Posts Tagged ‘joy’

What if an alien came down to earth and wanted you to explain the current divisiveness of the planet. The questions would start out simple enough.

“What are crosses? I see them adorning so many things,” it asks. A long story follows and the alien nods wisely and says, “Ah, an instrument of torture.” Oh, dear, and you were just about to take him into the cathedral and show him the really great antique cross with the tortured Jesus still hanging on it, rendered in all its detailed gore.

You take him to a mosque instead. No icons, so you think you are safe. “Where are the women?” the alien asks. Segregated and hidden under the veils, you answer. “Hidden from what?” the alien asks. From the men around them. “Why?” the alien asks, his confusion complete. Well, it makes that whole denial of the flesh so much easier when there is nothing to tempt you, you reply.

“Denial of the flesh?” it asks. “Is this a form of birth control?”

No, you say, at a loss for words. In order to illustrate your explanation you take the alien to see the monks and zealots, telling the alien about true belief. The alien looks at the extreme denial of the flesh with confusion. “But,” it would say, “the flesh is the extension of Self through which we touch all of the Universe. Denying it makes you effectively deaf, mute and blind.”

You try to explain holiness and saints and martyrdom. “Wouldn’t your civilization be better served if they lived instead of dying?” the alien asks. The alien is obviously not getting it. You take him to see the sufis and the flagellants and the emaciated fasters. The alien shakes its head at the fanatics who torture their flesh to induce paroxysms of mind altering ecstasy. “What are they doing?” the alien asks. They seek enlightenment, you reply. “You know there are drugs,” it says, “that do the same thing in a far gentler way, right?” Oh, well, that is illegal. We lock people into dark airless cages for using them. “Ah, you don’t want anyone numbing down the pain,” the alien nods.

You try to explain prisons. “Really?” the alien says in utter confusion. “And what does this accomplish?” it asks. “Is this not another extreme form of denial of the flesh? Are you trying to convert them to the ways of the Death Cult?” No, no, you say. We just want to teach them to obey the rules. “How is that working for you? Does it make them obey the rules better?” Well, no, you admit. They usually come out of their cages far more angry and uncivilized than when they went in, but they have been punished. The brutality usually strips their humanity away. But the punishment is the thing, you say firmly.

The alien nods wisely. “Death and torture,” it says. “Transformation through pain. It is to be expected of a society ruled by Death Cults. So do you use that to your advantage? Do the strongest and fittest and smartest survive and go on to rule your world?”

Well, no, you admit. You try to explain the permanent taint of criminal records. “So, they become so marginalized by the social system that they end up back in the cages or dying on the street, homeless and alone. Is this another form of birth control?” the alien asks doubtfully. “Isn’t it far easier to not have the babies to begin with? There are ways to control birth cycles. I could help you with that,” the alien suggests gently. Oh, no, you say, we already have that but it is only available to those who can pay for it. Besides, most of the religions think it demonic to deny the randomness of god’s will. “Uh, you know that random chance is another word for chaos, right?” the alien asks, looking at you oddly. “Is not chaos the enemy of a any civilization?”  You stutter on, not wanting to argue. Females, you explain, are kept ignorant. Most are used and treated like cattle, bound with rules and laws and brutality to keep them from using choice as a way of controlling family size.

“Without a strong mother, how can you possibly raise intelligent and strong children?’ the alien asks, a look on its face that tells you it is really afraid of the answer.

Uhhh, you say, searching for an explanation.

“No, no, let me guess,” the alien says, holding up his tentacle to stop you from replying. “I have seen many civilizations controlled by death cults. I know the answer to this one. You are a civilization obsessed with death, dying, and pain induced transformation. You teach through torture. I can only assume your infant mortality rates are quite high and the children that survive pregnancy and infancy in one piece are then forced into a monkish and ascetic lifestyle of deprivation and austerity. Those who survive to adulthood are so transformed by their experiences that they become invested in the system that created them, thinking that this is the only way to make a strong and powerful adult. Let me guess. The young adults confuse ruthlessness with being powerful, thus perpetuating the system.”

