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Excerpt for A New World Beckons by , available in its entirety at Smashwords




Wisdom of the WindWalkers 1 0f 4


Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2018 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing


Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada


Cover pictures by: Top: Odan Jaeger

Bottom: Yarik Mishin


All pictures found on FreeImages.com


Space Picture: ESA/Hubble


Next Series: What the Street Taught Me


I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.

Contents

Foreword

Arlene and Harold

A New World Beckons!

Attacking Or Questioning?

Came The Rain

Changing Ones Name

Conundrums Of Duality

Conversation With An ISSA

Dilemma!

Dispelling Shadows

Does Love Still Work?

Freewill

Gorgeous Day

Ideas

Is Everybody Right?

Limits And Boundaries Within God

No Completion, Ever

Nothing Is Impossible

O, Bless Me, Universe!

Prime Mover Of Sin

Personal Discipline Anyone?

Reflections On Strings

The Case Of Angela Vivada

This Needed To Be Said - However Difficult To Write

War

Weakness Or Strength

Weather: Good Or Bad?

What Is A Work Of Art?

Foreword


These books represent a varied collection of remarkable "outside the box" thinking (and subsequently, writing).

 

If you are one of those trammeled and importuned by strong beliefs that won't let go, this could be your chance to break free.  I'm not asking you to believe what is written therein—I can't say I believe all of it myself—but it makes for an interesting "other than" perspective.  Reading these books can be compared to  painting by numbers.  You have this standard picture outline and between lines are colour numbers.  You match the numbers to the colours and eventually you have a painting.  It's not great art, of course, and everybody knows that but it gives you the impression that you did it yourself.  We all know that is how the System operates.  It gives us a number of colours and our life is laid out and numbered, from cradle to the grave.  There isn't much we can do about it, it seems.  It's the System. 

 

Ah, but there is something we can do about it.  We can ignore the numbers.  Use random colours and mix them.  If "3" is green, we do pink on one of the "3" sections and arbitrarily use orange on the next, and so on.  Pretty soon the System doesn't know us anymore and guess what?  We discover what real freedom can be.  It begins by breaking the rules; by daring to violate those imposed beliefs.  Here's one for you:  Did man ever land on the moon?  Of course they did, you will say.  You saw it on TV, or you saw the videos and read the reports and documentaries, right?  Ok, fine.  But that is not the point since landing on the moon or not did nothing to change the way people interact with each other.  So the point?  The point is to paint a different colour on the "moon landing" section of your life's canvas.  A "fake moon landing" colour.  Now really go into this idea.  Break the template here, convince yourself it was all faked in some studio, for whatever political reason.  Then proceed to prove to yourself that it was so.  Study this bit of history; look at the clues.  What happens in the end?  In the end you realize it doesn't matter at all whether they landed on the moon or not.  What matters is, you dared question it.

 

The material in here questions "taken for granted" ideas, sometimes seriously, sometimes with humour.

 

You know, it's hard to think these days, when everything is handed to us via TV and the Internet.  Everything tells us how to think, and does so in the blink of an eye.  We don't have to wait for the President's state of the union speech, or the preacher's rant on a given Sunday.  We Google! 

 

Can a mind atrophy?  You bet.  Look into these booklets and think about thinking.

Arlene and Harold

The apartment door is open. Arlene addresses Harold who is slumping against the wall in the hallway, outside the door.

"Your boss phoned earlier. I tried to wake you up!"

"Leave me alone, will you? I don't feel good." (He groans.)

She raises her voice: "The great provider wants to be left alone. He's tired and weak from all his hard work and worry!"

"Whatever you say, Arlene. Just go away... Ow! My head!"

"One too many, or ten, last night, Harold?"

"God, woman; can't you ever let up? I've got the flu, I tell you. Phone the plant and tell 'em I'm sick, damn it, sick!"

"I've already told 'em, as if they'd believe that bullshit!"

"I swear to God, Arlene, it's the truth: I'm sick!"

She yells at him: "You bag of guts. You wouldn't know what truth is unless it came in a bottle of rye!"

"Lay off me already. Why did I ever come back here?"

"Because someone dumped you in the hallway, and it's more comfortable here than in the gutter or the drunk tank, that's why!"

"Ohhhh! Owwww! I'm dyin' here...!"

"Go ahead, make my day. Die on me now! Add funeral expenses to these. (She holds a handful of bills in his face.) "Focus those bloodshot eyes of yours and look!"

"Uhhh... What... what am I lookin' at?" (He closes his eyes and tries to push her hand away.)

"Bills, Harold. Bills. Hydro, telephone, utilities, cable. See all the pretty coloured letters that say "O-V-E-R-D-U-E"? ...And where's the rent money, the $500 I had stashed in the crisper...?"

"Rent money? ... rent... Ohhhh, I'm in hell!... Horses - Phalarope something - sure thing - couldn't lose, he said. Bet it all... came last. Didn't even get a consolation prize... good joke, eh, Arlene?" (Deep, loud cough.)

(Incredulously): "Bet our rent money... on a horse race?

"Sorry, Arlene. Sure thing, couldn't pass it up... 10 to 1. Real sorry!" (Persistent deep cough)

"What's the matter?"

"Cough, cough, cough!" (Deep cough and rasping breath coming in fits. He starts to slump down to the floor.)

"Harold? What's the matter?" She struggles to drag him to his knees and brings him inside, closing the door. "Here, honey, lay down on the couch. I'll cover you up and make something hot. Take it easy now... Don't worry. Please don't die on me! We're all we've got..." (She has tears in her eyes.)

Tikki the chihuahua, feeling the lessening tension, comes bounding in the living room and takes a leap aimed at Harold's ample stomach. Halfway through his arch, Arlene's hand chops him on the nose and drops him, stunned, to the floor.

She croons to the whining animal: "Sorry, baby, but daddy's not feeling good. Be a good boy and play with your bone. Be quiet and mommy'll bring you a treat, OK?"

