So your implication in that statement is that I am not qualified?
That would be the inner darkness at work. The act of judgment, the process of belittling my Buddha nature in order to glorify your own, or that of your "qualified" Lama.
I shall not share further the colors of the rainbow with a blind man, or Mozart with the deaf.
You can't step on the same piece of river twice. I shall flow now. Be peace.
You imply that "mind" is unique to humanity. I assert that as the arrogance of ego. I think the entire universe is a gestalt mind, and as such, even rocks have "mind", they just don't have the need for awareness.
Self-awareness is another way of saying "I am". Rocks are, too. They just are. They don't have to question their existence in order to assure themselves they really are part of the wall.
If bacteria ans plants did not have a consciousness of some sort they would remain part of the quantum implicate order.
In order to counter entropy they must have a rudimentary consciousness in order to increase the order contained within their construct via self-measurement.
Without measurement they would remain completely within a quantum state of pure waveform (ie: the implicate order).
Consciousness is the main reason scientists can replicate the primal states of pre-life but can't actually get it to go beyond Beilstein. Even plants have volition.
Everything sings in shades of the rainbow. As above, so below. To place ourselves above or below another on the ladder of consciousness is to assume the ladder goes somewhere other than in a giant moebius loop.
There is no try. There is only a failure to understand. You can look at it any way you like, I assure you I will see it differently.
Cord: How long have you been blind? Blind Man: How long have you been blind? Cord: I'm not blind. Blind Man: Am I? Cord: Do you answer every question with a question? Blind Man: Do you question every answer? Cord: Aww, talking to you is like talking to a wall. Blind Man: Buddha once sat before a wall, and when he arose he was enlightened. Cord: Do you compare yourself with Buddha? Blind Man: (chuckles) No. Only to the wall. - Circle of Iron
The idea that bad karma can be accumulated by killing another ignores the karma of the one killed. If everything is dependently originated, the karma of your victim led to his death, and in no way reflects accumulation of karma on yourself, unless you believe that karma is accumulated.
There is no past. There is no future. Karma is illusion because it indicates the passage of time, and thus splits infinity into a duality which doesn't really exist.
Good luck to you my friend. Freedom is a hard road. Iran has come full circle back to puppet governments just like the days of the Shah. I hope the Iranian people can truly find a path to peace and freedom.
I realized that she didn‘t even see the man in red on whose lap she sat. The demon.
What she saw was me. She saw me. She saw me. My grey beard. The spectacles. And my hat. Never mind that it didn’t conform to the standard image of Saint Nick, to her, I was Kris Kringle.
“What’s this?” the demon growled. “I’m your Santa Claus. Do you want a Barbie doll this year?”
“No.” The little girl turned to the demon at that point and focused the power of her innocent faith on him. “I want my daddy to love me as much as Jesus does.”
“Where is your daddy, sweetie?” I asked. Her eyes returned to me.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes fell. “I just want him home.”
The parents and children were getting restless, something was going on they didn’t understand. The line to Santa had become congested by our astral confrontation, and they didn’t understand why. The crowd began to grumble.
“Raven.” I thought to my staff, “ I don’t think we have much time. This feels like it has the power of narrative behind it. What do you know about this little girl’s father?”
“Her name is Isabelle. Her father is…was, a soldier.” Raven replied, calling on the power of her poetic license. “Her mother is a nurse that fell in love with a patient. Her father is dead. He died of Gulf War Syndrome not many years after she was born.”
“Isabelle…” Her eyes grew wide when I said her name, like I was checking my list twice or something.
“Your father won’t be coming home sweetie.” I said “He does love you as much as Jesus does, I’m sure. He’s with Jesus now.”
“I know.” The little girl said, brightening. “Momma says the same thing.”
“He’s with Jesus and Santa knows I’ve been a good girl.” She turned to the demon and said, “Bad Santa! You should be ashamed.”
The demon in red and white sat with its mouth open in shock for a full thirty-seconds. “Of what?” It finally spluttered. The demon was losing its grip on the host in its confusion.
