The paradox is that the system cannot ever cure itself, because the system is itself the sickness that it wants to cure itself from. I try to solve the problem, but the problem is me – the problem is me trying to solve the problem!

 

 

What is the system? If I make sense to you, then that is the system. If you make sense to me, then that is the system. The system is the maker of reality, the decider of ‘what is true’. The system is the ‘meaning controller’. If something makes sense to the system, then it gets to be real, it gets to be true. If something doesn’t make sense to the system, then it doesn’t get to be real, it doesn’t get to be true. The system is the ruler.

 

 

The system determines what we can see, and it determines what we can know, and it also determines the fact that we cannot see how it determines what we can see and know. Because it is invisible to itself the thinks that it is the true reality and not made up. It thinks that it is real. For this reason the system is a malignant kind of a thing. It is a malign force. It is malign because it wants to make us it.  It want to make us be it, but it doesn’t exist. It wants to swallow us up, to take us over, so that we will think it is the true reality, even though it isn’t any sort of reality at all…

 

 

When the system takes us over, so that we are the system and the system is us, everything we see makes perfect sense to us. It makes such perfect sense that we never doubt it for a moment, and yet it is all a lie. The system is the judge of reality, the final, unquestionable standard that we apply to everything, and yet it is itself not real at all. The system is only real to itself, it only makes sense in its own terms.  It is real only if we agree to pretend it is real, and then agree to forget that we have pretended.  This is the reality of the lie, which can stand up only if we continue to support it, only if we continue to say that it is standing up by itself.

 

 

The system cannot ever be happy, it can only ever pretend to be happy, and then pretend that it is not pretending. Sometimes, however, we get too tired to continue pretending that we are not pretending, and then we know that we are sad. We look around and see that everyone else seems to be happy. We think that it is only us that are sad. Other people don’t like to see our sadness, because it threatens to remind them that they are sad too, so they try to fix us so that we become ‘happy’ again. If we stay sad, then we are said to be ‘depressed’, or ‘mentally ill’, and we are given chemicals to try to block out the sadness. We too try to do our best to block out the sadness, to pretend that the sadness isn’t there, to ‘think the right sort of thoughts’. This is called ‘therapy’.

 

 

The therapy isn’t real, however, it is just a theatre, a sham, an exercise in ‘make-believe’ that we all collude in, it is only a game that we all play, and pretend to be real. The system cannot ever cure itself, for it is the sickness which it is trying to cure…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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