Hunched over, a gaunt hand pressed to her forehead, she shuffles into the kitchen to make coffee and think up a whole new series of lies to get them through another month.

A New World Beckons!


Go, run, barefoot

where there is no path;

do not strangle your feet

with industrially-made shoes

or anchor them in synthetics.

Swim and run nude freely

within nature's sacred realm:

laughingly leave the tattered clothes

which a society’s shame,

imposes on itself!


Like the sorcerer of the sky,

fearlessly lead violent storms

to clean and renew life on earth;

strengthen your faith in life’s lessons;

then simply teach those whose

desire is to learn the trade.


Simple lessons teach appreciation

of life on the organic level;

the goddess energy.

Within her we shall enter

a beautiful new world

prepared by those whose faith

already brought them along

this ancient and renewed path.

Attacking Or Questioning?


A free society has many expectations -

a conversation isn't free here -

witness the fact of speaking openly

of things that don’t work; of life on Earth

of the problems in need of resolving

(or else).


Says a listener to my rant,

"Wow, you're attacking everybody:

governments, God, belief systems, laws -

you’re a cynic - too cantankerous to listen to!"

and off he goes

presumably to hear some pleasant thoughts

expounded by some politician or preacher

(or weather man or disk jockey or anybody)

about a world of love and peace

a world at war where we’re winning

sunshine everyday of the year

and singing and music indistinguishable

from interminable commercials

or the certainty of a lottery win -

or failing that, there’s certainly a game show

or a ball game, hockey game, golf game

or any kind of game - even dart throwing

to watch on TV or listen to over the radio.

If that isn’t enough,

there’s always bad news gossip –

happening to everybody else.


Ah well, I thought to myself:

so I question the wherefore’s and the why’s

because so much that’s taken for granted

just doesn't add up using my arithmetic.

Why should this be considered

an attack upon the cherished Status Quo?


Could it be so-called normalcy remains so

only as long as it isn't challenged?

Could it be it would not stand up

to the scrutiny of common sense?

Could it be that this precious Status Quo

is but the eternal monster

created and fed with fear and apathy?

Came The Rain


As so often

in appearance the same

came the rain

It would have washed

the window pane

but no one came

to lend a hand

so

watered the land

and

for another day

went on its way

amidst browns

autumnal yellows

and red-greens

A rainbow

fronting a white cloud

said goodbye

to trees

river

distant highrises

and the sun set

all saying

be still my valley

for the rain came

Changing Ones Name


One day, I'd had enough:

I committed the ultimate anti-family

anti-system crime:

I changed my name.

Why?

Simple: I didn't like the one they'd given me;

I needed one that spoke to me

and for me.


People say "change" is the one constant

but try to change your name

and listen to their tune now!


Some will say we can't just go around

changing our names as we feel like it;

it would crash the system.


Well, if something as simple

as changing one's name

could bring down such a sick thing

I'd change it

every other day!

Conundrums Of Duality


We speak of darkness and of light,

what do we imply by that?

Seek the light, work in the light;

carry your light in a darkened world

we counsel and encourage each other.


We call darkness evil; light good

and it seems to make much sense,

but does it? Are these judgments

based on incomplete understanding?


Consider the night sky, full of shining stars

consider the day sky, without the stars.

Perhaps it’s time we realized

darkness plays an equal role in creation;

that without darkness, there may be no light?


The night sky is the backdrop for the pearly stars

we love to see; to wish upon; to dream under.

It is not the evil place old beliefs cling desperately to,

for much of man’s creative output

saw the light in the dreams of night.


Why not think of the night sky as a canopy

upon which the light anchors itself?

Perhaps then we would find it easier

to understand, to accept

the darkness in ourselves and in others.

Conversation With An ISSA

 

"Sure.  Everybody evolving past the animal stage to ISSA consciousness believes in some form of God.  Some even document encounters with their God.  It is usual for such transitional awareness to evolve gradually from primal fear (the fear of discovering cosmic aloneness and of having to take responsibility) to belief in many gods to eventually arrive at the one God stage."

 

"But you don't believe in God now, do you?"

 

"Not in the sense you project.  There are many gods, and many "One God" in the Cosmos; as many as there are evolving life forms such as yours.  We know of these entities and we attempt to interact peacefully with them, as groups or as individuals.  But in terms of believing in them, translated meaning serving them, that would compare to a university graduate sitting in the corner of a sand box with a blanket and sucking his thumb."

 

"How do you 'interact peacefully' with these known gods, or interact with them at all?"

 

"Generally speaking we do not interact with the divinities themselves.  Their divine reality (power) only exists in the minds of their creations, worshipers and followers.  Our meaningful interaction is with evolving sentience such as yourself.  If you come to us with a God complex we seek to accommodate that until such time you decide to change your mind.  This will happen to you when you observe empirically a non-god centered intelligence operating in greater freedom and at a far superior level of understanding overall than your own, or that of your fellow creatures who still cling to the need for a superior spirit being to guide and to redeem.  By interacting with us you come to observe and accept the fact that all belief systems are primitive protective mechanisms developed by an evolving sentience having become aware of itself as a responsible (cause-consequence awareness) part of All That Is.

 

"Belief systems of which belief in some divinity is usually the most endemic serve as psychological "body guards" to a frightened and vulnerable mind rising out of the relative comfort of animal consciousness to discover an amazing but quite alien landscape where reactive responses to environmental pressure has given way to proactive (reasoned) action.  From this the mind develops a sense of purpose.  When it understands itself thus its belief systems tend to atrophy.  A natural process, nothing to fret over."

 

"So it's O.K. with you if I believe in God?"