“You know.” She said archly, “You’re a bad Santa. That’s the real Santa.” And she pointed at me.
Out of the mouths of babes. Her faith had the power where a wizard like me only had fireworks.
The last vestiges of its control faded away as I became real to everyone, parents included. For one moment I became the magic that was their first kiss under the mistletoe, or their first Red-Rider BB-Gun. Not worrying about how it looked any longer, I let my light stream forth from my eyes as I spoke the words of banishment, the words spearing into his flesh, and the astral body that was the demon disappeared back into the darkness.
He became nothing but a tired old man in a rented suit filling a chair in a Mall.
“Thank you Santa,” the little girl said, and then a little indignantly, “He was really starting to bug me.”
I didn’t bother to tell her my name was really Simon, or that he was really starting to bug me too.
I gave my best HO-HO-HO, bowed, and smiling with a twinkle in my eye.
I suppose…things went back to normal for the rest of the world. Normal wasn’t really part of the vocabulary of a 400 year old wizard, so I can’t say where I ended up after that, but it was different than where I had been…and it’s got me thinking.
Agatha really liked the ring I got her. The stone is a diamond that I crushed in the heart of the sun myself. It wasn’t easy. But then, love never is.
Thanks J. for the recommendation. It's been awhile since I've written prose so thanks for the kind words. The main thing is that I'm writing again, prompted by Joli reading my as-yet unpublished novel, and the characters in that have prompted some new ideas.
I didn't feel much like a Magi out of the Nativity.
I had walked the greyland too much in my unnaturally long life, and the grey was now in my beard, and the little fringe that was all that was left of my hair. Centuries, and yet, I was still vital, and alive.
Was it luck of the Irish, or sheer stubborn will? Nobody knew, least of all me.
My rod was alabaster, not gold, and smelled of attar, not frankencense. There was no wisdom in trafficking with the dead, even if it was for the sake of the living, and sometimes, for their everlasting souls.
You couldn't do these things and remain unchanged.
But this was a Christmas that made a difference, somehow. Something happened, that, well...changed a few things, or changed them even more, anyway.
A wizard gets used to things, and the change changes, and we come full circle, where we all started, unless we can embrace the forgiveness and charity that Christmas represents. And this is how I learned that...
Raven and I were at the mall. Before you ask, Raven is not a bird, it is the spirit of poetry that I had bound to my staff. Some might call her a sprite, or sylph, but really she was the spirit of the holly tree from which the staff was made.
She does not say "Nevermore!"
You have to understand, a bound spirit tends to get grumpy at times, and holly leaves were sprouting from the head of my staff as her foul mood manifested itself.
"You will NOT buy that purse for Agatha!" she said emphatically. "Honestly, Simon, you have no taste whatsoever."
"I don't see what's wrong with it." I protested. "It's not like she goes out in public much anyway. A witches' bag should be practical, I say."
"C'mon Simon, seriously?" The onery piece of holly complained, "Camoflauge?"
"Well, I thought..." I shrugged, putting the purse back into the bin where I'd found it. "You know. She's in the woods all the time, and..."
"And what? She'd need to accessorize in the wilderness?"
"Well..." Females, it didn't matter what species or origin, always seem to have a way of defying conventional logic with a brand all their own. She had a point, although I was damned if I could figure out how she had arrived at it.
"Okay, okay. I'll find something else." I said giving in. And that's when I felt it.
The presence of evil incarnate, the anti-light, a demon, somewhere...
Somewhere close by. And it was calling to me; like sending someone a message on a pager or cell phone, on a plane that the electromagnetic force only dreamed about in its dirty little night-time imagination.
One Tin Soldier (The Legend of Billy Jack) by Lambert-Potter, sung by Coven
Listen, children, to a story That was written long ago, 'Bout a kingdom on a mountain And the valley-folk below.
On the mountain was a treasure Buried deep beneath the stone, And the valley-people swore They'd have it for their very own.
Go ahead and hate your neighbor, Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven, You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing Come the judgement day, On the bloody morning after.... One tin soldier rides away.