It’s called pulling oneself up by your own bootstraps, you say, offended.  The alien looks at you like you have grown your own set of tentacles and they are whipping about uncontrollably. It is quite embarrassed for you. “You know that is physically impossible and denies all the laws of physics, don’t you?” it says.

OK, you concede. Bad choice of words. How about survival of the fittest? Everyone is a shark swimming in a great big ocean of sharks, you say.

“Yes,” the alien says patiently, “but not even sharks cannibalize their mates instead of f*cking them. But be that as it may, you are not solitary hunters swimming in an infinite ocean. You are a social animal who needs the matrix of the social group to survive. How long would an elephant herd last if you culled the elder females over and over again. Would it not effectively lobotomize your ability to survive change? What if you killed off all the elder chimps in a pack? The collective knowledge and wisdom of the group, garnered over generations would be erased and every generation would have to start over from scratch trying to survive in a world full of pitfalls. You are a higher order, thinking,  and intricately complex species. It takes years of teaching to make a successful adult and I am not talking about the knowledge you teach in your so called schools. No species gives birth to a helpless infant and then walks away from it.”

Some of our infants are raised in privilege, you say. “Not every child is an empty and vacuous soldier in the army of the corporate machinery. Really?” the alien says, hope in its voice. “Show me. I would love to see a human unaffected by the culture of pain, torture, and denial of self.”

You take the alien to see the children of the privileged few who have been raised in the proverbial belly of the beast. “I am sorry,” the alien says with a sad shake of its head, “the torture inflicted upon these children is far more subtle and insidious than starvation and neglect. They have been brain washed until the last vestiges of common sense and natural wisdom have been subverted to the system that birthed them. It has left them gutted, empty, and highly addicted to a value system based on ownership of tangible goods, made all the more ironic as the whole system is being continuously degraded by chaos and entropy. Where are the leaders of tomorrow?”

No, no, you say. Statistics say these are the happiest children on the planet. They will be good leaders.

“You know, I think I see the problem here. You have confused the illusion called happiness with tue joy,” the alien said.

Huh, you say. I don’t know what you mean.

“I know,” the aliens says as he puts his space helmet back on, “which is why I am officially posting your planet as quarantined and off limits. I will come back and check  up on you in a century or two but I don’t expect you’ll get too much further up the ladder of civilization than you are now. Maybe in another ten thousand years your ancestors will crawl out of their caves and try again.”


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Do you think, looking about, in this high-tech society, that the evils of old have been eradicated?

Do you think if the propaganda machines tell you that you are free often enough then it will automatically make it so?

Do you think you are not a slave subjugated by those who would seek to control you?

Lets compare.

A slave submits, going through the motions, doing only what is necessary, making no extra effort at the daily processes that keep a roof over their head and food on their table.

A free man understands that it is the journey and not the destination that makes the act of living on this planet worth living. Every step, every breath, every interaction with another human being is a reaffirmation of the original intent of inception into this reality well. Working, whether you be a street sweeper or a cubicle monkey, is a dance, not with your overlords, but with very fabric of space-time, and must be done with care and joy, as if you were making love to your soul mate for the very first time.

A slave sabotages the workings of the great mindless machine in which he is imprisoned, either through active acts of destruction or by passive acts of negligence. The phrase ‘It’s not my job’ becomes their shield and their sword.

A free man understands that it is all one thing, this little tiny blue ball whirling through a space full of stars, and that you don’t shit where you eat. Being a good roommate on the Planet Earth, a free man thinks ‘If not me, then who?’ and cleans up the messes and solves the problems as they present themselves.

A contented slave allows the system to infantilize him, never being proactive, always waiting patiently to be taken care of when things go wrong, becoming angry when that care does not materialize.

A free man recognizes the care given by the system for what it is, a blanket meant to smother, a drug to make you mindless, a carrot on a stick to make you go where you should not go.

