Category Archives: philosophy

Search for the Meaning of Life

[thoughts from ~burning woman~ by Sha’Tara]

Life, I ask myself, late in the night as I ponder reality: what is life? I know what I think it is; I know what I’ve read about it; I know many other peoples’ thoughts on it, but none of that answers my question. Is life a ‘what’? Is it a ‘who’? Is it a guide? Something to be endured, gotten over with on the way to something else?

I suppose my question makes as much sense as a sardine asking itself what the ocean is. Unless I can travel all of time and space, and beyond time, such it seems must remain the unsolvable riddle, the unanswerable question. Yet knowing this only makes me want to wander the labyrinth even more. I don’t want out of there until I have received a satisfactory answer.

Am I meant to live forever then, forever searching for an answer to my ultimate “Why?” and never arriving at that answer: is that how it works? Or, am I meant to discover the answer serendipitously, by assembling the puzzle pieces through a series of events based on some common sense and pure luck?

Is life the greatest master teacher or the final trickster? Or as some have tried to convince me, nothing more than a meaningless happenstance you go through once never to be heard of again?

If one were to either through luck or good management discover the secret of life, would that answer all the other “why’s” that led to the final answer? Wouldn’t I not then be asking why was such and such a process used to create all the pieces of life’s puzzle? Why pain? Why happiness overshadowed by loss? Why they good crushed under the jack boots of evil? Of sorrow and joy, why can’t one exist without the other?

Tonight I experienced another of those recurrent bouts of empathy for a world I don’t even particularly like or care for: a world I just happen to be in at this time. I “saw” people, not as groups, collectives, races, ages, genders, but as individuals, yes even in their billions, like rain drops falling in a storm-tossed ocean. It was a wave of sorrow for this world so powerful I had to find some support to lean on, my legs did not want to support me. The world, mankind, passed through my mind and all my physical energy was focused there.

Life, so it seemed, was passing through me as through a filter.  There were sobs, sighs and tears and I thought, yes, that is what it means to become an empath. You feel but it’s a knowing, aware feeling, not an emotion that flares and dies and leaves you free to continue where you left off. This changes you, each time it happens it gives birth to a new awareness of life, a new ‘you.’

So that’s where it’s at for me in my current understanding of the meaning of life. It is an endless birthing of new awareness; an awareness that determines the path I must walk until another birthing happens, then the path changes again. Push, feel the pain, along with the need to bring this about, push again and again, then rejoice in what is birthed.

Nurture this preciousness until the next time.

Life means there will always be a next time.

So far, so good, what I know

So far, so good, and this is what I know.

I know I’m not what acquaintances think I am. I knew this long ago but it’s one of those things not easy to admit. If I’m not what’s portrayed on the social flat screen display, then I have to make the effort to discover who I really am.

From somewhen during the time of gestation we are programmed to not know who we are but to rely upon the social video and mirror display for the answer to “who am I?” I am assigned a gender, given a name, raised in the social family zoo which eventually expands to include a neighbourhood, a school, possibly a church, sports clubs or the farm, personal relationships, college, a job, marriage, the sprouting of a new family zoo, bits and pieces of the planet seen from the tourist’s eye-view and so on until death.

What I might suspect I might be is not relevant to any of that. If there is a funeral, some gathered folks, eulogy or such words spoken, in the end all that will be said can be put in these words: was she a good function? A good tool?

Tonight I was just starting to read a book called “Waking Gods” by Sylvain Neuvel. Basically the protagonist awakens to the fact that she is not who people think she is and the person they think she is, is already dead, only they don’t know that, she does. She has read ‘her’ personal history and story and realizes, having awakened from some dream, how little she has in common with her doppelganger. Bits and pieces only, little else, and the relationships the ‘others’ insist on linking her with she has to pretend to have some emotional connections to it. She doesn’t want them but her social status insists, for the moment, that she agrees to them.

