Dream #32

I had a dream last night where an old friend was jamming there finger into my gut chacra until I started crying about how I didn't care about anything and so I didn't have any motivation to make anything happen and if that was my life than I mine as well be dead.

It felt good to get that out on the table.

It also felt good to cry.

This is not to say I discovered some miraculous truth: more like I discovered a big underlying belief that had been eating away at me. Once these things see the light of day, and get felt, they're on there way to being processed.

I use the digestive system analogy extensively, these days. It really is like emotions are food that you eat, digest, and shit out. except a lot of people have serous digestive problems, and are hugely constipated. Because you don't have a choice about eating them, but you do have somewhat of a choice about digesting them and pooping them out. Not a simple yes/no button, but the ability to either digest and poo, or hold it in. Also, there are things that can be done about indigestion. The problem is people refuse to admit they have digestion problems (or constipation problems.)

That is: they refuse to admit, even to themselves, that they are holding in emotions, ignoring them, pushing them away, doing everything except letting them be felt and thus passed through.

That seems to be the key: the feelings won't stop until you receive the information they are trying to give you, and to do that, you have to listen, and to listen, you have to feel.

dating, the secret shadow government is our bitches, rule the world

was sitting in the library, reading "the idiots guide to dating" and parents called, and then, looking up and gazing off in front of me as we talked, I saw the two books from the movie about the girl who made it big blogging. right in front of me. Yes, sometimes nature is stupidly blatant. This is not something to be proud of, this means I'm so dense nature needs to get drastic sometimes to get points across.

I guess that girl is living the dream: she made it big, now she's famous and successful. Once again though, I am reminded of how profoundly "the dream" is a lie. a total fabrication. "everyone can make it big in america, if they just try!" bullshit. triple bullshit. These "lucky" cases are the the proverbial bone tossed to the rest of us, the abusive parents lies about getting the kid a big present, if they keep behaving.

That is a lie to keep the huge mass of people who work themselves down to zero energy, all just for food and shelter, and a week or two off a year to sleep off all the excessive fatigue there jobs have created on them. Is it worth it? It's safe though, and I suppose that's what keeps people in horrible situations. It is like an abusive relationship, where we are in a crappy situation but afraid to leave it because the alternative might be worse.

I don't blame some kind of shadow government for putting me in the situation I'm in. granted, there are many elements of our current system that were intentional designed by a few to enslave the many. But blaming "those people" is cowardly. And it is a declaration that you are powerless. That is what the people creating systems of control want.

The truth is, we are not powerless, or anything remotely close to that. We are extraordinarily powerful. Our muscles may have atrophied, but the bottom line is our potential, our natural birthright, is like that of God. We have created our own creation and then stepped into it, and mostly, forgot.

I'm just reminding anyone who cares to listen, you have the option to say no to the current paradigm, and begin creating a personal creation that is joyful and fulfilling. The mechanisms in the universe are there, to carry you forward, teach you, lead you to your truth, to your power, to your joy. At it asks in return is sincerity. heh, and a bit of patience. But it is awaiting your command, like an abandoned control console for the universe. Your abandoned control consul. find it, if you want.

from the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad

"In the beginning was the Self alone, in the form of Purusha, the mighty Person.

In previous times (purva) he burnt up (ush) all evil, thus he is called Purusha.

With this knowledge one devours all rivals.

Looking around, he saw no one else.

Then Purusha spoke, and his first words were: "I am."

Thus was I-ness born.

And even now, when a person is asked, "who is it?" he replies first "It is I," and then adds his name.

But then Purusha became frightened--as even now we become frightened when alone.

He thought to himself:

"Since there is nothing but myself, what is there to be frightened of?"

Thereupon his fears dissolved, as he realized they were groundless.

For truly, fear is born of duality.

But still he was not happy, for there is no happiness in being alone.

He wanted a companion, so he grew as large as a man and woman entwined, and then divided himself in two, creating a husband and a wife.

(For, as Yajnyavalkya used to say, this body is but half of oneself, the other half is woman.)

Thus his emptiness was filled by a woman.

They came together again, and from there union were born all people.

But then the woman thought:

"How could he join with me when he has created me from himself? I must hide."

So she took the form of a cow, but he took the form of a bull, and joined with her again.

And from their union were born all cows.

Then she took the form of a mare, but he took the form of a stallion and joined with her again.

Then [fuck this repetitive shit. they do the same thing for "ass's (seriously, that's the translation. I assume they mean donkeys. goats, sheep]

In this way he created the male and female of all creatures--even down to the ants.

