From Beneath the Windowsill

On a lark, I started reading Faust from a book beneath the windowsill bench, covered in old dvd’s, compact discs, old sheet music, jars, buttons, and memorable stuffed toy dolls. It was at the initial bequest heard while listening to a Youtube of a Berkley professor from the 90’s. Job well done teacher. He described the story of Faust; how Faust started out having all these magical perceptions and an ability to co-create with the world. Faust meets all these characters and through the interaction they examine what happens. In the end with out making a spoiler, as-if, because this book it turns out is about the journey and not the end;  it’s tragic that Faust ironically decides to work at building low income housing to create a thing in the world and provide a social service of noble worth.

The lark continued with a scrap booking of images to follow that don’t come from the post here, but from the feelings of flow and idea. There could be a spell to these things. The magic wand that Faust engages remind me of the magic wand of TV. So often a TV character reminisces and lo and behold relatives from the past step out from behind the corner and have a dialogue with the TV character. A fairytale becomes real to the heroine.

to the heroine
 She dances and dresses like she is in the story. The characters in the introduction of Faust beg the poet to tell a story. Telling a story brought to life magical memorable characters, memories of a table next to the chair where she sat, a column with a statue in the background that evokes a worshipful mindset, more statues on a table and the fine dress of fancy living. Poetry was TV for the Middle Ages. Poetry can be TV today, if we take time. If you like poetry.

I got twined up, spending two hours, in Simcity having so much fun, and wanting to get to the next point. But it never ends. Playstation is debuting their new game Bloodborne of role-play in a Europe release. Imagine Faust standing at the table preparing his co-creation, a spell as they called it, to make real, divining something mythical but natural at the same time. There was no malice as much as this was just business. We explore these mysteries in the many ways and means of Playstation. What Faust had made, we make academic. The games we can play mimic sorcery, swordplay, sex, lies, cards, the accumulation of money just to touch on few of the virtues and vices. Just business of the game.

The book’s magic dances in your mind and shows this author was a thinker and master of the things protean that would take a lifetime to express. Goethe started writing Faust at age 25 and finished the year he died 77 years later. Correspondence from friends during his lifetime inquires if he will put this ethic or that character into his story. A chore and delight, he would reply that he doesn’t care about ethic, as if he would even know. He considered what he wrote to be allegory and he did not “much care whether what I made were pots or dishes.” Read more from Henry Bernard Cotterill’s book. The slow formation of the book led naturally to a many sided understanding of things.
many sided understanding
The final comfort of putting a thing out there, laying to rest coincided with physical perception. Life was art. Imagine each day pasting a note, or writing a sentence to be used in this part of the narrative. Do that for 77 years, until you die, and there is a comfort in it. Language has a life of its own which brings the things we forget back to mind.

 The letters fall all around the place from a click clack machine only to be gathered up by a pour souls and assembled into words. Thank you Berkeley professor for that image. Revelation to yet another wretch adds maybe just a faint picture, and ideas. A second slave puts words into sentences that tilt haphazard and knock together into paragraphs. A book exemplifies these paragraphs in a way that shows how an organized mind put the chunks together in a way that appeals to the times. So soon we perceive and reply with oooh, that’s so cute, or indeed, lo! and we have a book. The indubitable process makes it a revelation and all the more appealing, or appalling. Sometimes a book lasts over generations. Most of the time old books go underneath the windowsill bench likely to not be seen, and they get stuck in proverbial bottle; the wood box or clay jar until time untold they again come out of the pile.


I in Institution

One rainy Portland morning, he sat at the curb skylarking it watching the demonstrators also skylark and prove their way. He sat in a comfortable cushioned camping chair to make sure his back wouldn’t get sore. It can be a long haul being part of these demonstrations waiting as a single I in the Institution. Shouts and crowd noise echoed through the downtown asphalt up to the tower like old brick buildings, and the newly constructed towering glass and steel towers. The smell of rain from soaked asphalt and brick with the brisk smell of freshly roasted coffee permeated the town square. An earthy feel grounded his thoughts as he wrote notes in his journal.