 

<<Smile!>>


"Prayer is confession of one's own unworthiness and weakness." (Mahatma Gandhi)

 [And I've learned that the only person worth confessing to is myself. Does that mean I pray to myself?—Sha'Tara]


"Being 'born again' doesn't mean you've arrived somewhere" Dave said.  "It means you're now ready to start the trip." (Phases of Gravity - Dan Simmons)

 

"I've lived thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors." (Henry David Thoreau - Walden)

[And I've lived twice that on the same planet and fully concur - Sha'Tara]

 

"The secret to life is to turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones." (Beowulf's Children)

Dilemma!


We won't feed the hungry,

we'll steal food from the starving -

if there's a profit in it, of course.


We'll plan for war and start wars;

we'll destroy and kill at will -

if there's profit in this too, of course.


But that's not all the horror

we are capable of doing to life

for in the "rich" worlds -

bodies: comatose, decrepit, mostly dead

are kept in disrespectful half-life;

in pain and extended misery;

at great cost to the social treasury

while the embodied beg to be allowed to depart.

Is this just about money for physicians

and assorted drug makers or is there more to it?


The first question is:

Why is self-chosen euthanasia "wrong" -

but a war that kills millions "right"?

Why can I not choose my own time

to leave this world?

Who has the power, let alone the right

to judge such a sacred private choice?


I feel my time on earth nearing its end:

I contemplate faraway mountains

and long to cross over; to fly:

I have no fear of that unknown

beyond the setting of the sun.


And I think how nice, warm, loving,

it would be of my friends and close ones

to empathize with the desires of my heart

and encourage me to go "home."

But it will not be so:

for Earth humans are frightened of death

perhaps almost as much

as they fear to be truly alive!

Dispelling Shadows


When a being or system

seeks to control through fear

it creates a dark, cold shadow

upon everything it touches:

wraiths from the depths

let loose to fill the minds.


How do we move away?

how do we dispel the shadow?

What light can illuminate

when the mind is filled

with such palpable darkness?


Perhaps no movement is needed;

perhaps no light need be sought after:

for isn’t our life, light?

If life is light;

if it is lived as light,

will it not dispel the shadow?

Does Love Still Work?


Waves drift

upon the shore;

their music touches my spirit,

expressing

an essence of

"love."


I feel I want to cast

"love"

throughout this world

to counteract the pain;

to ease the sadness

caused by so much error;

so much terror.


But I wonder if

"love"

can work any more

in this environment?

Can "love" heal

a world this far gone

beyond the edge of sanity?


I think not. I think

"love"

is no longer

the sweet virtue it once was.

I think it is but a prostitute

of porno mags

and TV ads.

I think it has sold

too many houses;

too many condoms,

too many movies,

and too many tires -

yes, that's it:

love”

is too tired,

never likely to wake up

upon this world.

Freewill


Aren't we all naked

under the clothes we parade in?

Doesn't it seem we are comfortable

in knowing that fact?

So isn't the next logical step,

to become equally comfortable

without the disguise

we hide within?

No longer hiding our true beauty

from each other?

Tossing away any remnant of shame

placed upon our bodies ages ago

by power-hungry beings,

(who called themselves 'leaders')

haters of God and freewill

and love?

Wasn't it these who established

control over our lives, our souls?

who created the violence and the fear

upon this earth?


Shall we continue to be controlled

by similar false leaders today?

Shall we not rather break the chains

forged with shame and fear?

Let us sigh a collective sigh

of freedom

and cast off our clothes:

That's a good start, I believe

where we may make our point

and not harm anyone

by our so-called 'rebellion'!

Gorgeous Day


Have you ever heard

when it is beautifully warm and sunny,

the complainers who say it is too hot

or too bright,

dangerous for the eyes or for the skin?

Then they add:

"We need a good rain to cool things off,

and get rid of the smog!"


But as soon as a few grey clouds

wander around up there,

threatening to do just that,

the complainers are at it again!

Now it’s too muggy and damp,

and when a few drops scatter in the dust,

it's immediately too cold and wet

too miserable to do anything outside!

They can't wait for the next sunny day

to brighten things up...

so they have something to complain about?


Little do they realize it is their thoughts,

bereft of the slightest hope or flicker of light,

that is affecting their world that way;

not the weather, not the earth,

not even God!

For always, our reality comes from within

and the mouth speaks the overflow of the heart.

Ideas


Ideas welcome the morning sun,

dance beside mountain streams,

take shape in rolling clouds.

They are found hovering

over an empty robin's nest

and soaring with the arctic tern.

They incubate under old logs

and whip the tree tops

in the unleashed violence

of a winter's gale.

I've often seen them rise

in the sparking smoke

of a lonely campfire

and heard their low-keyed whisper

in summer's thick foliage

under an indigo sky.

Ideas can be the source of great joy

but though I know how to find them,

I wonder how they got there:

did I put them there for myself?

Is Everybody Right?


You say it doesn't matter,

your way is good,

my way is good too:

It's up to me, it's up to you,

we follow our own piper

dance our own steps,

to our own tune

in or out of time:

doesn't matter:

it all comes right

in the end...


Well, please forgive me,

if I seem a little

s k e p t i c a l

and wonder about your

p s y c h o l o g y

but:

before you conclude your

argument,

consider this:


many people

once followed one named Jesus

seeing the world differently


his ideas...and theirs

could have made a pleasant

difference

even to this modern world:

IMAGINE!

love your neighbour as yourself?

IMAGINE!

love your enemies?

give them good for evil?


many people

once followed one named Hitler

seeing the world

differently

his ideas...and theirs

turned this darkened crazy world

into a burning hell:

IMAGINE!

a master race permitted to rule

unchecked over the world,

to use to abuse

to torture and to kill

at will?


Tell me again

It makes no difference?

Limits And Boundaries Within God

 

Can any species of ISSA* evolve itself spiritually while insisting on setting limits to everything it touches? 

 

At a certain level of awareness, beyond the instinct for basic survival, the ISSA being encounters a new kind of fear.  A fear much more dreadful and terrible than that caused by the appearance of the predator and the certainty of death.  A fear that the cold terror of a predator will not go away even after one's painful death in its teeth and claws. 