And I went, ‘Wow!’ Indeed, that is how it is when you awaken to your real self. It won’t change the social camera display or the face in the mirror but it will change everything within. That’s where the real me lives and if I open my mind to myself, a lot is going to change, outside the necessary pretense.

Then I begin to wonder, how necessary is that pretense after all? What reputation I may have isn’t mine, it belongs to the camera and the mirror. Do I care about that? Isn’t it a fact that any reputation the social image maintains isn’t for me, but for the benefit of the the social construct? Do I care about the social mirage? The family? The friends and neighbours who would turn on me in a second if they realized that the “me” I’ve been talking about for years is actually real, and not the B&W photos or Kodachrome cartoon face from the family album they associate with me?

I know that the day I chose a purpose for my life; that I chose to no longer be a function of the Matrix, that everything changed.  My life was turned right side up and I’ve been walking normally ever since. A good thing to know.

Quote: “When I enter a spiritual journey, who am I traveling to see? When I go on a quest, what am I looking for? When I go on a mind’s voyage of discovery, what do I hope to find? The answer: myself, always myself. Everything is a reflection of myself. If I don’t like it, I have but one option: to change myself.” — Sha’Tara – monologues.

Forget Everything you know, or Think you know

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

I don’t make new year’s resolutions, that’s usually a given, but some years end in such a state, or condition, that they require some serious re-thinking.  For me that has meant two things: this would be a year of living frugally (yes, there’s always room to do some trimming, but it’s mostly about distancing myself from consumerism and banksterism) and of spending more time searching for better answers to the serious questions of life.

So I started with blogging by deciding I’d post an entire novel bit by bit, or blog post by blog post.  I’m not sure yet how many posts there are going to be, but my goal is to put one up ever two days. I thought that would be enough, not too much.

The reason to do this is less about the novel, more about a change of pace.  I’m going back to some of my original ‘teachings’ that warned me to eschew politics so you’ll see much less of that.  What I will probably do with those in-between days will be to post some ideas; some thoughts; on how the world of man (in particular) looks to me without being framed in politics, economics or religion. 

“Forget everything you know, or think you know,” is a good quote to start the way, followed by “Everything in the universe is created by our own mind. Our mind is the source of all phenomena. Form, sound, smell, taste, and tactile perception such as hot and cold, hard and soft—these are all creations of our mind. They do not exist as we usually think they do. Our consciousness is like an artist, painting every phenomenon into being. Once you have attained the state of the realm of no materiality, you will have succeeded. The realm of non materiality is the state in which we see that no phenomenon exists outside of our own mind.”

Do I agree with that? Not really, and it depends on which side of the great divide we are on, and even then, it depends on how we feel about it all.  When I was writing the novel, “The Antierra Manifesto” I was trancing much of it. I wasn’t so much putting a book together as I was remembering a slice of my own history. In other words, I was experiencing it knowing it was something I had been, and would be, involved in.  I was traveling back and forth from the future back into this present, aware that all of it was an aspect of me.

Now then, if everything in the universe is created by our own mind, who in her right mind would have ever created such a world as “Malefactus” (T’Sing Tarleyn)? Not me certainly.  Would such a place be attractive to some people? If yes, then here’s the interesting question: if I did not create such a hell, then somebody else did, either when my back was turned, or there was nothing I could do to prevent it at the time and having discovered it I’m stuck with it.

Here then is my conundrum: Does it matter that our mind is the source of all phenomena if it still manifests as one great big whole and each one of us is a puny helpless nothing in its midst, throwing our personal efforts in the works with as much effect as say, a gnat that crawled aboard a nuclear submarine will have on its guidance system?  

I see things that are glaringly wrong, but only so to me, and perhaps some victims of a particularly abusive system, but the problem is I am not the one who is creating the system and I cannot undo it. Point: it is most emphatically not in my mind!

So I’m told to enter into a state of immateriality where nothing exists outside of my own mind.  Oh sure, all well and good, but I’m still that same mind face to face with an abusive system.  I cannot take that system, bring it into my own mind and vanish it!