The beginning of these things often forgets its meaning and purpose. He wanted to remember. Otherwise he could see that the gathering reminded him of his college days out in quarter deck listening to music with 65 of his closest friends. The other 500 gathered added to the ambience of rebellion, debauchery, sex, music and lots of smoking and drinking. Although today, stretched beyond the imagination of his college days finding with the participates of the demonstration turning from the purpose to ever new and base ways to explore the hedonistic side of things and of personal relationships. He knew the slow recovery of I in Institution that followed those college days.

Rage in the machine

It didn’t matter if they partied or if he wrote everything down.  He was going to go out there and speak. He wanted to address the organization and the party.

Two years and three months have past since I heard him speak of that event. What he wrote in poetry I tip my hat today, as only what he said captures it. What happens in demonstrations stays in demonstrations.

One person senses a safe place to be in a giant organization. The architechture and organizational structures agrees. When we find a place we have struggled hard to reach, we dig in and stay. After we get comfortable we begin to look around and search for more of life’s delights, food, water, and the company of others.

A place to sort things out
Sheraton’s Horseshoe Resort in China. Definitely a place to sort things out.

She lay down and he lay there next to her. They were too blasted to do anything. They trusted each other and the feeling was ecstatic. It didn’t matter that they weren’t outside. The others could take care of things and this was an important time for him and her to discover the connections. After all this is part of the meaning of this whole thing. We’re getting together to speak out on this who economic thing. Having the time now to explore new connectons has shown her more than ever new things about herself and him, who might be the one.

So they partied.

When we judge each other from group to group for various reasons from thoughts, feelings, or actions, there is a breakdown of institution from the clash of communities and organization. The Guardian posts and asks how to fix broken institutions. With increased tolerance, we start to accept more dissident activities within the general guide of law. Things are opening up for institutional evolution. Individuals are finding ways to ascend their thoughts, and change from within to find satisfaction within their own meaningful social groups.

We know it’s not a party. Nor is it order or organization. A party can help. Organization provides structure and fallback. For significance, something from within speaks. When we listen, and take time for the little thing that’s tugging at one’s skirt or pant leg the feedback can be let go and we are free to perceive.

What’s so Funny About That

Comedy works like this. Situation with expected outcome is circumvented by alternative that shows a new thing. The alternative offers a little more about the way things are. The alternative must show creativity equal to or above the expected outcome.

Keep in mind the title What’s so Funny About That is not a question. This post today defines comedy, a rather grandiose venture, but at the end this could be funny.

It’s all in the perception. The discussion list on Amazon’s Favorite Comedy Movie comes up with at least twelve and one deleted post. Ah, the deleted post shows that comedy extends beyond the censor admin’s taste. It’s a funny list! There are horror satire’s The Office of the Dead, zany satires such as Space Balls, The Money Pit, Monty Python and The Holy Grail, and some more serious zany satire in The Big Lebowski, and The World According to Garp.

Customer discussions is about customers having fun. They are funny. The list shows a new realm of ideas about movies that a potential customer probably would not have thought of, which, the reader is entertained and indebted.

One discussion list contributor defined what comedy is not; “ANYTHING BUT THE HANGOVER [movies], seriously only people who like to drink and find farting funny find this movie funny.

I thought of watching one of the Hangover’s, for the gags, not that I like to drink and find farting funny, all the time. There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under the heavens…a time to weep, and a time to laugh. Laughing uncontrollably might make one weep, which is a sign to stop laughing, and don’t get silly ’cause you’ll pee in your pants.

Comedy appears silly at first glance. Jerry Seinfeld says something along the lines, that creating a comedy requires much work about nothing. We know he’s being silly when he says that. But he’s serious. He pitched, cast, directed and lead in a show that was, yes primarily and simply about the things some characters we wouldn’t have recognized, nobodies, doing the normal things in their lives, doing nothing. Children find comedy by play in the front yard, and on out to the mailbox.