 

Why this happens, I don't know, but that is how it is.  So to counteract this new information; to find some modicum of peace, the awakening ISSA looks into the fear, the cloud of permanent death in endless pain and loss and "sees" beyond it someone who has the power to change his fate.  A great being or supreme being; a creator; a God.  This gives rise to a whole new set of choices through new rules for living.  It's not just basic survival anymore.  It's living by stringent laws.  It's worshipping.  It's giving up one's nature so it may be re-made to conform to that God's desires.  It's obedience.  It's responsibility guided by a moral code.  And most certainly it's a point of no return.

 

What is a god?  Obviously someone greater than the believer.  What is God?  That is the Supreme Creator beyond whom there is nothing:  no continuity; no life; no infinity.  The best description of God I've ever seen is an opaque sphere that is the containment field for all that exists and all that exists is made by, kept alive by, depends entirely on, and is the undisputable property of, God.

 

Lots of things happen within that sphere.  To the spiritually short-sighted awakening ISSA that is a truly huge place.  It seems to have no limits.  Who apart from God, in any conceivable length of measurable "time" could ever see to the end of this sphere?  Rhetorical: can't happen, ever.  Why?  Because there is nothing outside of the sphere.  So goes the story.

 

So the point is that as long as there is God there has to be limitations to everything.  The great creator must in time become the greatest tyrant imaginable.  He must, to safeguard his creation, prevent any of it from escaping his control.  Within the sphere they can't escape.  They can be disobedient but all their acts can be dealt with, and surely will be.  Life within the sphere is a specific culture and it is kept jealously apart from "anything else" which of course, to the ISSA I'm talking about, does not exist.

 

Now imagine an ISSA mind that goes a little wonky, after repeated assaults within the sphere.  A mind or individual essence that after much suffering, begins to long for life beyond God's control.  It has reached an understanding that as long as it functions within that control, it will suffer.  It doesn't know why that is, but it knows this.  The mind becomes rebellious and daring.  It flies off here and there on wild tangents, testing the waters and the air currents.  It looks at ideas and theories about everything.  It exercises its own power of reasoning against that of the Deity in question.  It decides to break free of the collective mindset that insists life ends in the annihilation of the self, or is saved (makes sense) only through believing in God, however nebulous that concept is.

 

The mind practices free fall and eventually comes to land painfully against the shell of the sphere.  It looks for openings.  There are none but eventually cracks are found and by painstaking search it finds one just wide enough to slip through.  Now comes a momentous decision:  should it break out, risking who knows what, or should it give up and return to same old, same old because really, there is no escape from the sphere except in what promises to be an even worse fate?

 

That choice you too will make when you find that crack. 

 

The point being made is that life is infinite.  That is its nature.  It cannot be naturally contained within a belief system, any belief system.  God, the great creator and of necessity maker of laws can only exist (have power over) as a belief system.  There are many today who still believe in God but proudly proclaim they practice no organized or recognized form of Religion.  What a wonderful illusion they have concocted for themselves!  Whoever believes in God is completely immersed, body, mind and soul, in Religion!  “God” is never a spiritual concept, always a religious concept because “God” is a collective mind.

 

What about those who believe there is no God?  Are they free of God?  That's the other side of the marvelous illusion because they are still within the sphere and at every turn they must encounter that which can only be of God.  Laws and certain moral aspects of behaviour without which, so they think, Earthians would forever be at each other's throat, killing each other and taking each other's things.  Do they realize it is the pressure cooker of living within the unnatural limitations of the sphere; the pressure to conform; that creates these eternal problems?  But how could they?  They are not permitted to even imagine life outside the sphere.  One of the most basic sub-routines of the soul programming is to prevent the "soulful" from such imagining.

 

Who then can be free?  I can still see my teachers smiling sadly for they earned their own freedom under difficult and painful circumstances.  I still hear them expounding these simple, infinite truths about life outside the sphere: 

"Believe all things, believe in nothing." 

"When none of it matters, is will all be yours." 

"Life at the highest levels known to us is all giving." 

"In the lower worlds compassion becomes the greatest force." 

"Beware assertions not demonstrable by those who make them nor backed by personal experience: they are lies." 

"The truly humble always gravitate to the highest places." 

"The only word in your language that can properly describe the "oneness" you seek is 'everything'."

 

Filled with this understanding I open my arms wide to encompass that "everything" and realize that all of it is flowing outward from me endlessly.  Yet for all that, as long as I do not think I am doing this, I remain full and expectant.  And each new step is a discovery, both sorrowful and joyful. 

 

 *ISSA - acronym for intelligent, sentient, self-aware

No Completion, Ever

  

In the concept we interpret as "life" nothing can ever be completed.  Nothing can ever be truly called "perfect."  We exist in a kaleidoscope of ever-changing subjective/objective reality.  Only in an absolute context can anything ever be considered "complete" or "perfect."  But in that state, such terms are utterly meaningless; this discussion nonsensical.

 

So what gives here if nothing is ever complete?  Simple: things are abandoned, given-up on. Some arbitrarily ended or terminated.  Death claiming remnants.  An illusion of completion which has the opposite effect: it leaves a mess.

 

People are generally unaware of this state of things even as they sense it.  That is why they form endless attachments to goals, plans, accomplishments or achievements, as well as to people, events and places.  Because they sense the incompleteness of all aspects of life they become unwilling, then unable, to let go.  “Cling-ons” who in the end become little more than parasites.

 

If we realized and accepted the fact that nothing can ever be completed since life, by definition, is a work in progress—endless progression into infinity—maybe we would see the necessity of detachment in how we approach the event horizon. 

 

I have been shown that life is a constant struggle.  No way around that, nor would the detached person want to avoid such a struggle - it is the spice of life.  What life was never meant to become is conflict.  If we form attachments, we engender conflict. 