My conclusion at this point is that reaching a point of immateriality is only going to make materiality all the more poignant and strident because I will be observing it from a state of mind.  As a compassionate being I will be just as involved in the material inasmuch as I feel all of the life within it.  It will keep calling me back, whether I can do anything to help anyone, or just sit and cry… or laugh, or until I have learned how to return into the material and dance and die with it.  

This much I have learned.  If we choose to activate our compassion mode then we will live through infinity but it will not be to disappear from the material since that is after all what gives us the only reason we can come up with for existing as human beings. Our compassion will keep bringing us back to our material worlds but each time we will learn to approach them with greater, more meaningful joy and sorrow. 

The Novel – The Antierra Manifesto

I’ve decided to spend more of my time working on my novels and short stories, perhaps with a view to publishing eventually. I’ve held back long enough and who knows but some people may actually like to read these oft-mentioned “novels” never seen on the blog.  So from here on, until it is completely blogged, I will post two sections of “The Antierra Manifesto” per week right here, beginning today.  I’ll begin by posting an average of 4-5 pages in each post.

Since it is a novel, I break one of the blog rules and post as a copyright.  That doesn’t mean that you can’t copy and paste into your own computers to read at leisure, or to collect and read as one complete novel. In fact I would encourage you to do that as it will make more sense that way.

Fair warning: this is extreme adult content, with blatant sexuality and much violence, in fact the novel is about violence.  However, none of that is intended to titillate or to provide gratuitous pleasure.  The nature of the material will render point quite self-explanatory as you follow through.

The novel itself is the framework upon which hangs a philosophy I have pursued and studied over many years to do with explaining and exposing a particular type of unexplainable violence we are subject to on this world, are exposed to and often, are the perpetrators of same.  Someone had to look deeper and further than others have done, even with their “technical” research and their attendant degrees.  In this novel, I am daring to do that.

What hubris, you might say.  Perhaps, but hubris can have other uses than to gain power or enrich oneself therewith.  It can be turned into moral courage, daring to be called a fool and a charlatan.  Ideas are dangerous things which the system fears above all else and expressing strong ideas not vetted by the system or society in general can result in vociferous criticism.

I will close this introduction with an oft-repeated comment from one of my bosses at Coca Cola when asked how he felt about less than favourable media mentions regarding the company’s methods, involvements or products.  “All publicity is good publicity.”  I am not sure I agree with that but it’s one way of looking at it.  So, this is publicity.

Coming next: our feature presentation:

T’Sing Tarleyn

(The Antierra Manifesto)

© 2007-02-12    By Sha’Tara

Introduction

“I’m fascinated by concepts of other realities, other ways of doing things.  Nothing is fixed, nothing sacred, nothing metaphysically determined — it’s all contingent on process and evolution.  That’s perfect.  It means we might be able to understand, if we can just relax and shed our preconceptions.”(from Moving Mars – Greg Bear)

Note: I have chosen to capitalize the words “Earth,” “Galaxy” and “Universe” simply to indicate that from my perspective these are not just objects but very much living beings as you and me think of ourselves.  When you learn the truth of this you will find it much easier to relate to the greater concepts of nature or creation.  Your understanding and empathy will be greatly enhanced thereby.

My name, as you will discover herein is Al’Tara.  It is I, rather than my other-self or alter-ego An’Tierra (var. Antierra) who is addressing you now.  Although the story is mostly told in the first person by Antierra, it is I who caused the following to be recorded.  This was done not just to satisfy the needs of those who, of necessity, must keep records of Galactic history for posterity but in order to express to you, people of Earth, how much I have desired to help you see yourselves as part of our greater Galactic and Universal human movement among the stars.  It was, and remains, my hope these stories can help you take the jump, evolve, beyond your rather narrow-minded solitary human grouping that believes it is locked down upon a small planet ‘somewhere’ without any location corresponding to the rest of us.  A pseudo-human grouping which for the most part still thinks of itself as alone of its kind in the cosmos. (Exceptions from among your species, noted.)