Inspiration comes easy when watching children play games, with a simple heart. They come up with new stuff all the time. They work hard to steal the show. Actors and comedians avoid competing with children as much as animals because of the natural enamor for attention and comedy. You can’t win a comedy competition with fluffy the dog who does cartwheels through a giant ring. Jim Carrey used to make physically demanding facial expressions and body movements, ending the skit saying, “I do that now, cause I won’t be doing that when I’m 70.” So youth and animals have a comedic edge.

You may have had fun thinking about these things. I wasn’t funny, and maybe the examples were. Comedy gives feedback on about how things are so that we can decide within the big picture letting it sink in to decide what it means. Watch for it, in a world of so much cloud feedback; remember about nothing? You  may find surprise and laugh.

Shy Me

There are so many smart things to say when you are an actor on the stage. Life is like being an actor on a stage.  The world is a stage and all those characters have a role to play.  Didn’t someone already say that? There is nothing new under the sun that hasn’t already been said, done or written.

I know.

On and on, the world spins around and here I wake up thinking I have almost nothing to contribute. What I do depends on how I react to the whole story. I need to get on with the story and write a story. So here is the story about me today. I didn’t know how to begin so, I slept a long time. I have been in the habit of sleeping to late in the morning and working all day from late mid morning to late night. It is a decent period of time to get things done. The thing that matters most to me is making contact with others like me so that I can have some social awareness. Some belongingness, I suppose.

Shy Monkey

Write something

I took a moment and wrote some thoughts not about where I am but putting my feelings into where I am.

Initially, there wasn’t anything to say. We want to keep a solid approach to this whole, to make it whole.

Remember when you had it listed for those who participated in the approach?

Well, it would be stellar to keep that as part of the approach.

I didn’t know what to say. I was flabbergasted. The whole thing was getting to me in ways I never anticipated. I went to Murphy’s to start the process all over again. When I did, I was a bit on edge being around others. It seemed that I was under a microscope. I was in a range of fear and love. Strange, a few days ago, I had the whole world under my thumb. I planned with calendars and computers a whole new approach to things. Today, however, it was all new and my plan had no part of what was going on with the world. Argh, I didn’t know who to talk to or what to do. Everything dissipated in to a new world that made me afraid to speak. That is all I knew at the moment.

Stella walked up to me. I knew here from the church group and it was funny that she sat down at the coffee table with me.

“How’s it going, chump”?

“Terrible, oh well not so bad, you know there are those things you want to map out to your plan and nothing maps out.” I said.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Stella said.

I thought, what a good friend. Now she is going to say I just be. It’s true, and probably smart advice. Just be, you don’t have to try, try, try, ah a a aaah, as the song goes.

She said that.  What a friend I have in Stella. That was great to go through that.

That was great to write that out and go through that exercise. Exercise. Looking around the coffee shop, where I am now with a paper cup of coffee now two thirds gone, I remember hearing others talking about plans for business and taxes.  It seemed they were saying something along the lines that Initially there wasn’t anything to talk about, but there was a need to keep a solid approach to it, to keep it whole. Without getting metaphysical, and creepy, the  ideas they had on the table and the feelings they brought seeped through into the writing. Astonishingly, I recall vaguely writing it before I heard them say these things. Sometimes writing solves some things that you were thinking, without writing about what you were thinking. Writing is medicine when it uses the feelings we’re in to tell a story that we can relate to. Read a book and think about the feelings and ideas. If it chimes with you, look at how it touches you and how it played that out. The shared experience goes beyond knowledge and discernment to a idea and shared web of feeling and thought.

The Lord put Adam and Eve to work after they ate it. But he cast them out so that they would not eat the tree of life. To those who overcome will be given that fruit.


Evil diet and exercise classes in college got me wondering, at the time, how many meals to eat and how often. My mind was flying; Learning to Fly, thinking Run and tell the angels I think I need a devil to help me work things out right. New Evolution. Eventually, I tried many approaches including lots-o-little meals to a few big ones, and preparations from the culinary elysian field in between. Now meat is too much.  Simply too much dead weight.., and I am happy to eat finer foods, such as living vegetables, fruits; that kind of thing. Maybe a slippery fish now and then with the loosely cellular, juicy oils. The lonesome way to flourish as the eater of gathered edibles from our hunter-gatherer species will keep me smiling, like the cook at my neighboring vegetarian restaurant says.