 

That seems to make sense.

Nothing Is Impossible - The Quest And The Rest (Or Life Cannot Have Its Roots In Nothingness)

                               

It is deceptively easy to accept a belief that "God" created everything from nothing.  This only requires faith and faith does not suffer the scrutiny of proof. 

 

Barring the un-provable and non-demonstrable notion of divine creation of THING from NO THING, the Mentat/philosopher must maintain that nothing emerges from nothing, that a thing cannot come from nothing.  Therefore whatever we sense (I mean all thoughts, ideas; all sense of "self" or environment; of past and future) arises out of something else in space.  The thoughts I think are pulled from existence of other thoughts.  I just re-shape them to my own use and purpose, blending and separating until something new stands here.

 

Having invented this new thing, I must now pause and consider how I am to link my self to this thing.  I must know beyond even a shadow of doubt, why I did this, what I intend with it and for it.  I have given birth.  Now I must rear. 

 

Until changed by its own environment, that is, until it changes itself of its own volition, this new thing will carry forth my image.  It will have my heart; my mind; my awareness and understanding.  It is my "Ghola" or clone.  Until it is affected by “others” this new thing will be all of me if put together properly, less of me if not, but not more than me. 

 

Having reared this new thing, and given it the freedom to evolve itself, to develop its own thought-process, I now have to let it go - to detach from it completely - that it may find its own path, to grow, into other than my own original intent for it.

 

Then am I once more free to choose another path; to re-birth myself and begin another journey into the timeless infinite. 

 

I invented and shaped my Earthian passages from many reasons, each passage bearing a totally different set of parameters.  But the goal was always the same, will always remain the same: to know myself by letting go of myself that I may gain understanding of life.

 

In questing, one awakens.  Awakening, one hungers.  Hungering, one loses the present.  Only the future with its attendant pasts remains in the field of infinite possibilities. 

 

The paradox: there I sate myself and bewitched by order, fall asleep in a web of time between cycles of activity. 

 

But I know I shall always awaken, though never to what. for every such awakening beholds chaos, that raw deal that forces the lethargy of time out of one's limbs, forcing another quest. For while one plays Sleeping Beauty, the world does not stop. Change continues to take place.

 

When a goal is attained, one rests.  When one is rested, one returns to the quest. 

 

"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.  And God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it he rested from all the work of creating he had done." (Genesis 2:2-3  - the Bible)

 

"No matter how exotic human civilization becomes, no matter the development of life and society nor the complexity of the machine/human interface, there always come interludes of lonely power when the course of humankind, the very future of humankind, depends upon the relatively simple actions of single individuals." (From The Tleilaxu Godbuk - Dune Messiah by Frank Herbert)

O, Bless Me, Universe!


How many times have we heard the line:

Oh, the Universe is a big wish-granting machine.

Trust the Universe and all will be well

for the Universe cares about you.


Oh... yeah... says I?

let’s see if I can use a comparison

to illustrate this particular New Age saw:


Your entire body is renewed every seven years,

meaning every cell in your body has been replaced,

meaning every cell has died and gone to heaven...

or wherever cells go, that is.


How many of those cells were you aware of?

How many did you call by name every morning?

How many did you ask if they were doing well?

How many did you offer a hand to

or give a big "Thank you" for taking care

of that wonderful organ you call a body?


We are but cells in the universal body.

The universe couldn't care less who we are,

what we do, how long we live, or even

where we go, if we go, when we die.


Like a drop of water, a leaf, a bird on the wing,

we are a function within the greater function,

and that's that - for the universe at least,

personal beliefs notwithstanding.


So, ease off on the BS of universal goodies:

the Universe is not your big sugar daddy

and a diet of such beliefs makes one obese

in the book shelf area - save your money:

buy an ice cream cone - enjoy the moment.

Prime Mover Of Sin


In judgment sin is imperfection, but

isn't it beingness in experience?

The whole creation by definition

is 'sin'!

If we admit that creation is imperfect

(sin is found in it: vice, violence, death)

In judgment we must condemn creation

and that which created, which is called God!


For God created all things good

yet bad they went, then worse

so they say, so we observe.

But we're also told nothing exists

that God did not create!

We're also told that we ourselves

are but the pure image of our Maker!

Let's follow this simple thought

to some logical conclusion

and see where that leaves us.


The people who wrote the Bible

never intended to demonstrate

this undeniable truth:

that God is the Prime Mover of Sin

yet no other conclusion

may be drawn from their record.

-Your witness! -

Personal Discipline Anyone?

 

Should we indeed, as the commercials insist, give in to every passion; every desire; every thought on the basis of "if it feels good do it"?  Must we "obey our thirst" as the ad claims?  Must we really buy everything the corporations, charge card companies and banks proclaim our credit is good for? 

 

The question is, do we really deserve all that the global hypermarket manufactures and merchandises to titillate and sate our physical senses? 

 

This society has mortgaged itself and the future of its children to satisfy its baser lusts of the moment.  Where's our dignity gone, assuming we ever had any?  Where's the sense of common decency?  Anyone can go on shopping sprees knowing all the "stuff" can be charged to some credit scam and only a minimum "payment" need be maintained to keep the credit flowing.  Anyone can stuff himself at a smorgasbord paid for by others.  Anyone can play when others do the dirty work, whatever that entails.  But what are the costs?

 

I've quoted this before but it bears repeating: "Life is pain princess.  Anyone who says different is selling something." (Princess Bride - the movie)  I don't watch TV but I am still surrounded by a sea of dis-and mis-information euphemistically labeled advertising.  I know what the brain-dead are absorbing from their loud-mouth electronic baby-sitter even while they are fixing their snacks during the commercials: the snacks are composed of previous commercials.  I know that the vast quantity of junk that passes for commodities and necessities sells only because it is backed by billions of dollars in advertising.  The ads cost much more than the amenities they aim at their target consumer group.  After baiting the physical appetites, advertisers, promoters and "marketeers" follow-through with ever-expanding lines of credit in every imaginable format.  "We sell credit" says a tire store.  "0" percent - no payment until (spring or fall depending on the date) says another.  "Bad credit?  No problem.  Talk to Janet" states a car dealer billboard.

