WE ARE NOT MACHINES

It’s so easy to get caught up in all of our technological advance and become lost in the world of cyberspace. We collect our news from electronic devices, and buy into the notion that the people we want the world to see in our online world is actually us, but it’s not. 

As we become enamored with our virtual lives any thoughts of our spiritual natures becomes more and more distant. We are unplugging our spirits as we slowly plug into the matrix. Some might say it’s an equal exchange and believe we are merely trading one reality for another. I don’t.

Even Western medicine has a tendency to treat our bodies, which I see as Temples that house the Divine, as if they’re rusty old automobiles. “Oh you’re appendix is faulty. Yep! That’s common with the 93′s.” We scrape and pull, reshape ourselves and cling to youth as if we can merely apply another coat of paint to keep us looking pristine. We do insurmountable damage to ourselves and then expect a few surgeries to put us back together. 

Think of all the disease they can link to our meals born out of convenience. Microwaved plastic and all that. How many variations of cancer are correlated to technological advances in how we grow food and prepare it? Cell phone towers reeking havoc on the minds of our children. The list goes on and on.

Just pass me the camera. Do you have any idea how many sympathy likes I’ll get on my Instagram for this trip to the hospital? Our families come in, clickity-clacking away as they fill our Facebook walls with love for the world to see. Yet, we somehow still wake up alone. Plugged into machines, staring at our phones craving the comments of how dignified we look. How beautiful we are in spite of the feed tubes, or IVs.

Granted, if we were talking about loving with that same reckless abandon I wouldn’t even bring it up, but that’s not it. We cling to what feels good. Youth and vitality equals a look of desire that invigorates us with memories of how we once felt. If we could just keep up the appearance of feeling that way it’ll all work out. 

Please hit like so that dopamine spikes again. I need another hit. That’s the textbook definition of addiction, craving a reward in spite of the consequences. 

In today’s world a truly revolutionary idea would be finding that happiness within. Accepting we age. Accepting our lives are messed up. Accepting we don’t always get it right. Otherwise, what’s the point? To look good for everyone else while we die inside? Maybe the Buddhist are right and the nature of all of our suffering is ignorance. Dis-ease of the mind. That constant state of discomfort we all try and mask by looking a certain way to the public eye.

Now. By all means, feed my addiction and hit like and share. Here over the next few posts I’ll dig into how our brains physically respond to all this dopamine business.