Seitan is one of those finer foods. The word seitan, according to Bertyn of Authentic Seitan, comes from the Japanese sei  which means to be, become, made of, and tanproteins. Oh, and by the way it sounds like Satan. That’s funny. We’re eating him when we eat seitan.  Come now, a little bit funny.

There are no published studies on seitan. Nor are there published studies on Satan, as in no one has interviewed him, heh still funny. But there are published studies on gluten. Now many of those gluten studies are cautionary tales to lead to non gluten eating. It goes back to rare common sense of don’t eat too many candy bars as warning from mom and sometimes even aunt Marge, except the study cost much more than the candy bars. Seems nowadays, for money in bread sales, to be a push to eat more wheat with the gluten taken out.

Don’t worry about eating more of other balanced foods and only what you need of wheat gluten,” the paid writers and editors say. They describe the new GF religion, complete with sins, and ritual.

It’s easy to make seitan. Make flour dough and knead it under water until the cloudiness goes away. Some chefs say it’s a pain in a neck but they’re lazy or too busy with other things. Adverse as they may be to the production of vital wheat gluten, which by the way, the meaning of the name of the profound adversary, Satan means adversary, to accuse, the making and eating of seitan is a joy and pleasure in its simplicity.

When you eat seitan, a wonderful wheat based food you take on the living flow of what’s in the organism.  You gather soul.  That’s what Satan is all about they say.  I had to say it. This morning, I had some bacon flavored seitan and oo la la, it was delicious in its own right.

WordPress Tags: Satan,Vegetarian,Power,Seitan,food,organism,Authentic Seitan,Gluten Free Diet

Parallel Priced

Downloading books for ninety-nine cents turns into lot’s-o-stuff on the reader that readers really don’t feel all that great about owning.  Melissa Foster asks with Indie Reader Are Ebooks Too Cheap?Sure, ninety-nine cents doesn’t buy a pair of tennis shoes, but it can buy lot’s-o-stuff from the discount store.  Regrettably, the ninety-nine cent price sooner than later lends to a build up of a quantity of stuff that doesn’t resemble the quality of desirable and higher priced items.  It’s the cheap suit that sure is great to have…, at first, but sooner or later the ill fitting shoulders or baggy sides feels like crap, and it diminishes that once great feeling of having the suit.

The number ninety-nine jumps out.  My favorite price is ninety-nine cents.  Although the items for which I paid this price are usually disposable and used as backup or bulk supply for high volume places and party times in the house.  The cheap suit works for the party. 

After reading a book, the ones worth keeping have a feeling that hopefully is unparalleled and gives the book a place on the reader’s bookshelf.  I don’t feel ninety-nine cents is an unparalleled price.  It is the parallel price.  Items at this price could easily be exchanged for others.  The difference between one discount shampoo and another is well, indistinguishable.  Ebooks are the same.  Having discount books works if there were a book party on the reader.  Sorry, eReaders kinda don’t party.  There’s no place for cheap ebooks that would create a feeling of value, or a good feeling. 

Really?  You got that for ninety-nine cents?  What ‘else you got?

Well, that is a good question, because, the author who sold this book for ninety-nine cents started a follow up trilogy that you can’t stop reading.  Promotional items for ninety-nine cents have an introductory value.  The value is of limited time as the eReader will soon be cluttered and eventually cleaned out of the promotional items, not worth keeping.  The one that lead to the purchase of a page turning, mind blowing novel, might be kept, and will have served their purpose.  It will have been worth the ninety-nine cents to reader and author.

Discount books are the beginning of a relationship.  If there is no other thing to follow up, they are simply used up and washed out to make mental room on the reader that makes sense.  It doesn’t make sense to keep a gigantic list of discount books that someday will be read.  For ease of handling only the keepers get fav’ed or filed in the frequently used folder.  Everything else, is junk mail.  Dirt cheap may be just dirt in the end, unless something raises it’s value to the reader.