 

I don't want to buy on credit.  I don't want more payments.  And I don't particularly want to talk to Janet.  So I guess I don't buy.  That means I don't have to rent a space for $200 per month at a storage facility to store my "stuff" I'll use twice in a lifetime or probably will only pull out of storage when I've decided I'll never use it.  Or I got a phone call from some collection agency asking for money and I have to start selling.  Or I just survived a triple-bypass surgery.  Life's not fair, is it.  How did Forrest Gump put it?  "Stupid is as stupid does."

 

Meanwhile, while the hot tub is still hot, the swimming pool still circulating and the barbecue still burning, who's holding my credit?  The banks?  The credit card companies?  The Great Corporations?  Not likely.  It's all the people of the world who work for the last and only Great Manufacturing Corporation called MWM.  Who? you will perhaps wonder.  No, not "who" -- "what."  It's that horrible travesty of business called "Minimum Wage Manufacturing."  That hellish monstrosity that makes its profits by squeezing sweat, tears and blood from those who work its mines, lands, sweat shops, pits, armies, prison camps, cubicles and jails.  Oh, and lest we forget: those thousands who die each day because after they have slaved in the fields, the mines, the shops and whatever other places there be, must lay down and die because they don't qualify for credit and their meager earnings, if they get any, cannot supply the minimum of food and other basic necessities required to keep them alive.

 

Flip your credit coin now for the good news?!?!  On the side of the opulent who has access to "endless" credit you find mindless distraction, stress and confusion.  You find addictions galore - to legal and illegal substances.  You find lives in total disarray devoid of even an ounce of redeemable value.  You find rampant diseases like cancer and heart attack and mental imbalances called something or other deficit disorders.  You find the double curse of obesity: the deformed bodies of the slaves to the junk food suppliers.  You find selfishness honed to an art form.  You find despair, fear, hate and anger -- but sadly you do not find these in any passionate sort of way.  No revolutionary zeal here.  "The best lack all conviction..."

 

None of that is without cure.  It's all redeemable with a simple change of attitude to life.  Choosing to honor what we can still encounter of life, not only in other human beings but in all the "things" we come in contact with.  To think even before swatting a mosquito or a fly.  To ponder the effects of all our acts towards those others and wonder at our feelings to it all.  To re-learn (or probably for most to learn for the first time) to think for ourselves by shutting down televisions, radios and internet and refusing to read papers, whether local or dailies.  Boycott the liars and their lies.  Guaranteed: appetites will change and fears abate.

 

Now for some really dirty and politically incorrect words:  Self-denial.  Self-sacrifice.  Self-discipline.  Compassion.

 

Heb 12:11 No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.


Heb 12:13 Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed. 

 

The above quotes sum it up.  Discipline is harsh but produces righteousness (self-empowerment!) and brings peace (relieves stress!).  As a bonus, it heals the lame, i.e., those who currently must slave and die so we can sample Wal-Mart's wares and fill our bulging storage areas (be they stomachs or storage rooms). 

 

By the way, I don't quote the Bible because I'm a believer - I don't believe in God.  I quote it selectively for its quotability and because many of the people who read these rants have studied it and will recognize the passages.  It may even make them wonder why their own teachers and leaders did not insist they live this way and wouldn't that be a bonus, what?

Reflections On Strings

 

I've often wondered (as have others) how some piece of "artistry" suddenly comes to life in my head and through my fingers.  A short story, some philosophy, even a drawing here and there, these from the time I learned how to draw or write.  Where do these things come from?

 

Perhaps we are all troubadours carrying some stringed instrument through life.  We all know that a stringed instrument needs to be tuned constantly... and of course the strings have to be taut if it is to make music.  For the most part we haven't done a very good job with our strings.  Mostly we have let them either snap or hang loose all over the place.  Our fingers have followed the broken and loose strings and wandered in places they were never meant to go.  We got lost, as did our music - until eventually we lost it and all we heard were so-called artists who sell their noise: their whining, cheating, whoring, bragging and repetitive bashing to the commercial world that will roll a "love song" into toilet paper.

 

It is painful to tighten the strings on our lutes, zithers or banjos.  As they become taut and tuned again (for indeed they were so when we were in the womb and when we were first born)  it is even more painful to watch all the crud of our wanderings, all our pleasant and sacred attachments go flying off the strings as we gingerly pluck them.  At first the music we hear is crude and unpleasant - but it is our own.  We know that if we continue and we insist on keeping those strings tight, and they remain clean, we will eventually make beautiful music - not the kind that sells, but the kind that honors life.

 

What comes out of us as bursts of inspiration, as new ideas, are not from someone else; gifts from some muse or other entity.  Nor are they manifested in our minds and fingers suddenly full-grown from nothing.  If we traced our strings - I call them golden strings as they are what the golden path is made of - we would find the various notes all over our passages, here and there, sometimes as lonely individuals, sometimes as complete songs that have waited to be played for so long.  When we pull ourselves together, tune our heart-mind to the flow of life; that is, when we have consciously decided to become "avatars" or true music-makers, these old stories find their way along the golden strings to our minds and to our fingers.

 

We are born anew.

 

Now we can play, and whether the world listens, or fails to listen (for the world is awash in noise and likely will never hear our music) it matters not: we play on knowing that the stars will echo our songs for as long as the worlds endure.

The Case Of Angela Vivada

 

I've been a reporter of sorts most of my life, starting way back in high school.  I like digging up "facts" and writing them down in a way that I believe makes people not just read, but listen.  I mean, what's the point of just "reporting facts, just the facts ma'am" in a world overburdened by mountains of unrelated facts?  No, facts which do not a story make are not worth writing about.