So the people of the valley Sent a message up the hill, Asking for the buried treasure, Tons of gold for which they'd kill.
Came an answer from the kingdom, "With our brothers we will share All the secrets of our mountain, All the riches buried there."
Go ahead and hate your neighbor, Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven, You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing Come the judgement day, On the bloody morning after.... One tin soldier rides away.
Now the valley cried with anger, "Mount your horses! Draw your sword!" And they killed the mountain-people, So they won their just reward.
Now they stood beside the treasure, On the mountain, dark and red. Turned the stone and looked beneath it... "Peace on Earth" was all it said.
Go ahead and hate your neighbor, Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven, You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing Come the judgement day, On the bloody morning after.... One tin soldier rides away.
Go ahead and hate your neighbor, Go ahead and cheat a friend. Do it in the name of Heaven, You can justify it in the end. There won't be any trumpets blowing Come the judgement day, On the bloody morning after.... One tin soldier rides away.
So great to hear that Assets. This actually makes my week.
On a personal note. It is my intention to find a better job in 2010. I have had some very bad days lately as my employer gradually continues to cut all benefits, including the possibility of a raise for at least 8 months, at the same time increasing my list of responsibilities. This post of yours encourages me to continue on this path. Thanks for that.
One year I and my family were so poor we were all stuffed into a motel room, living on my parent's unemployment and various odd-jobs my father could obtain at the time (I think this was around 1979 or so, if that puts the economy in perspective for you).
We had a small tree, maybe a foot tall. My mother managed to scrape up enough pennies to buy my brother and I a few cheap toys, such as some cheap cast-aluminum toy cars for me, and some cheap fishing tackle for my brother.
At the last minute, I think it was Christmas Eve, a large package was delivered. I held a bunch of communal gifts my aunts and uncles and grandparents had managed to scrape together and send us, including a catnip mouse for our kitten.
I remember that Christmas as one of the best Christmases in my life. Not because of the quality of the gifts under the tree, but because of the quality of love in our hearts. We were poor, sure. But we were alive, healthy, and together.
What else is required to enjoy life? I may never be rich in pocket, but I will forever be rich in spirit because of what I learned about the spirit of Christmas that year.
We are all on the path. What path? THE path. Is it the same for everyone? No. You are your own grasshopper, and your own Master Po.
I cannot walk your road. I can only point out the bricks.
Cord: How long have you been blind? Blind Man: How long have you been blind? Cord: I'm not blind. Blind Man: Am I? Cord: Do you answer every question with a question? Blind Man: Do you question every answer? Cord: Aww, talking to you is like talking to a wall. Blind Man: Buddha once sat before a wall, and when he arose he was enlightened. Cord: Do you compare yourself with Buddha? Blind Man: (chuckles) No. Only to the wall.
Wisdom is like air. Do you need to see air to know that it is there?
Sadaparibhuta Bodhisattva (Never Disparaging Bodhisattva) was for many years cursed and humiliated, beaten with sticks and staves, and pelted with tiles and stones by countless monks, nuns, laymen, and laywomen because he venerated them by uttering the twenty-four characters that read: "I have profound reverence for you, I would never dare treat you with disparagement or arrogance. Why? Because you are all practicing the bodhisattva way and are certain to attain Buddhahood." - Wiki.
Sometimes I think I have lost myself. But, then, I reach in my pocket, and there I am.
Keep your eye on the ball? Man, that's a tough order.
If I keep my eye on the ball, I will only have one eye-ball.
Sometimes I think I feel my past sneaking up on my future. And then I realize its just Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the Road-runner. We all know how that ends. Painfully, with lots of ACME.
Galactic_bodhi Forum Posts (9,196)
RE: Reincarnation
So your implication in that statement is that I am not qualified?That would be the inner darkness at work. The act of judgment, the process of belittling my Buddha nature in order to glorify your own, or that of your "qualified" Lama.
I shall not share further the colors of the rainbow with a blind man, or Mozart with the deaf.
You can't step on the same piece of river twice. I shall flow now. Be peace.