A discontented slave seeks to destroy the system, making the first mistake of all slaves, allowing himself to be defined by his hates and not his loves.

A free man knows that destroying a system creates a vacuum in which other systems arise, but, since they rise out of the chaos of destruction, become far worse than the thing it replaces. A freeman does not wish to destroy the system. He merely wants no part of it, as he is busy building his own reality in which overlords have no power.

A slave, feeling powerless, creates rules based in fear that make him feel safer, thereby building more bars instead of opening up the cage door. Doing anything out of fear always turns out wrong. Always. Trust me on this.

A free man needs no rules or laws. His heart and his steps are guided by the OnePattern, the Oneverse, the tick tock heart of all reality. If one is viscerally connected to this, listening with all your being, all decisions become intuitive, unerring and right.

A slave thinks as he is told to think, letting his mind fall into the same trap that his body is imprisoned in, thoughts shackled like feet.

A free man knows his own truth and cannot be dissuaded from it. He understands that thoughts are free, to fly where they please and that even in the darkest of dungeons, in the most oppressive of thought-control societies,  a free man is still free.

A slave, well and truly seduced by the system overlords, actually believes that he too, if he works very hard and is a very good slave, will someday become an overlord. This is never the case. The best he can hope for is the role of overseer slave.

A free man wants nothing to do with a system that grinds the many into the ground in order to raise the few to unnecessary heights and he understands all too well that negative karma can only be postpones but never avoided.

A slave waits for freedom to be handed to him.

A free man knows that being free is hard work, harder than anything one can think to do and he works at it tirelessly, hidden, deep in the bowels of the machine.

Poor machine. It is about to get indigestion.

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Let’s pretend. Let’s pretend that you have stepped through the door and embraced your own evolution.

So, there you are, looking about you, at this place you used to call home, with your new and improved eyes, with your evolved perception of what is real, and you shake your head. How did it get this bad? Where did it all go wrong? How can I fix what appears to be patently unfix-able?

Well, the answer to that questions is problematic, (paradoxical, if you will).

We are like a snake having just shed our skin. Exhausted. Cranky. Soft skinned and overly sensitive. Just plain pissed off and not sure who to blame.

We’ve been slithering along thinking we had learned to accommodate a skin that pinched under the arms and stretched tight over our ass, making us look fat, thinking we could learn to live with just about anything, even this, when, damn, our nose starts peeling and everything starts coming loose all at once and there is nothing to be done but hook the loose bits into something solid so we can work our way free. A wise snake slithers free and never looks back.

But we are humans, not snakes. We think we need to look back, to understand why.

So we turn and look. There it lies, that empty skin, along with any tick or parasite that we happened to pick up along the journey, and we think, wow, what is that? That looks nothing like me. Why did I resist the change for so long?

That’s the healthy response.

But some of us want to cling to the old form of being. The ones who are good at denial and self delusion try to wiggle back into the skin, to no avail. Perhaps we gather it up, staple it back together, and duct tape it back on, hoping no one will notice the frayed edges and the new skin peaking out. When that does not work, we get angry at the skin. Stupid skin, getting all small and constraining. Why couldn’t it keep on doing what it was meant to do?

There are those who say that humans seek their own demise, that all our behaviors, no matter what the intent, take us inevitably towards that point of dissolution between snake and skin. Negative labels are applied this inevitable change, because all change is bad. Right? Right? They point fingers at the corrupt and dysfunctional institutions and social systems as the cause of this change. They say the belief in Armageddon becomes a self fulfilling prophesy, ensuring that we are doomed to the future that we fear the most.

Perhaps it would be better to think the opposite. Perhaps it is the tick tock clock of our own evolution that has caused the failure of the social order. If you look around and discover that things have ceased to serve their function, rejoice. The change is upon you.

In the face of epic change, let the broke stay broke. Trying to fix the unfix-able only postpones the inevitable outcome.

Be the snake. Slither free and don’t look back.

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