WordPress Tags: Author,Ebook,Discount,relationship,Ninety-Nine Cents,reader,keepers

I can relieve those days throwing the ball.

Every time I throw the tennis ball up in the air, as I lay on the bed, or sit in the chair, I try to get it close to the ceiling and catch it back.  As I see the ball slow and almost hit the ceiling, I remember what he said.

Decades old maple trees stand tall over three street, and my neighbor smiles as I ride my bike by.  Every memory of walking out the front door, well, yes! this is where I live.  Simple observation to make a connection.  I throw the ball.

“Haven’t you ever tried that”?  He asked.

“Well no.” 

He told me about things he has tried, things he did.  His stringy hair pushed to the side, seemed to pulse as he smiled.  I don’t know why, it looked like it.  I felt something inside, as I tried to fight my feelings away.  To be a man, was to not have feelings, I thought.  What a strange thought, I know now.  I feel a tug, saying come home.

Sometimes one man knows a child of his will learn more if he lets the child acts alone.  The child’s experience is the knowing.  It takes a kindness and a trust, with love to let that child go and do what it will do. 

This makes a father.

We waited at the door, for Lenny to come out.  I saw his mom in a towel inside, and I turned and ran out to the yard.  He was there in about five minutes.  It always took awhile for him to get it together and meet up.  We ran down to the field in front of the train tracks.  There it was, the train was lumbering around the bend on the other end of view through the field and the forest.

We ran up the side of the field up on to the bridge.  We stood there.  They stood with smiles and we waited for the pounding engine and cars behind it to roar under the bridge, beneath our feet.  It came and we couldn’t hear each other.  I could only think in brief flashes. 

The train roared underneath and to my surprise, my two friends took out apples and through them with all their strength down on to the cooling fans on top of the engine.  There were many engines and many cooling fans.  There were many apples.  A few direct hits and the apples hit the fan blowing back fragrant smells, bits and pieces; and sticky juice sprayed back up to where we stood.

We never spoke of this.

This makes a friend.

Reliving those days, I see what we have now is even more so part of what we were, and together this is now some segment and a choice of who we can be.

WordPress Tags: Now,Childhood,Memory,Relive,Friends,Father

A tall drink

Well it is about time to try that cold, tall drink.  On a hot,, summer day, the humidity collects on that cold glass, dripping water down the side, more than is comfortable to hold in hand while trying to keep my short sleeve camp shirt and loose fitting shorts dry.  At a certain point, of being out in the air for a minimum time, the water becomes so uncontrollable that no matter how the glass is handled, it’s going to drip all over.  Not that the body will have any objection to a cool drizzle of evaporative cooling sinking in to the heat of the body mass.  But, pride makes appearances.  Appearance demands effort. 

I find in Bangkok, most Thais will use a straw to drink from the glass.  Those who walk about will carry the tall cup, glass or thermos inside a plastic bag with handles to keep the condensation, drip collection inside the bag.  That’s all fine and practical for the daily commute of getting on and off the bus, car or motorcycle.  As it turns out, I don’t have any of that.  I simply want to get a glass cup filled with water.  The glass could be tall, or it could be half way size.  The thing is I like the glass to be there, for water.  Simple, easy enough to get.  That being said, I don’t particularly like straws.  Something about being on the lips and controlling the ice and water, makes it taste better.  Holding the water at the lips and letting in what is desired, makes it all flow the way I want it to create that effect of refreshment. 