Let me reiterate that over the millennia that I chose to interact with you as one of you, you gave me much even by how much you took from me.  You taught me to ‘love’ because you forced me to grind out the meaning of love from the manifold perversions of it I discovered on your world.  When I would ask you to define love as you understood it to mean, what did you give me?  If you went so far as to describe love as compassionate interaction with empathy, how often did your actions match your words?  I must tell you now that I spent many long and dark Earth nights crying over you and your world, for I could, even then, foresee what would happen as you short-sightedly and perversely continued to pursue your predatory mindset, exploiting every aspect of your world for short-lived profit or pleasure.  I remain convinced that even then you knew better but were not willing, as a species, as an intelligent and sentient collective, to take the low road of humility and self-sacrifice that would have freed you from the subsequent nightmares you brought upon yourselves.

The following story relates back to a time when I was among you and basically masqueraded as one of you so as to come to know you and attempt to understand what you are all about.  That time in your reckoning spans many of my lives on Earth – from millennia BCE to your 21st century CE or AD as some prefer to say.  I use the simpler indicator C-21.  The following story itself takes place some three hundred years into the future from that time.  I mention this here to help you get a start on the chronology of the following events.

It is difficult (for me) to engage this tale knowing how unreceptive you are to what you do not think you can ever understand and equally unresponsive to thoughts of alternate realities you do not believe are possible.  Knowing also that some will see this as just more workings of a dark mind experimenting with evil energies; as fictitious drama couched in a classical horror theme.  Everyone who reads the following will have a different reason for doing so, and likely a different reaction to it.  That is, of course, how it should be and it will not change how I feel about you in this ‘now’ time, my time, a time beyond the events in the following story.  Although I speak of my past, for you this remains one of your possible, if most likely, future.

However this is received, it must be told, if only to ease my longing to share something deep, terrible and in some latent way very beautiful, with you.  If you do read the following, keep in mind these things: these are events from my past, a past that remains concealed in your future.  The future I express need not be yours exactly as it is expressed, though from my viewpoint I know the outcome of these tales will greatly affect your world, regardless of which path your collective race chooses to take into its own future.  The future I express here is from another world, certainly, but one whose ways directly impact your own this very day – the day that finds you reading this material.

If you find what you read here unpleasant have the courage to look at your own history with the eyes of awareness and ponder your own experiences in that history.

Try to remember these very basic points:

— Your current history as seen mainly from the viewpoint of your media headlines, or what you call “infotainment”  and more recently, “fake news.”

— Your religious power groupings and frequent inquisitions to force individuals into specific group beliefs thus violating their inalienable freedom of choice.

— Your countless wars of conquest, exploitation and oppression which have been a permanent part of your history, continue to be so and will increase in scope in the foreseeable future (beyond C-21 and to the end of C-24).

— Your pogroms, purges and death camps against those who disagreed with you or were “unlucky” enough to be of a different Earthian race from yours.

— Your refugee camps created by power-mongering and systematic global injustice.

— Your male-dominated top-down religious, financial and political (social) systems that account all the powerless, of human and nature, as “resources” – meaning exploitable in some way or other.

Above all, remember if you can how many innocents died of preventable causes on your world of Earth while you did nothing to prevent it, either because you did not care or because you thought there was nothing you could do to change things.

A challenge by which you may determine how close you are to becoming truly human: remember how many times, and in how many ways, you personally and consciously opposed the above methods, risked your life to attempt making change or at the very least maintained a clear and present awareness in your heart of those made to suffer so the System and those who support it could extract profits, pleasures and power from this global oppression.

This is not a guilt trip.  All of us must walk that path of “remembrance” and deal with the memories thus awakened.  For it is a truism that all spiritual awakening is triggered from remembering the past, all of it, as far back as you have lives on or in these worlds.  Remembering is what frees you from the patterns of your past and allows you to continue on your path of spiritual and mental evolution, a path you chose aeons ago as did I, as did all of us or we would not be able to communicate at all.

