Like in your dream life for 1/3 of your life when you sleep, you are every player, and no one knows who truly runs the game, the pitcher or the catcher ... or is it secretly the guy way out in left field?
I am not an avid fan of most man-made sport because the whole idea of fighting via strategy reminds me of a modern-day munera where the people of the city are slurping down slimy chicken wings dunked in ranch like absolute irredeemable vapid beasts fated for the nearest E.R. after spewing displaced rage-spit into the hair-sprayed hive in front of them whilst roaring for athletes or bulls to kill fellow-athletes or bulls, but rather, from a theocentric point of view I write here as to swing at making sense of it in this physical reality, [i.e. the nuts and bolts experience that we are having "here" whereby attempt of simplification of it via terming it illusion frustrates the above average human to no end, that we have bodies, are separate unplugged-in energy from each other] is not something I wish to be a factor of unfairly furthering into the ever-current consciousness of my Earth siblings, lest that thought runs counter to our wakefulness. If I have learned anything, I do know that the mind is decidedly asleep here in order to pretend to play this game that is most like ... baseball.
To the outside world--the world that gives nods and nays due to what we "look like on paper"--to the physical eye, you are the pitcher in your own life. You must throw the ball, and for many reasons at any given moment in time within what looks and feels like your game. You must serve up a practiced throw to new souls who have ventured to that home plate anew, just clutched a bat, and now stand before you, before all, ready to hit and hope to run like high heaven... or hell. We must learn to know to throw the ball to 1st, 2nd, 3rd bases, short-stop, or catcher in order to teach the new souls lessons that improve their games, their learning; we learn just as much when we help to teach as when being taught.
But ah, what about that mysterious quiet Catcher? Most everyone in the game and in the stands are usually busy focusing on the kinetic players in the nucleus, not the Catcher. S/he/it crouches silently, identity shadowed, hidden behind a mask of protective bars that keep s/he/it just hidden enough so that we feel distant. The pitcher (the seeming exterior you) must throw, aiming with best intent, to this Catcher and hope for the best.
In a pragmatic way (the way our current seeming physical existence of separation prefers), we, the pitchers in our own lives, must learn not to require to define exactly who/what the Catcher is, but instead to trust the Catcher. Baseball demands this. This can be quite aggravating to Thinkers. They scratch their heads, and are distracted by the question; it takes them out of the game, lets the air out of their energetic tire ... slowly, so as to tangle all efficiency up in a royal way. Natural inquiry beckons, itches. Won't stop itching. It does make practical sense for us to as some point in the game wonder who/what the Catcher is since we have been trusting him to comply with our many pitches. We individually and then collectively begin to wonder who/what it is that we must throw the ball to. We cannot know the Catcher fully to be able to define him/her/it exactly and so for those of us who ponder this yearning to define, we result in quarrelling amongst our fellow nosey players as the game moves on, fixating on the displacement of each other trying to define the Catcher. Man-made religion was [Religio means 'to bind back'] born of this inkling, this great ... itch. What if you think you know what to call him/her/it and I do too? What if these definitions vary greatly? What then?
To make matters more cemented in the displacement that is our king curiosity about the Catcher, instead of focusing on serving up our best throw, we then posit our best guesses as humans as to who and what and what not the Catcher Is.
In this baseball game, for the purpose of being here, playing the game in the roles we are assigned in relation to the other players--like the cells are assigned in the body to remain germane to certain locales in order to be able to collaborate with other cells so that the game, so that the body can have this existence experience--it be best to focus on throwing the ball to the Catcher, knowing s/he/it will be crouched, quiet, still, awaiting our best and many tries when aiming the ball (our best thoughts) straight to him/her/it. Faith in being received is half of the game. We need each other to have mits on... for each other, lest this life could not be.
The world has become factioned, fractured because of this, when we try to define, describe, know the Catcher. We do best best best to teach each other to instead have a Faith in the immovable consistency of the Catcher, more than to stop to inquire who/what s/he/it might be. When we learn Faith in a Catcher who/that is there solely to catch your ball (thoughts), then this life of baseball--this single game that we know to be our single life right now--gets along more nicely with the other boys and girls, makes the body that is our actual single system, function. If we do not teach each other to leave the Catcher unnamed and to have Faith in him/her/it always instead and always moreover be our choice from moment to moment, the effect (product) of such cause (thought) is that baseball/this life/your game is stunted, interrupted unnecessarily, and we mis-focus, malign our energies that could be serving up the next batter by fighting about who or what it Is that is always there, waiting patiently for us to begin trusting him/her/it instead of defining him/her/it, and throw the ball.
This is your game. This is my game. To you, I seem like me, but in our dreams ... when they are speckled with others traipsing about its theatre stage, the scientific ominous 'they' have been known to assign that the first three prominent figures in our dreams ... are actually aspects of ourselves, the dreamer(s). This is honestly our/your/my game. It's one game, one dream. Separating ourselves and others about varying definite definitions of The Catcher is clearly not getting us anywhere with any expedience on our planet. When we try to make finite the infinite, when we try our best to define The Catcher, the king receiver, instead of getting to know him by his silence and his action and leaving him/her/it to not be fought about by us, the players, the game will have no choice but to maximize in its efficiency. Our planet dearly needs this agreement right now. It would indeed be kind if this life were a dream the way that human beings fight/kill/humiliate ... all in the name of believing that their Catcher goes by the correct name.
Maybe we can see the end of the game come to be after all ... together if we could agree to each elect to do our sole part for each other, throw the ball, have faith in the unknown, the unknowable, the Silent one who secretly and humbly actually receives our thoughts, receives the ball, and knows where to toss it next and when to not toss it back as well. The Catcher knows how to receive our best throw, our best thoughts. This game allows each of us to play if we will choose to have faith in the Catcher instead of describe or attempt to define him/her/it. Perhaps after The Game, we shall go celebrate, and certainly get to Talk To The Catcher; s/he/it can introduce him/her/itself properly at such glorious juncture. But for the sake of enjoying this precious Game while we are still playing it, for the sake of Now, I wish that we could collectively decide to aid each other in this strange awkward, sometimes joyful, and sometimes blind, collaboration.
Will we ever join in deciding together it be collectively best for us, and great for this Game to just have faith in The Catcher instead of fighting over who/what s/he/it is?