When it comes right down to the getting the drink, I often will procrastinate.  I did this one summer in San Pedro.  It happened that I lay on my side on the bedroom mattress.  I hadn’t yet obtained a frame for the box spring and mattress, so it simply lay on the floor with some carpets around it.  I lay there either wallowing, or resting from a good feeling workout of running and stretching that day.  I was able to put myself in a cocoon of safety on the bed.  It was dark, but not pitch black.  The sun still remained to set outdoors.  I may have been in the fetal position, on my side, crouching between the big pillows.  I wasn’t thinking too hard about that,  I just was that primordial thing.  Now when the time came for me to realize I had thirst, part of me said, oh I’ll wait.  Let it, get it.  And before I knew what I was doing, and what I had just thought, I had gotten out of the bedroom, and I was moving toward the kitchen sink.  I froze right there, and I turned back to the bedroom, now realizing that I was without my body!  I made it back to the bedroom, walking, but not like walking in the body.  It was locomotive, but the mechanics where entirely lighter and finer.  I suppose ghostly would be the appropriate word, but I steer away from that, as I did not like the thought.  I told myself, I don’t want to see my body laying there,  Too much conflict in my current beliefs, and we’re talking about my body here.  So I am not going to risk a struggle, but instead just stay calm and collected.  Nothing like freezing up while riding a bike, skateboarding, or ice skating to start a major wipeout.  As I maintained my grace, the little of it, I noticed around the ceiling there was light oozing in around the edge and corners where the walls met the ceiling.  The light was dripping into the room, from the corners, and right out of the flat ceiling.  It hung there in long tendrils mostly luminescent, but with some dark areas where the light hadn’t coalesced enough to shine. 

The word coalesce best describes the shine’s behavior, but it’s quality was entirely of a softer cooler nature.  It embodied whatever it was above, or what I was putting toward it.  It seemed to want me to touch it.  The corpuscular strands emanated whiteness, containing, channeling life.  Whether it was the coalescing, that made me think of lava that could be too hot to touch, or the luminescent electricity that made think of getting shocked, I did not touch it.  I reached out to touch it, but I stopped with this conflicted thinking.  I pulled my hand back.  Two or three stood above.  I saw them talking and they added in their conversation, that he’s not going to pull up.  They laughed cursorily, as if they had bets or something.  They laughed.  I was having the sight of my life, and all they would do is stand up there in the light looking down on me with their knowing smiles of pity and  best imitation of hope.  I felt disappointment zoom through the room, that was quickly followed by excitement in the light.  The tendrils seemed to sense it, and the one I reached out for, pulled up and away just as I had done. 

A wallop, to light whop, followed, as I jumped unwittingly back into my body.  I knew I was in, but I did not move a muscle, waiting to see if something other would.  Not that I was possessed, but I wanted to see if this body was self moving because it had managed to get along just fine in a way without me while I moved around the room.  But full ownership was mine, and I turned my back onto the mattress, taking pleasure in the movement.  In a pseudo slumber, I felt how heavy I was.  I almost missed having the lightness of being with that other mode.  But, the willful locomotive mechanics were a familiar delight, that I did not have, yet, desire to relinquish. 

I did not think as much of it then, as I do now.  I looked around the room from the bed, as I sat up half way.  I looked at the ceiling and where it met the walls.  Only dark, flat, heavy walls ran up to the capped ceiling.  It all seemed so tight fit, and just a small thing.  I felt the darkness, heavy upon me, and I slept.  I remember upon waking, looking at the chair across from my bed, as maybe someone, or I again, would move over there and sit.  But only the darkness sat there, pushed into the whole room like some jovial soft fuzzy ogre. 

The thought was burdensome, and I got up and got that cold tall drink of water.  No straw.  I sipped the glass with delight, and made myself refreshed.

At the time, I felt this little excursion would pass.  It was trivial.  Soon though my feelings changed.  As if the universe was aware of my lack of feeling, an unusual change marked that day.  Around mid morning, the next day, I was compelled to go outside by a hawking and cawing chorus from the sky.  I hustled out doors, and around to where the noise was headed.  I had made it around to outside my bedroom where I lay that ominous night prior.  Before me, in the sky six cawing parrots hovered and angled their approach in the sky.  I could see their long tails hanging behind them as they slowly maneuvered to change direction, while in formation of six, to approach three tall cherry trees.  Their orange heads, blue necks, with green chins and yellow beaks, stood out in luminous contrast to the pale sky blue, and dark trees of early spring.  The three threes were rooted in the small walkway behind my bedroom and they grew up over that room of the apartment.  Never before had I seen parrots, or any birds for that matter, land in the upper level of those trees.  As a marker of sorts, the parrots landed that day, with caws and screeching claiming their feast on the cherries.  A neighbor came out with an astonished look on his face, reassuring me that I was not the only one in such major disbelief. 