Remember that as you read Antierra’s story which is one of my many personal histories in this Galaxy and sometimes beyond.  While you read it, think of it as your story, a vision that takes you into a future you have caused to be by how you express your life today.

What are myths, fantasies, futuristic science fiction, tales of heroes, of avatars, sorceresses and wizards but the bringing to the fore of that which “we do not speak of” in our lives?  Are we not all the heroes and villains of our own tales?  I offer the following to you as a challenge to the dawning of your greater human intellect, an intellect that as you will discover in your near future, knows no bounds, recognizes no imposed boundaries and can apply itself equally to the doing of evil or of good.

Together we are what is becoming ‘humanity’ and however we accept this truism, we are the ones who were custom designed from before time to travel time’s pathways and continue on beyond time, to replace the great gods we once worshipped as external to ourselves.  As we spread our “final frontier spacer wings” beyond the galaxy that gave us birth we become ISSA[1] beings.

We are now Source for that which calls itself New Life.  For lack of a better term, we are the creators of this time.  This is not something to take lightly, nor should it frighten us.  It is the inevitable effect of our mental and spiritual evolution.  We, collectively and individually, made ourselves into this.  There is no turning back for the ‘old farm’ (euphemism for what I will call Old Earth or “Túat Har” in my Altarian tongue) has been subdivided and become a city.  In the far-flung future just at the edge of my vision the city has become a space-faring seedship.  There is no more ploughing for ‘farm boy’ and no more fashion shows for ‘city girl.’  We outgrow our mindless toil and irresponsible foolishness.  We move on.  The Final Frontier beckons.  As far as those of us who have travelled into the far future, to the edge of the “13th Floor” we can only say it appears as if it always and ever beckons.

[1] ISSA: Acronym for Intelligent, Sentient, Self Aware

[end blog post #1]

Life and Woman’s Purpose-An Endless Question

Life and Woman’s Purpose – An Endless Question

                    [thoughts from   ~burning woman~   by Sha’Tara]

What makes life exciting?  What gives it that power to draw us in and push us on, even in the most horrible of conditions; that brings us back to the fore life after life?  The endless question, naturally.

Of course, for those who have abandoned the quest in favour of a “safe” future, either in choosing annihilation at physical death or to spend some eternity in a nebulous heaven jealously guarded by an exclusive God, then what I’m attempting to relate here won’t grab.  Just words.  How can anyone who has all the answers in the bag ask any more questions?  What would be the point?  Any new existential question would only disturb the still waters.

What a sad place to be.  No wonder there is so little joy on earth, and so much dissatisfaction.  So many trusting in fate or some God to possess all possible answers to all the unasked questions!

Eve dared partake of the forbidden fruit.  Pandora dared open the box.  The still waters of an essentially male dominated world were stirred forever.  Damn those women, eh?

Life expresses itself as a question.  We are a question and as we come to know ourselves, we receive our answer.  Ah, that is what I am?  No, only in the moment.  Every answer leads to the next question.  That is how creation happens.  We keep questioning the chaos and every answer is a bit of order we put together.  Like fording a stream over stepping stones.  Not all are always visible.  Sometimes you have to wait for the current to change before you see the next logical one and step there.  Then to the next because if you stay on that one it will submerge again and you will lose your footing.

A question that has been foremost in my mind since I began writing the “Antierra Manifesto” or trilogy of the Stacked Worlds as it pertains to a world called “Malefactus” and that is, simply, “What is a woman’s purpose?”  I’m not speaking of position, function or role, but purpose. Please note the difference, these are not synonyms and “purpose” is going to be the driving force of our future.

