Of course we know the age old question. “What came first?” they say, “The chicken or the egg?”
Of course the chicken came first, it’s the only way. Without any chickens there would be no eggs. Without any chickens, any eggs wouldn’t survive to become chickens.
The created always comes from the creator, yet somehow we are drawn to confusion, or maybe I should call it, “confusion-ism.” The natural desire to want to force the unnatural to be natural, regardless of reality.
Make the created into the creator. The egg now determines it’s own parentage. “I’m not a chicken,” says the chick, “I came from a snake, don’t judge my appearance.” And the chick rolls around on the ground insisting on being called a snake, which others do, to not offend. Some may pity the chick thinking, “Poor confused thing,” while others just keep redefining for themselves and each other what being a snake actually looks like or means until they believe.
Until one day, a real snake arrives, somehow now welcomed by self-deceived chicks. The snake gladly comes in, even smiles at the lie, “Of course you are little snakes,” the snake would affirm, “who could think otherwise?”
Meanwhile off to a far corner, a grown chicken calls, warning the chicks to come hide under large protective wings. Most chicks just ignore, or mentally block out the calls. “Why would there be any danger?” They’d think, “I’m with my own kind.” And so they would roll and wiggle with glee to the snake so welcoming.
There were a few chicks who could still see that this doesn’t seem right, natural, or safe. The few who still looked carefully at themselves and the snake, could see the stark differences and feel the natural instinct to run. They did not silence or redefine their reality, but aimed to understand it and discern completely. The need to control their inborn identity was not so important to risk closeness with a serpent. After all, such control is an illusion at best. What one believes does not change reality.
So the few who still saw their yellow fluff, little beaks, and birdy feet, ran to the grown chicken and hid safely under strong wings. As they were running, the other chicks jeered, calling them judgmental, close minded, ignorant, hateful, and intolerant. Some of the chicks who fled felt the pain and cried as they ran, but more for the sorrow that the others couldn’t see. Others ran with joy, toward the safety, warmth and love they were about to enjoy. The insults of those hiding in the coils of a snake were hardly worth giving value or credibility.
They would do well to have listened when they tried telling them that they are chicks, not snakes, and that they were in danger. But what can you tell those who value being right over reality? What proof would they accept before a fatal realization?
And so, the chicks were safe, and the “little snakes,” well they were crushed in the coils of the snake and devoured. For what did the snake care what the chicks believed? Their foolish attempt to be something they’re not just made them that much easier to be caught.
What you believe is how you live, but if what you believe isn’t true, would you want to know?
What you want your identity to be, or what others do, may not be the real you. Instead of pretending to be something you’re not, look at your Creator, and see what you’re really made of.
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