 

I'm an old guy, and I've seen a lot of things. I work part-time now, just to keep active and cover some of the court stories for local papers, sometimes even doing a radio spot on a particularly twisted or complex story.  I was in the county court house the other day looking over the docket and I saw the case of a prostitute, Angela Vivada versus Magdan county.  The time was suitable to me, it wouldn't interfere with my morning Starbucks routine and I had nothing else planned that day.

 

Not that a prostitute hauled before a judge is any great story.  In fact hardly any of them even get mentioned now unless a crime has been committed along with the sex.  Well, who knows, maybe this girl had done something worth writing about; maybe I had myself a so-called human interest story there.  A reporter has to have a special sense about a story or he's just a hack. 

 

I show up in court with my notebook precisely at five minutes to nine.  I watch as two female guards escort a very pretty young woman in a short black dress to her seat and remove her handcuffs.  She is slim and about five feet eight inches tall.  She has thick long black hair that flows over her shoulders, covering one breast and the rest falling sensuously down her back.  She is of those beauties that result from mixed races of Spanish, native and white blood.  Almost startling.

 

She does not seem worried; her face is a study in composure and assurance.  I write down that her wrists have handcuff bruises and cuts in them.

 

"All rise for the honorable... blah, blah" and we sit down.  The number is called.  The girl is sworn in and sits below the judge while the prosecutor proceeds to list the charges against the girl, or woman.  She looks underage to me but some women look like teenagers when in their thirties.  What do I know.

 

Soliciting for the purpose of prostitution; lewd and lascivious conduct.  Basic stuff.  The judge looks at the young woman and asks her: "Where is your lawyer?  Did they not inform you of your rights to be represented by a court appointed lawyer if you could not afford one?"

 

The girl has the voice of an angel, to suit her name.  "Oh yes your honor, I was advised.  I interviewed three lawyers, a woman and two men but I could tell they would be unable to present my case in a way that would explain this situation properly.  You see, their preconceived notions of what I am (not who I am) and what I was arrested for blinded them to the truth I wish this court to hear."

 

Judge: "Do you realize the danger you put yourself into, that you could go to jail for an extended period of time based on these charges?"

 

"Yes of course your honor.  However I wish to dispute these charges in the light, not of the acts as reported, but of who I am and how I see myself within these acts.  Hopefully I can show that my actions as reported cannot be considered as strictly deontological, but more in line with the concept called teleological.  If necessary I can explain these terms so everyone can understand me."

 

I can assure you that you could have heard the proverbial pin drop in that court room.  The judge turned away from the girl to look at the prosecutor.  The prosecutor shrugged and their puzzled expressions were almost comical.  Needless to say, I was just as perplexed about the girl's statements as everyone else.  This was going to be very interesting.  I hoped I had spelled the terms correctly because I had no idea what she was on about.

 

"Miss Vivada - that is your real name, is it? (the girl nods affirmatively) - you will have to explain or I will have to call a recess so we can all find a dictionary and figure out what you are talking about.  Please?"  And he gestures for the girl to explain.

 

"I'll be brief then.  Deontology would apply to a sergeant Friday type.  It's about facts, or acts, strictly on their own merits, as observed, without considering the larger picture.  A fact is a fact, regardless of the consequences hoped for, or resultant.  'Let justice be done though the heavens fall' is how it has been stated.  What a person is doing, or does, is all that matters, not what was intended, or is intended, to happen as a result of the act.

 

"Teleology takes into consideration the consequences of the act.  For example no one can prove the existence of God but through teleological reasoning His existence can be observed in creation.  We could curse creation piece meal until nothing stands, or we can look at it from a whole, and a holistic viewpoint and find in it all the great wonders that a benevolent Creator would have wanted to put in it.  We could say that God did not create chaos out of ignorance or meanness, but out of an awareness of a wondrous future for all of life.  So we look at ends, goals, purposes and evaluate and justify the acts preceding such on the basis of what is hoped to be accomplished.  It should be kept in mind that during the acts that are intended to create an end, the end cannot be seen, only deduced.  For that deduction to happen, the "actor" must be given the benefit of the doubt.  Most of man's historical heroes have accomplished great things by proceeding on what I call a path of 'compromised morality.' "

 

Judge: "That then, I must assume, is your defense as regards the crimes you are charged with?  What if you had been arrested in the process of murdering someone?"

 

"But I was not, your honor."  The girl has an enchanting smile and voice to match.  Something almost etheric in quality.  A jewel.  She continues, "Quite the opposite.  And yes, that is my entire and simple defense."

 

The prosecutor, "Your honor, please.  May I refresh the court's memory that this woman was caught 'in flagrante delicto' giving sex to a man in a public place and..."

 

The Judge: "You will get your turn.  Let miss Vivada explain herself.  The court is very interested in this line of reasoning.  This is, after all, more than a court of law.  It is still a place of justice."  He turns again to the girl: "Would you now explain your actions as stated by the two arresting officers?"  Looking back at the prosecutor, he asks, "By the way, are the arresting officers in the courtroom today?"

 

Prosecutor: "They can be recalled at will, given a half hour.  They are on patrol in the vicinity and we did not see the point of wasting their time or the taxpayer's money to have them here during these straight forward proceedings."

 

Judge, oozing sarcasm: "How very considerate of you, Mr. Finello.  You reaffirm my faith in lawyers.  Now miss, about the events of..."  He scans his sheet, "last Thursday morning in Farewell Park."