Much of what passes as history, divine revelation, philosophy and mores comes from the “male factor” on earth.  Did you ever wonder why the injunction against “coveting your neighbour’s wife” did not also contain the injunction to the woman not to covet her neighbour’s husband?  Pretty obvious when you think about it.  The woman was not considered able to understand such things.  She could not really understand the law, for it was from a male God to man, although interestingly enough she’d be the first one punished if she transgressed this male law.  In all ancient literature and carrying on in today’s world we find the same conundrum.

Throughout history males have determined the woman’s place.  Her function or “usefulness” to the male manifesto, which states basically that in any top-down power system, the male must rule. Some rare exceptions can be made for a female to have that power as regent; in some temporary capacity and properly surrounded by male advisors.  Another exception can be made if the female exhibits enough male values to do the job as a male would.

That’s been beaten to death and whatever answers anyone may have come up with – such as “allowing” women to vote; or “allowing” women to inherit property; or “allowing” women to keep their own names in a marriage; or “allowing” women to get equal pay for equal work; or “allowing” women to become police officers or grunts in the military – now there’s a promotion to exclusive male power – none have managed to make a dent in the Earthian reality or “male factor.”

The question asked here is, what is a woman’s purpose?  Could it be it’s to bring forth life because life is female?

 

 

 

“La Danseuse”

*You’ve read it in English as “An Unending Story” and now I offer it in the original French. I know that some of you will probably appreciate it more in this format. *

UNE HISTOIRE D’AMOUR À L’INFINI
                  [de Sha’Tara]

Ecoutez-moi bien, je vais vous raconter une histoire à l’infini. Cest une histoire d’amour, bien sûr, mais c’est beacoup plus. C’est une histoire de vie sans fin.

Je l’ai vue un soir dans un cabaret. Elle dansait éperdument, apparament sans aucun souci. Je me suis assis aussi proche que possible du plancher de danse et, comme tous les autres homme dans cet établissement, je me suis laissé ensorceler par ses mouvements.

Comme elle était belle, je vous l’assure. Quand elle passait ses grands yeux bleus-verts sur moi, je voyais une forêt vierge et un grand océan qui s’étandait à l’infini comme le désir de mon coeur. Elle dansait avec une camarade, et finalement, seule. 

C’est alors que je prends mon courage et je m’invite à danser avec elle.

Elle m’accepte, et tout change: nous devenons amoureux. On vit ensemble après seulement un mois, et on ne peut s’imaginer vivre séparément. Tous les weekends, on va danser, elle aime tellement ça, la danse. “Je me sens si libre quand je danse.” Elle continue, naturellement, à attirer les hommes et elle danse librement avec ceux qui lui demande permission.

Suis-je jaloux? Certainement, c’est naturel, mais pas nécessaire. Après tout, elle m’aime. Elle n’a qu’à me le chuchoter dans l’oreille et je n’ai aucune raison de la douter. Elle est si bonne pour moi, et quand on marche tous les deux le soir, sous les lumières de notre ville, on est heureux, complètement.

Et puis le désastre: le cancer au genoux droit. Il faut qu’on lui enlève presque toute la jambe. Pour quelque temps, elle pleure. Puis elle accepte. “Je ne peux plus danser, je vais chanter,” elle me dit. Alors elle chante, dans notre apartement, dans la rue même, et puis elle fait du karaoke dans les cabarets. Et on s’aime, peut-être plus que jamais auparavant. Je l’adore cette fille, cette femme si incroyable.

Mais le cancer ne s’arrête pas. Elle perd un sein. Elle est dévastée pendant quelque temps et il n’y a plus de chansons. Mais un soir, elle me donne un de ses sourires  d’auparavant et demande que je la pousse dans sa chaise roulante dans la rue en      allant à notre restaurant favori. Alors que je pousse elle jase et fait des commentaires sur les couleurs, sur les sons, sur les craquements du trottoire qui font sauter la chaise roulante. Elle rit, et je trouve le courage de rire avec elle et pour ce moment la terreur du cancer nous laisse en paix. Elle mange comme un oiseau en ces jours. Elle maigrit toujours…

Finalement, le coup de grâce: cancer dans la gorge et elle perd sa voix et doit rester à l’hôpital.

