Scatterlogical (the world is round and the wind is high)

Spirituality fascinates as an abstract subject

and as a phenomenon

because it can be talked about.

You can speak volumes on it.

You can pontificate.

It has been much reduced to writing.

Organization has presumed to corral it into fundament.

Men have presumed to understand it.

It has been co-opted into organized practice

to no apparent avail

save faith.

It is the learnéd subject of academies of men of loftiest celestial presumptions.

It is imparted, bestowed.

It is culturally appropriated.

It is mansplained

as tenet, doctrine, dogma, orthodoxy.

Or gotten all zen with

holding a flower.

Yet the thing about it is the incomprehensibility, the incommunicability.

In practice it is impractical

elusive

ever now ever not

ever nothing

much ado.

Many live by it.

None experience it

[knowingly].

It is quiet.  As soundless as a black hole.

Noisy as Om light energy too.

Nowhere.

Everywhere.

Directionless

Make

We must be some masterful incredibly endowed manufacturers indeed in presuming ability to “make” someone happy. It is futile to think we can. It is destructive to attempt it. It is foolish to *invest* anything *of value* in the effort.

So, no. We are unable, absolutely, to manufacture happiness for another.

Yet we can do a lot. We could drop complaint and negativity altogether and become delighted and happy and contented with the little things (as a prelude to big things). Thus, we could just that easily show a living example of that which it is futile to presume we can make.

The Trick

It is simple, really.  It is to become forgiveness.  Through intention.  Through practice.  Proactive, however incrementally.  Like water weathering away at a rock, however unnoticeable.  To incorporate forgiveness.  To make forgiveness you.  To live it and to practice it in the purest of theory.  To ask.  To receive.  To be forgiveness and receive the bounty or to not to be forgiveness and pay the wages.  That is the question.  In all earnestness for all practical purposes that is the only question.  For once you have incorporated forgiveness and have become forgiveness in all matters and in all depth of matter you will no longer have nor need any concern with sin.  Not to deny it; not to fear it; not to loathe it in others; not to support repression of it; not to see it in yourself with feelings of inadequacy.  Not to wish it gone; not to pretend/pray it wistfully away; not to live in denial nor shortcoming of disappointment in what you have failed to do.  But to live and to experience eternity in the ever forgiving bliss of now!  Joy!  (And purpose!) That is the trick.

There’s a Place

It is calm

Find it and feel it

No matter how much chaos and mayhem and panic and fear rage around frantic swirls haste activity

It is still

Eternal

Call it a sweet spot

Call it centered

Call it balance

Call it now

But find it and be there

In the now/calm the past doesn’t disturb you

In the now/calm the future doesn’t frighten you

Om

tv

There is nothing more pure that I could ask
There is nothing greater I can be
Than to receive and radiate the abundance
of the creator
The love of created creative wisdom
Love!

To be a transmitting vector of the only love that is . . .

O Death

It all started with a vision of the laid-waste of the Abaco Island

and the fiery waste of a dive boat just off Malibu

and the lonely stretch of postal dregs in a cinematic parking space vast West Texas violent free-state driven bye.
 
I’m thinking visual and it is the deathly hallows of a conflux of visions of the death that’s all around us

the death that is real that is immediate that is ubiquitous that is frightening and compulsively so to so many without question. Fact of life.

This is the death that has ever been required of us as beings, human and seemingly finite, churning of souls.

That has ever been so. Infinity before and for a long time to come, it seems.

So many scenes such as the ones with us now have been.

Think plague. Think plunder, Mongols, conquest and pillage and hordes. Think Viking.


Think Hitler holocaust the solution of final establishment national nationalism, language, race and creed.  Heritage.

Think ethnic cleansing. Think disaster. Think Etna. Think Pompeii. Think Long March and Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution. Think Aztec. Think conceptually of all laid waste to only a remnant. Think humanity cursed as a fig tree at the hands of an angry god; a bear set upon overly teasing children.

(the one who gives life can be the one who takes it away)

Think rationalization. Remember the Amalek. Remember the ghost, the ass, Balaam. The setup.

Holy War, Batman! Arbitrary albatross. Strange Fruit.

Think critically. Think Inquisition. 100 years’ war. The ladies lifted cake to their mouths. Clash of civilizations. Civil War. Passchendaele. Trenches topped for sake of inches of mud at a price of life.

Think mass sacrifice. Nothing new under the sun. Proverbial too.

Think fictional if you will. Think Voldemart. Think Thanos. Snap.
Star Wars.

Think sacrifice singular and massive, cultist or megalomania or not.

Disasters, natural and man-made. Home grown. Creative thinking.

There must be an answer written somewhere refuting End Times unique aura like “Enlightenment Now” does.  With charts.

You can find it written, of course, matter-of-factly, in “Aeneid”, Book VI

But that is heathenish, bickeringly [sic] sickenly [sic] heretically-headedly wrong as to be taken out of account as “The Art of Dying” is Harrison being overly Easterly derivative same as the works of Emerson are too and the Autobiography of Yogi Yogananda is too in stark parallel Parahansa paraphrase of Sri Yukestewar Giri, scriptural scholar, Lihiri Mahasaya, Babaji all so much more respectful of Jesus than the religion that uses his name in talisman selfish, mythologizing, grasping in His holy name at hope one made in the image should create better.

Fear mongered by fear mongers barking mongrels fright in the night.

One-shot End-Times obsessed with punishment like hell.

Selfish personal escape squandering all that is human and kind.

It’s all founded on fear this fractured feeble fleeting fragile one-shot at life shot desperate forever frantic failure fallow.

The karmic wheels of judgment mill-stone grinding imperceptibly slowly yet so exceedingly fine over such eternity of time. Death, like the poor, is with us.

Yet we are all going somewhere. Let’s get there soon.