Whether to check or make amiable conversation, I asked him, “Did you ever see parrots land in these trees?  Like these parrots”?

“Never, not like these.  Not here.”  He said.  “I’ve seen parrots, but not here.”

I didn’t know if the tree was going to sprout marshmallows as the cumulative experience weighed in on me.  I realized it was convicting me to believe that this really did happen.  The world changed part of itself, and I could see and change my thinking.  And somehow, I am glad, part of me simply stayed the same adding this to a trivial and soon to be meaningless plethora of misunderstood information.  I can’t forget it.

WordPress Tags: Special Day,Belief,Cozy,Out of Body,Drink,Comfort,Thinking

Hit the Mark

Getting to know oneself is everything. Fulfillment comes from making the right choices and acting true to oneself. Any sort of meditation, whether it be writing, or sitting on a yoga mat saying ohm while watching Jim Carrey in Ace Ventura Pet detective, leads to a sense of who you are deep inside. To miss this mark, leads to wasted time and other egregious behavior. Scholars and spiritual persons have described this as sin, and that it can take away the free gift of life. It’s plain to see we can all hit our mark when we live an on target life, look others in the eye, and speak the truth. The institutionalization of sin several hundred years after Jesus Christ, attempted to provide guideposts and rewards for the avoidance of sin. Sin is not a thing to avoid. There is no wage. Whoever said wages of sin is a thing, might look back and want to revise that for clarity, or help explain the metaphor. Wages of sin is not correctly understood as a metaphor meaning simply if you do this then you will end up with this. Sin as a this thinking only is a misunderstanding. Sin is the absence of a thing, good behavior.

What is misunderstood sometimes blows up larger than life. From Romans 6:23 we have, “The wages of sin is death.” The English word sin derives from translations of Hebrew and Greek words for something deserving punishment, wicked, and later Greek canonical documents to have slipped up, and to have intentionally or unintentionally failed to act from a godly character. Slip up and life ends. This is a natural physical rule. Walk across a bridge slip and fall to death. The result of slipping up where it counts, ends with a fatality.

Now if you were an esoteric prophet, say an Essene like Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph, and you wanted to help express enlightenment, you would emphasize knowing, remembering, and awareness of the true meaning of self, its beauty, power, and majesty. You would use parables and metaphors to create a picture of learning. The wages metaphor creates a picture of us when we work so hard at nothing and reap nothing or worse, harm. The beauty of the comparison comes from a patient understanding of what is hinted in the original Hebrew word for sin, “chatat.” The word is so old, we typically don’t have the musculature and linguistic practice to properly speak the word. To speak it quickly gather spittle and spit it out, cha-thw! On the other hand, the gentle understanding is in the root meaning forgetfulness. Slipping up means something was forgotten. Forgot to be careful on the bridge, whoops! So next time the notion of sin comes up, it might prove useful to spit over the bridge in this way, and ask what needs to be. Here the sin is understood as a thing, but not acted on as a thing. The enlightened behavior becomes not wicked, but good, not out of character, but godly. The virtuous behavior is succinctly explained, and further delved into regarding what Jesus says, on a Facebook page Earth-we-are-one.

And the only virtue: while you are doing something you are fully alert — what Gurdjieff calls self-remembering, what Buddha calls being rightly mindful, what Krishnamurti calls awareness, what Kabir has called SURATI. To be there! — that’s all that is needed, nothing more.

This looking others in the eye, is another kind old expression, I say from a James Cagney quote. This puts things in the right order. The thing about sin and life, empty wages and spitting, and well, eventual death is that we can only do what we do. We at core can’t change ourselves from who we are. We can change what we do and create. We can change our minds and intent. But we can’t change who we are. Who we are remains through the thick of it all, as we learn or fail to learn.