Ce sont les derniers jours, j’en suis certain. Elle lève la main faiblement et j’approche mon oreille de sa bouche. Elle soupire et me chuchotte ceci: “Écoute-moi bien, mon cher Paul. Je te quitte mais je ne regrette bien. Je suis désolée, mais c’est seulement pour quelque temps. Pour nous, ce n’est pas finit. Écoute, tu n’e resteras pas seul.” 

Promets-moi que tu retourneras à notre cabaret. Là, attends encore la danseuse. Demande-lui si tu peux danser avec elle et quand elle sourit et te dis ‘oui’ danse, danse avec elle come un fou! Car tu vois, c’est moi qui sera là, dans son corps et dans son coeur. Je reviendrai, ne t’en fais pas, je ne te laisse que pour un moment.’ 

Et comme ça, elle est partie.

Vous voulez savoir comment elle finit, cette histoire? Vous voyez, je la croiyais complètement quand elle m’a dit qu’elle reviendrait. Je suis retourné à notre cabaret. Je me suis assis tout près du plancher de danse. J’ai pris une bière ou deux en attendant, jour après jour. Environ deux semaines d’attente et la danseuse est venue. 

Et tout a recommencé. 

Only You can do this

[thoughts from    ~burning woman~    ]

What are you thinking about, he asked, perhaps not totally sarcastically.

Off the cuff, I replied: “Peut-être que ça ne dit rien a personne d’autre mais pour moi, ç’a dit tout car je suis mon propre petit univers.”

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind and was rattling a mindless reply in pig Latin. Of course, my fault, I’d never told him I could speak French. I hadn’t wanted him to hold that against me along with all my other faults he liked to enumerate time and again. I’d gotten used to it but lately I had begun to feel an itch when he started up. The itch was and is, growing. I took off my ring the other day and left it off all day. I felt something like freedom; an exhilaration and a further sense of daring. Could I live without it – him? Since then I’ve re-watched two movies, two stories that are favourites of mine: “Shirley Valentine” and “The Book of Eve.” Why not me?

Well, that’s a strange introduction for what I have to say but it does set the tone. You see, “he” is not an actual man, and I am not actually married – not now, though I have been three times the loser in that game – so just call it a parable. “He” is the world, i.e., the System, the Establishment. The slave owner, slave driver, boss, whorehouse owner, pimp, prison warden, judge and executioner. I am property, sometimes lucrative, sometimes entertaining, seductive, rebellious, victim, always slave. Though “his” methods for securing my presence, conformity and subjugation have varied, the intent has remained the same throughout the millennia. The point is that in “his” world I have no voice unless and until “he” chooses to acknowledge something I said. That only happens when it is to “his” advantage as when it bolsters “his” flagging ego. Or, as some of “us” have often stated, I could “grow balls” and act like a man, think tough, talk tough, act tough. I did try that on occasion and it didn’t go too well. Too much like cross-dressing for a man: only the few can actually pass the test, and what is left of the real ‘me’ afterwards? Where am I when I can no longer pass?

I’ve been feeling alienated lately and that feeling is intensifying. In my mind I hear a constant truism: I do not belong here. Don’t I know it. Just about everything about this world, the natural and the man-made causes discomfort, aggravates, irritates, grinds, disappoints, saddens and sorrows me. I am, as a self aware person, moving away from all the things that make earth the place that it is. So please don’t get me wrong, it’s not just what man does, it’s what this world is. It is primarily a harsh, cruel, unforgiving place. No matter how many examples of kindness among people; of supportive bonding and pairing between different animal species, sometimes even crossing the line between natural predator and prey, it remains that these cause us to wonder and reflect, not because such expressions of acceptance are the modus operandi of this world but because they are rare exceptions. I can “admire” exceptions like those as much as anyone else but there is no forgetting, ever, that exceptions prove the rule, and the rule is always the opposite of the exception. Exceptions do not lead to freedom!