Then he thought:

"Truly, I am the whole creation, for I have created everything from my own Self.:

Hence he is called Shrishi, the creator.

Whoever awakens to this become as great as Purusha in his own creation.

---

this is a little excerpt I just read from Alistair Shearer and Peter Russell's translation.

some of it's a bit weird and maybe there's a cultural context I'm missing, but I quite like it as a creation story, as it relates to me intimately. It also works with the title/theme of this blog. I kind of like the idea that God doesn't like being lonely either. And that he does like having sex, alot.

:D

-IO

I've found religeon

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


-- e. e. cummings


















photo photo-shopped by David Murphy


I always thought of religion mainly as the cause of those hideously boring Sunday-school sessions. When I thought of religion I thought of people murmuring nonsense sounds while trying to feel really bad about themselves so Big Daddy wouldn't get pissed off and thunderbolt their ass. Or if they actually knew what they were saying, it was basically an attempt to suck up to God to get what they wanted. But that was only on the rare occasions they were really screwed and had no other options. Most of the time it was just a strange social obligation. Go to church/synagogue because I say so, go because other people with think badly of me if you don't go.

There was some value in the holiday rituals I participated in, but it was slight. And so religion for me growing up was just an additional social responsibility, like showering and not saying things that made people uncomfortable.

Just recently, I discovered what religion is actually supposed to be about. I was having a deep conversation with a friend, and suddenly in a surprised voice they said, "oh wow, look at the sun." and I did, and it was gorgeous. I felt such satisfaction, taking in the beauty, that I just felt a spontaneous urge to thank the creator of that sunset. Like a pretty girl unexpectedly kissing me on the cheek, I felt excited and happy and affectionate back. I wanted to give God a hug or a smile or something.

That's what real prayer is. Not brown-nosing God like he's a boss you're trying to get a raise from. Finally all those prayers praising God made sense.

I'm still staying away from institutionalized religion, but I'm beginning to get a sense of the impulse that originally created these religions, these traditions. It started with someone who had a personal relationship with God, like you might with a best friend or a dog. Then weirdos saw that person, and tried to emulate his actions, rather than trying to understand his feelings.

Analogy: Someone is covered is fire ants and is flailing around, rolling on the ground, trying to get them off. Person A sees him, says, "oh, that man is a great man, I want to be like him." and starts failing around, imitating the ant-covered man. Person Z comes by, sees the flailing man, says to himself, "my that's strange, why is he flailing like that?" and investigates, discovering that it is because the man is covered in ants. This second observer then notices the ant mound and avoids it. If we want to explain the analogy, let's say, for example, Jesus is the man covered in ants, the people who codified him into a religion are the ant dancers, and the people who discovered the ants are the mystics and the truly religious.

A simpler analogy: let's say knowing God is like having an orgasm. People see someone have an orgasm, say, "I want to get me some of that," and start copying the persons "O" face and grunting sounds. Meanwhile, the serious seekers start learning about sex. Often times the "O" face copiers get pissed off, frightened, disgusted, or jealous (usually a bit of all of 'em) and try to kill the perverts (read: mystics) or drive them out of town. Too bad, because if they would just stick around, they might get laid.

:D

-I out

Reading writing

The best writing I do is that impelled by a strong emotional charge. I let go of trying to control the worlds coming out, trying to make a good impression, and let the emotion inside scream through the fingers moving and the black appearing on white and the letters coalesce into the outline of my heart, like dusting for fingerprints.

Tonight we talk about anger and forgiveness. Self anger, anger at what I have done wrong or am yet to do. My lackadaisical nature, my late nights, my inconsistencies and broken words. I am ashamed.

And always now, the paradox is attached to everything: I am perfect. Nothing to change, nothing to make better. I am forgiven. I am completely forgiven. Why? but there is no why or need for why. it is it's own answer. love and confusion, unworthiness to be loved and acceptance of the divine love.

I'm afraid to believe in myself because it means I will start moving, and taking risks, and that's scary to think about. That's why sometimes it's better just to do, and not let yourself dally with thoughts going in circles.

I read. Things click. I try to meditate, I don't know if it works anymore, if I'm doing it right. My body is mortal, my mind is fallible, my faith in Self is unshakable, but it is nameless, and all the words gather round it to throw stones.

It doesn't care. It loves them. The nameless non-existent man inside the center of my heart. The Mystery. The unseen, the unspeakable. Is it even knowable?

Too much thought.

All I really want to do tonight is bleed on the floor from my open heart and ask God where to find him. Is he on 5th street? Halfway out of town? I think he lives in the white house with the red trim and the quaint little tin garbage can and ceramic bluebirds on the steps.