 

"Yes your honor.  I had been walking down Third Avenue when I was accosted by a middle-aged man who made it very clear that he was interested in me for sex.  I explained it very clearly to him: I am available for sex but I'm not a prostitute, just an ordinary woman walking down the street.  If he wanted sex with me, he had to decide where and when.  It would cost him nothing, of course, because as a woman I have determined that giving sexual satisfaction to men is my purpose, at least for the time being.  The man got very excited at the offer and took me to a small deserted park and we walked down into a low area behind some thick bushes away from the possibility of any prying eyes seeing us unless they were following us to nail us in the act so to speak.  It was a good place, sunny and warm with sweet-scented and soft grass to lay on.  He removed my dress and liked what he saw.  I helped him take off his suit and the rest of his clothes and we made love... several times! He was amazingly adept and gentle.  He kept telling me how much he was enjoying himself and how he could not understand his luck.

 

"Not luck, I told him.  Deliberate.  You came to me because I made myself "available" in my mind and heart for one such as you.  You needed me.  I gave you what you wanted.  Gave you a few moments of real pleasure and maybe even some happiness.  For me that sums it all.  No matter what else I put myself to doing, that is the best I can ever accomplish, as a woman.  That is what I am designed, by God, to be and to do. 

 

"He offered me some money, I think it was fifty dollars (I can't be sure, the cops confiscated it).  A tip, he said.  Yes, I have to survive too.  I accept tips.  But many times I get nothing and it's fine.  I am not doing this for money, but to bridge a gap in society; to provide healing between genders.  What tips I get, or what money I make from working as an exotic dancer, cocktail waitress or hostess and sometimes even as a delivery driver, I save carefully.  All monies are put in the bank and recorded by my accountant.  She takes care of paying the taxes and takes her own wages from that.  Any extra I use to help other women on the streets.  I try to maintain a three or four thousand dollar "float" in the bank.  All this can be verified.

 

"The sexual act between myself and the man would have remained hidden to all of society were it not for two over-zealous and not very nice male police officers who had stalked me and then followed us to our tryst.  They took pictures from a vantage point in a nearby tree.  Then they busted us as I was still naked and putting the finishing touches on my male friend's attire.  They let him go - as I requested.  Then they proceeded to have sex with me as well.  Some would call it rape but as I maintain, since I'm always "available" to men, I cannot be raped.  I gave them what they wanted, without fear, anger, hate, resentment or shame since that is what they wanted, and would have taken it regardless.  They needed it, I gave it and it could have ended there.  Simple, uncomplicated.  But instead they decided to abuse me physically, handcuffing me so tight my wrists were cut.  Then they slapped me, trying to make me verbally abuse them.  I said nothing.  They dumped my purse and took all the money in it, but were disappointed not to find any drugs or other incriminating evidence proving I am a drug user or prostitute.

 

"They asked what I'd done with the drugs.  I stated that I don't do drugs, legal or illegal.  I don't smoke, seldom drink, except for an occasional glass of wine at social gatherings.  They called me a lying bitch and wouldn't even let me put my dress back on.  I was taken back to the police station wrapped in a rag that barely covered the essentials, always trying to shame me, was processed and jailed with a half-dozen other women where I was abused some more. 

 

"As to the events of last Thursday morning, that's about it.  But the point is not what happened to me but why I do what I do.  The reason I did not want a lawyer to defend me you honor is because there are very few people on this world who understand someone like me.  For centuries, for millennia, the woman has been vilified for being just who she is.  She has been forced into unnatural roles to prevent her from being a woman; from fulfilling her purpose.  In fact the purpose I speak of is considered immoral.  I'm a slut.  Yet look at me, all of you men.  Can you see me?  Can you admit to "who" I am rather than "what" your society says I am?  If anyone of you men was alone with me, certain no one could see, or could ever know, what would you be thinking of?  If I were naked as nature intended I should be, what would happen between us?

 

Judge: "Miss Vivada I must warn you.  I address the court, not you."

 

"My apologies your honor.  But I am also my own attorney and it is not unusual for a defense attorney or prosecutor to address the court.  I took some liberties there and I should have asked permission first.  My comments may be stricken from the record if you wish it."

 

Judge: "Miss Vivada, do you always anticipate everything?  Never mind.  Your statements will remain.  Mr. Finello, do we need to call the arresting officers to testify or are you prepared to conclude this now?"

 

I was sitting at the side and could see the facial expression.  Finello was biting his lips.  If he called the cops in, what would become of his case?  They had raped the girl.  They had abused her and stolen her money.  It would become obvious he was covering for bad cops.  The next question would be, 'Why?'  What was in it for him?   He did the only thing he could under the circumstances to save face, and probably his dumb ass.

 

"Your honor, the prosecution rests on the merits of the evidence before the court."

 

Judge: "A wise move Mr. Finello."  Addressing the girl, "Miss, can I call you Angela?"

 

Ah, you should have seen her face light up.  She shrugged lightly and smiled.  "Of course your honor."

 

Judge: "Angela, how much money was in your purse when taken from you?"

 

"Probably around ninety dollars, not much more.  That's counting what my friend gave me."

 

Judge:  "This woman's property will be returned to her and I will want to see a receipt for the transaction.  You will personally see to this Mr. Finello.  I mean all of her property.  And she is free to carry on her life as she sees fit or until she commits a real crime.  This case is closed.

 

Now then, you be the judge.  I am just a reporter.

This Needed To Be Said – However Difficult To Write

 

What follows needs to be said.  It will bring smiles to those who know better and are already convinced I've lost my mind.  It will bring frowns of anger to many who are "believers."  And some, I know, will ponder these words, for they were given to me exactly for these times and for this place.

 

First, let me state clearly that I believe all things but believe in none; that I am neither religious, agnostic nor atheist.  This piece is about Powers invisible but whose presence is pervasive and permeates all Earthian activities.

 

A truism: all great social systems by which "man" exists came to earth from elsewhere.  Not a single one was ever thought up, created, devised, by any Earthian mind.  And that explains why, in every instance, every system ever used by man has turned on him and brought him and his world global pain and harm always resulting in some great downfall of society from which he rises only to fall again. 


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