Leaving the animal ‘kingdom’ alone (it is what it is and until a new nature is woven over this dying one there is nothing I can do about it) I focus mostly on Earthians. They are, primarily, a short-sighted, jealous, cruel and vindictive species. They possess little or no empathy and their pride causes them to whitewash, or boast of, their gross indecencies in interrelationships. In this respect I put war near the top of the collective pleasure felt by committing mass murder – for make no mistake: all wars are the grossest of crimes, after misogyny. There are no “just” wars. There is no justification for war – ever – period. Try to understand how utterly depraved one has to be; how mentally deranged and sick, just to entertain the thought of war, never mind to plan for it; to use it as entertainment in books, movies, games; to participate in it.

Back to that French sentence above. What I said was, ‘Maybe it means nothing to anyone else but to me it’s everything because I am my own little universe.’ Honestly, if I hadn’t discovered the ability to both, shrink and expand myself into my own universe I would have become lost long ago. I don’t have to imagine what it’s like living a life that isn’t mine, trying to make one reality co-exist with another completely opposite reality because that has been my life. There is what “they” wanted me to be and what “they” wanted of me, and there is the me that exists only for me, within me, surrounded by my self-made protective wall behind which the alien me retreats and hides.

I realize I have often, particularly in my early years, been guilty of projecting the false, blue pill Matrix slave me. I so wanted to fit in and it was actually quite easy until it began to eat away at my mind and destroy the real me. I had to make a break from that particular “dark side of the Force” reality and reconnect to my self, the compassionate being who had had no chance at guiding or teaching until I acknowledged myself as different than, and separated myself from, Earth’s natural and social reality.

How quickly then did the blue pill supports come tumbling down and how soon there was hardly anything left of those times with their jealous thoughts, their hate, their aggressiveness and insufferable pride.

“How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!” Indeed, and how rapidly I grew beautiful feet because I brought good news, even if the System and those attached to it could not accept what I had to share with Earth as good news.

Let’s do a reminder of that good news. I call it living the compassionate life. That does not require any elaboration because compassion is self-explanatory to anyone who decides to live by it. There is no law, no method, no system, no religion or philosophy that can contain and explain compassion, it requires none of that. So is it any wonder that idea is not good news to any system that insists it must be in control of all ideas or concepts proposed to become the modus operandi of a world? The compassionate being already knows right from wrong from the get-go; s/he does not need intermediaries to explain how to proceed on this path. Any wonder any system would reject it outright? Why, it would make even governments obsolete, never mind God, and the plethora of religions and “charitable” organizations. No more law makers; no more lawyers, for where would there be contention?

I can go further: no more violence because, obviously, the compassionate being cannot do violence to another, choosing rather to suffer the loss in herself. Yes, choosing, from self empowerment, from certainty. No whining, no running to the police or the courts for redress, finding such within herself until the world is completely changed and there is no more violence. Yes, she could be killed but she’ll only come back and continue.

That is the under-girding vision that sustains the compassionate person. It is not pie-in-the-sky as some would think because she has already reached that place within herself, within her own little universe. Now all she does is water the surrounding areas with her compassion and watch as some of it actually succeeds in extinguishing the fires of violence.

Tell me you possess something better. Tell me there are other ways now being used that have never failed before and therefore remain legitimate. You won’t find any, but you will tell me that compassion as already failed because it was preached by the Buddha and others and went nowhere. I will reply, yes, it was preached, and yes, some went there, some died as a result, others were frightened or power-hungry and chose to create institutions in attempts to corner their concept of compassion. It became a religion… but it was no longer compassion. Compassion cannot be so easily entrapped. It was a fake claim. Collectives cannot be compassionate, only individuals can. Join two compassionate individuals together in a collective purporting to do compassion and they are no longer compassionate beings. That needs to be understood before the idea is rejected.

“Only you can prevent forest fires” says Smokey Bear. In the same vein, “Only you, as an individual, can be compassionate.”