ELUCIDATE THE NATURE OF REALITY IN TEN POINTS

        I have been asked to elucidate  the nature of reality

and morality in ten points.

____________________________________________________________________________



      

          This challenge comes out of a heated discussion with
a Doctor of Philosophy. I made the statement:

        "The difficulty with Western Philosophy is it creates problems
  where none exist."

        

        This angered him He called me some names, and I remember calling him a few ugly names two.  This "profound" discussion had degenerated into two children throwing sand at each other in the sandbox.

         He talked about the complexifIcation of matter into life. 
          And I said, "Yes, yes. I`ve heard the theory - energy complexifies
into life; life complexifies into consciousness; consciousness complexifies into Consciousness. "                                                  *
           "Through us the Earth comes to know itself"      ***

            "Exactly!" he said.  "Reality is complex. And so the
complexity of Western Philosophy is justified!"
             
            "No, it`s not!" I say. "What makes grasping the nature of reality
difficult... is not its complexity. What makes grasping the nature of
reality difficult... is its profound simplicity. Nobody sees the obvious."
             "Nonsense!" he says.
              And so I said, "I can elucidate the nature of reality 
in ten points."                   ((No one can do this, but...))

               Here goes!

        (1) Matter is energy.

        (2)  Spirit is energy

            It is all in how you focus your mind - which aspect of energy you choose to focus on. 

            In no way, in no place  and at no time does "matter" stand in opposition to "spirit".

         
       
       (3)Matter is spirit.

           There are not two worlds, but only one.  There is not a fallen world, called `the earth` and a higher world, called `heaven`.

           This kind of thinking allows us to debase the earth and not to respect our own lives.

        (4) We are already in heaven.

             Everywhere and in every place there is heaven. There is no place that is not divine. 
             Though I admit when you spend sixty days in solitary confinement, with very little light and no distractions whatsoever, at first it is hard to see the infinity and divinity of all things.

             Remember, I am not a philosopher; I am a mystic. There's a big difference. You won't find me having long intellectual discussions. The time for that is past.
             Instead it is time for realization and sight into the very nature of the soul.

          (5) We are already in hell.

                Hell is here, too. Every place is hell, if that's where we
choose to be

                The "sole and sovereign agent" is the human mind.  **

                With our mind we can choose to live wherever we want 
within the energy that has been provided us.

                  
          (6) Eternal damnation does not exist.                 

               There is nothing in the future worth spending time anticipating.

                  The anticipation in itself becomes wrong. There are certain kinds of hope that are very bad for us, evil even.

           
          (7)  The present alone exists.

          
                This is the literal truth. The future and the past are just daydreams.

                     

                     (Meister Eckhart agrees with this in his writings. See also

                      Northrop Frye, "The Great Code." "Myth is the language

                      of the present.")

                    

                  Our teachers did not adequately teach us; our leaders did not lead properly. In history, those of them who had the audacity to call themselves 'priests' have not behaved in a priestly fashion.

                   "Those who had the keys to the Kingdom did not enter; and they did not permit anyone else to enter." ( The Gospel of Thomas).

               

                     (8) There is an inherent morality in all things.

                              

      

                       No future judgment is necessary; we live where we deserve to live. This is judgment enough.  If you are possessive and grasping most of the time, chances are you are living

in the lower realms. If you are living in the chaste light of the bodhisatvas and saints, you may be living in an untold luxury of bliss. You might feel so light that you can float

away into the sky

                       (9) Evil is "the negation of what is."

. 

                         After a proper seeking with the mind, we can be one with all things our  identity can become Identity.

                         

                        (10)  mind seeks out Mind.

        

                         
                              Discussion
                               ___________

                         In fact, it seems very few of these heavenly beings choose to move on and reside in utter joy. They somehow reside in a
shared consciousness beyond death They stay with  the rest of us who are busy punching and pulling, speeding and grasping:

we who through the use of weapons make this world an utter hell, 

worse even than the realm of grasping needs to be.

         The sole and sovereign agent is the Mind. And by "Mind" I mean heart-mind, spirit-mind and body-mind.

         Many people seem to intensely believe that this life and this earth are some kind of preliminary preparation zone. We live here and then we get to our real life in heaven. And there is some truth in this, the spirit after death does travel on, like an eye crossing

waters.

            It is said that the Mind of the Buddha can travel through all the realms and this is certainly true of Christ as well. The closer we get to this Mind, which is the innermost mind of each and every one of us, the closer we get to Identity (it has also been called `Incarnation`) , the more light and free we are.

               To realize this Mind is to taste and know the eternal.

