dream-field of our own creation; indeed, we are sleep-walking through time. We go to the desert, on into the wilderness, to facillitate and experience the death of the self, to die while yet alive. This 'little death' is the necessary precursor, the open door, to re-birth into the atmosphere of Pure Being- this is Coming Home. I dream of the dreamless night which precedes the dawning Light, the waking Life. Home at last!- to the end- Home at last.