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Archive for September, 2012

I have seen things you people wouldn’t believe

Who else hears the old stories, the myths and the legends, the bible stories and the explanations of how things became the way they are from the native cultures of North and South America and Africa and thinks they are sanitized versions of a really great scifi potboiler? I am convince that Moses, who purported wrote the first five books of the bible, was a failed scifi writer akin to L. Ron Hubbard.

Take the human origin story. Not nearly so dramatic as Superman’s origin but still, who reads the story of Adam and Eve and not think: Wow, this is actually more like the story of The Secret of NIMH. Adam and Eve were not thrown out of Paradise but were actually escaped lab animals. Far more plausible and much more fun. That, on one level, explains our emotional connection to the dying clones in Blade Runner. Are we not all running around trying to mend our brokenness like Roy Batty on the hunt for his Maker?

What story has been done and re-done more in the scifi genre than Noah’s Ark? Titan AE is a classic. Cut out the cowboy antics in the middle and you have a story of a dying race, (the Flood being an allegory for the self destructive emotions that would lead two space faring species to wage war upon each other,)  landing on a new planet and bringing the remnants of everything, animal and plant, that they will need for a new beginning. What if the planet Earth was like the Hawaiian Islands, a lonely rock in the vast ocean of space being colonized by wave after wave of things drifting in on the space tides? What if not long after Pangaea broke apart, Noah’s ark landed.  It makes Australia’s odd flora and fauna much more understandable if you think that a panoply of invader species took hold on the rest of the continents.

What if every story about gods is actually a story about Earth humans interacting with immortal or near immortal space faring beings who can take advantage of the time differential between space and light speed travel and that of those living in a gravity well? They would be like us in that some of them would be benevolent, some of them not, some of them kind and some of them total dickwads?

Thinking of ourselves as escaped lab rats, much abused and as a result, highly paranoid, we could understand the motivations of the dickwads better than the ones that want to help. Which explains why Christians cling to the god of Abraham when common sense tells us he is a total asshole. Better an abusive asshole we can understand than one who wants to get all up in our shit and make us change because they love us.

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Truth, like milk, has a shelf life. And like milk, it is contextual. Milk spoils the longer it is out of the teat just as truth begins to spoil from the moment you try to pin it down, define its nature, and then speak it out into the world. The words, spilling out of your mouth, white light all frothy and hot from the logic and passion of your discovery, begin to fade in their power almost at once.

Why? Why this conundrum? Why this paradox? How can it be that I can say something on one day and then say something just slightly different the next day only to say something in a year’s time that seems to contradict everything I have said before yet all things said are the deepest, most profound truths?

Hints of the paradox can be defined by the quirky effect called Quantum observation. Observing a thing alters its quantum state. But consider this. Once altered, the thing cannot be called back. Un-watching does not change the fact that a quantum change took place. This is the conundrum at the heart of time travel.

Time is an illusion of the human mind. We like to think of ourselves as paper dolls traveling one way along a string laid flat and straight. Unfortunately, existence is neither two dimensional nor one directional. It is a roiling, boiling caldera, tossing you about in a thousand directions at a million miles per hour. When you walk through the veil and are born, you learn to ignore everything but the most important stuff … survival stuff: eat, sleep, poop. Luckily, our brains, by accident or design, are very good at ignoring just about everything that goes on around us.  Between our limited sensory organs and our brain not seeing much of anything, we are sheltered from everything but the afterglow of the magic that is life in the Multiverse.

So the human Observer, watching a quantum event, sees a flat, one directional event, an event that makes no logical sense in the two dimensional world of human time. But in the roiling of the multi-dimensional caldera, Observing is tantamount to sticking a finger out into the wind, thus forcing the fabric of existence to flow around the obstacle and thus altering the nature of existence forever.

This is what we do when we listen to the Multiverse and then try to speak or write of the experience. Things that were just ether, the merest wisps of thought and imagination, made mostly of light and air, become solid, as if the very act of thinking them gives them shape and form. Reality, human reality, expands, like a yeast colony being fed sugar, altering everything that went before and everything that will come after that moment. In the context of the moment, one can say that the word is truth and it has been made real.

Does this make the word golden, to be passed from one person to the next, whole and unsullied by mundane minds, honoring all who are blessed enough to understand? Well, no.

Can you pin down one drop in the vastness of a raging ocean? Can you freeze that drop, protecting it forever? No, no more than you can freeze a moment in time. The word that is truth must be cast into the caldera. You must let it go, knowing it has done its job.

What was its job? To change time and alter reality, that the next truth might be born.

“So? What does that have to do with me?” you ask.

Consider this. What harm is done by preserving books full of stories and sayings of old prophets and older gods, and living your life according to their truths?

You are trying to freeze that drop in the ocean. All your energies go to keeping the chaos of the caldera out of your minds and your hearts, so much so that you are missing the obvious.

These are not your truths. These are not your prophets.