Mothers, fathers, and movie stars say the simple things that help us stay on track. Just remember who you are. With that remembrance behind all intentions and creativity, the path is very plain and simple to follow. It will be as a course laid out in advance that leads to anything imaginable. Dreams may come, and others may insist on things that don’t seem to be on the path ahead. But this is all part of the path, challenges to grow, sharing, and opening new venues never before imagined. This crazy path is right here and now, amazingly; everything is spinning and developing right before our eyes. The free gift of life is here, doing what we do, right now.  To see from within, we know where to go, what to do and when to do it. If not this was just a test, like that from the emergency broadcast system. When that system says ‘in the event of a real…,” it means, “since you took this to be a test, next time you will give yourself more complete instructions on where to go, what to do, when to do it.” Hit the mark, look eye to eye, and tell the truth. We must take responsibility.

WordPress Tags: Good Behavior,Being,Fulfillment,Enlightenment,Wages of Sin,Behavior,Mindful,Alert

Free Gift of Life

Say it, ‘na, ‘na, ‘na, ‘na, ain’t so

Today, I am focusing on finalizing the week of writing, and beginning to prepare for the trip to Thailand. Something has waited in me, I think it needed to be written, that says I need to share. Well there are some natural things, such as walking on water, that have come to mind. It seems easy enough, given the faith. There are so many doubts around it. Some say, from Facebook, yesterday, that it is a metaphor for getting in control of your emotions. Walk on the water.

Well that’s a metaphor for an enema.

Water has an energy, and meaning hidden to us. There have been accounts written the canonical books of the bible referring to the living waters and the lord. Revelation speaks of how he sat on a sapphire throne surrounded by the living waters. The waters even spoke at one point. Jesus walked on the water. Buddha walked on water. The illusionist in London, 2006, did some amazing walking on water tricks. It looks like he is balancing on something. Anyway, water holds meaning, according to many studies by Masaru Emoto. People have seen the beauty, plasticity, and communicable state of water. He rapidly froze water after being told a word, by either talking to a glass of water, or writing a word such has thank you, or hate, or love facing into the water. The caliber of the ice crystals reflected the loveliness or lack of loveliness of the words. An enlightened individual surely would know this and know what to tell the water with thought images, or iconographs, to be with water, or walk on it.

I wonder why we don’t know this and we continue to call ourselves advanced. I suppose we look at what we have done together, with science, technology, and engineering to build the modern marvels we like, such as bridges, roads, damns, power plants, rockets, nanotech computers, space stations, telephones, computers, and a whole plethora of technological devices. Never before, we say, have we advanced so much. Or, never before have we advanced technology so much without little or no spiritual advancement. All the previous civilizations, Atlantis, Lemuria, Easter Island, Nordic, Celtic, African, Egyptian, and other unnamed places of advanced societies have a mystery that baffles our understanding of the way things were to have evolved. If the way things happened in these places were to be openly discussed, and if similar advancements were pursued in professional, academic and business circles, then the world would be completely different.

That’s not us. We must be a modern marvel to the beholden, and also our own mind’s eye, looking in on us. We live in a contradiction in effort and thinking that spins our thinking inside, a wheel spinning, spinning, never getting on or up, but only to spin more. We learn what we need to know to work, but never about the mysteries, such as Coral Castle and the man in Florida who built stone megaliths and moved 20-30 tons of stone routinely with pi ratios of geometrically placed ropes and a magnetic box. No educators happened on a lesson about how the Egyptians had exactly the same tools. Easter Island was a great story. We learned about it in high school, and we were asked if someday we would like to go there, or go to Disneyland. Find out why it is there and what it means. Even a hypothesis opens the door to understanding and enlightenment.

Even in the quietest moments, we all sense there is more here than what meets the modern eye, and less to modern marvels than we think. How the seed turns to sprout, or how the trees grow, continues to baffle our ego’s idea of modern and advancement. We stand in the forest and we won’t see it for the marvel of the modern maze. We love our experiment.

Current books, stories, and literature. The parade of culture, probability, inheritance and relationship. Race to the lucky stars, hear the herald, and get a trump card, where under the magic wand everything is personal and comes with a morning cup-o-joe.