The old gods, the old truths, the old prophets have all faded and turned to dust. That song in the back of your mind. That is your truth. Your prophets and your gods are even now being born, taking shape, becoming solid, made whole by the bit of melody in a song, by the laugter of a child, by the light reflected off the soft curve of a woman’s throat, by the smell of gardenias on the cool breezes of twilight.

Go look. You better hurry. It will be over in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry if you miss it. Something far more wonderful will come after it. It always does.

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“Sounds like orc mischief to me.

They come with fire, they come with axes…

gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning.

Destroyers and usurpers, curse them.”

Treebeard, LOTR

There are orcs walking about in human skins spreading their orcish mischief about in the affairs of man, gnawing, biting… well, you get the point. For all that they look like you or me, it is not hard to tell an orc from a human.

They are the ones proclaiming from the highest pulpit that they know the mind of god. Only they understand the message of the divine. Oh, do not misunderstand. I believe there are humans who are divinely inspired, divinely guided, divinely connected. But there are those who say they are just such a being but who have no power but the power of the usurper.

How can you tell human from orc?

Orcs would have you hate. Orcs would sit in judgement of their fellow men and be the first to pick up a stone or a machete or an AK-47 to execute those who oppose them. Orcs would wave about their holy texts and proclaim their is no higher authority, not even the divine act of self knowing.

Humans, sane humans, at least, would not be able to kill a sibling or a parent or a child in the name of some formless imagining about the rule of law and the nature of chaos. Humans, sane humans, would not be driven into a frothing rage over the opinions of others concerning their belief systems.

We should not hate the orcs. They are spoiled children who have grown enraged after spending a lifetime in prayer, self denial, and self mutilation in the expectation that the god of their imaginings would reward them for such a thing. They keep waiting for their god to destroy the unbelievers. Their rage grows with every moment that the unbelievers still exist, healthy and happy and thriving.

The ultimate root of their rage is their own self loathing. A mind blinded by such emotions can do anything including torture and murder. This is, of course, insane, even in the eyes of their religions, as all religions teach that we are made in the image of god and that the body is our temple and that to loathe it is to loathe the mind of god. There is a paradox hidden at the core of this thought, a paradox that orcs cannot fathom.

There is only one thing that can truly destroy an orc: Facing the truth.

That is why truth is the first thing to go after the orc-ish usurpers take control.

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Have I not said that you know you have come to the truth of a matter when you stand in the heart of its paradox?

Should we legislate morality? Should we make rules and pass laws and punish people for not being honest or moral or good? The short answer is no.

You walked through the veil, having given yourself a purpose and a mission statement, only to promptly forget it all in the cauldron of your birthing. When you die, you go back through the veil and confront yourself; the bigger, infinite you, and remember everything from the beginning of time.

Imagine your sadness when you are enumerate the failings of your avatar self.

“You were given free will. Why did you not use it?” you ask the incoming you.

“I followed the rules. I obeyed the laws. I was never arrested. I was never publicly vilified. I was an elder in my church and a leader in my community. My children and grandchildren grew up to follow in my footsteps,” your avatar says, trying to defend what is undefendable.

“Yes, but you did it because you were told and not because it was right and good and served the One Purpose,” you explain to yourself patiently. “Intent is everything in the eyes of the Oneverse. Never, once did you connect with your own divinity and manifest it, untainted and unmolested, into that reality well.”

“But I did. Everything I did, I did in the name of my god,” protests the avatar.

“Silly avatar,” laughs the higher you. “You are your own god. It was this one thing that you were supposed to remember. Oh, well. Go back. Let us try it again.”

“What? You mean I have to do it all again? From the beginning?”

“The beginning is always the best place to start,” your higher self says, amused, as it shoves you back through the veil.

Until you can stand in the heart of the paradox that weighs Law against Anarchy and understand the peace of Oneness that lies in its center, you will be doomed to repeat the lesson over and over again.

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When I was a child,

I was speaking as a child,

I was led as a child,

I was thinking as a child,

but when I became a man,

I ceased these childish things.

Humans. We have a hard time with this lesson. We cling to our Mother’s finger long past the time when we should be walking on our own. Do you feel betrayed when she shakes you loose?

What do you do then? Do you totter off on your own, to stumble and fall only to pick yourself up and learn to run? Or do you sit your plump little bum in the dust and scream out your anger? Do you hate your Mother? How dare she take away the one thing that made us feel safe! Let’s just throw ourselves back and kick our heels against the Earth, pounding our rage out as our tears turn the dust to mud.

Listen. I tire of repeating the same thing. Religion is a baby step that we have clung to for a thousand years past its expiration date. Let it go. The Universe wearies of the warped and poisonous thing it has become. For those who cannot let go or move on, who cannot understand that there is something far greater and more sublime waiting for you, I am sorry. It is not like She has not given you plenty of warning.

As for the rest of you, take pity on the infants who weep in the dust with mud on their faces. Help them up and help them out.

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