             
             The fundamental  nature of reality. The rewards of this study and this sitting is that consciousness goes deep.  We come to think in a new language, a language in which  'subject' is not opposed to 'object.`

              The divisions with which we habitually think and through which we see the world - they are very limiting - these artificial delineations, we can see beyond these, and when

we do, our intelligence is not so easily captured by those who attempt to engage us in conflicts. The method of manipulation is, "distraction, distraction, distraction"... "divide and conquer."

              "Spirit" vs "matter" is a division that does not exist. "Heaven" and "hell" are not two different places.  "Spiritual" vs "physical:" in fact, the physical world is not a lower reality. The spiritual world is not a higher reality.

                "As above, so below." 
                 The external galaxies and cosmos are no more vast than the universe within.(This could be point 11, but we have only 10 points) 

                

                 So it is with the artificial division: "man" and "God". We walk with  'The One Who Is Creating Us' with every step we take, with every thought we think. 

                Our mind is His Mind and His/Her Mind is our mind in the most fundamental way.

                In the most enlightened realms,"One knows and one is 
known."  (the Gospel of Philip.) 
                Meditation becomes like a mirror... in it

man is reflected by God.

                
               We can adequately speak of very few things, and certainly we cannot express a mystery such as this in words.

                 

                 Why is this  important? If we continue to think with artificial  divisions locked in our minds, if we are chained to these divisions, mesmerized by duality, freedom will not come to us.

               Also, the soul-bending moralities that come with these limited ways of thinking... well, we see what happens - a cloud of delusion persists in the minds of our people.

                  In the midst of this ignorance and cloud of delusion, we are incapable of real thought; and we are easily manipulated.

                    


                     Further Discussion
                     ______________________

                    So we fight wars that make  obscene amounts of money for other people. 

                  Those rulers who know how to manipulate the greed and desires of the people they rule over. Such people control the attention span and cultural focus of our civilization - us!

                  As long as our cynical leaders and rulers are able to captivate our focus and attention with false issues, we will keep giving our deep intrinsic power of awareness over to them.
                 As long as we give in to distraction
such shallow leaders will  remain in power for a long time. 

               

                 People are cashing in on the lives of our own brothers and sisters at the expense of our own immaculate planet.

                 

                 Once we realize the divine immensity of this dancing universe; once we remember the galaxies, the suns, stars,  and orbiting  jewels -  that they  exist within us...

                Once we apprehend the infinity within our own psyche, and  understand the fact that the individual is sovereign, we will not be so easy to manipulate.  

                                                                *Teilhard de Chardin

                                                                           **Ralph Waldo Emerson
                                                              ***D.T. Suzuki



                                                             Respectfully submitted,    R.R.

                                                   Discard nothing, everything
                                                   may serve.    Carpe Diem
                                                                        ______  _____

THE DEFINITION OF MADNESS: LOSS OF YOUR SENSE OF HUMOUR

               According to the above definition it's easy to go  mad. MAD not as in 'angry', but MAD as in loony, nuts, ranting, raving, bug-eyed crazy. As in CERTIFIABLE, as in "A danger to yourself or others..." Or someone you haven't even met yet.
               It used to take the signatures of two doctors to lock you away... Now it's a lot easier.
All you have to do is wrap a towel around your head and start looking like a terrorist.
              
                

                Sometimes I pontificate. But isn't this exactly what I'm complaining about? Too much Poping, and not enough of the real discussions between the Master and his disciples.
Trust me, ha! ha! but their sessions were a lot more like questions and answer exchanges
like this:


              Q: Lord, who are you?
               A: I am what you are.
               Q: Who am I, then?
                A:  He who drinks of the waters that bubble from my mouth
                       shall be as I am and I shall be he, and the hidden things will
                        be revealed to him.

                  

                 I'm not making this stuff up! It comes straight from the Gospel of Thomas.
The early Master saying, Don't imitate my life.' Know me and you will know yourself.'He's talking about your innermost nature.
                  He's talking about  being your innermost identity, not what you read about in a book. Right here! Right now!   "Split a piece of wood and I am there"
        
                  It takes work to find out who and what you are. It's a quest. In fact, it's the Quest that is at the core of our culture.
                   What we need is for our brave sons and daughters to go on this quest. It's the only way to rejuvenate the heart of our culture.

                    This a quest that starts with the head and ends with the heart.


                     Whoops! Enough said. I was attempting to write about humour. And it's funny I'm writing about humour; I haven't laughed for a month and a half.
                      It takes other people to make you laugh.
                      .
                      I was a little harsh the other day with the "Born Again" path. Truth is, being born again can change your life and make you a better person. It's the path of the heart.
                       There's just a whole lot more to the circus.

                       
                        It's said serious drinkers drink alcohol to regain a "sense of possibilities"
                        Truth is, I'm terribly hung over. I can barely see the keys as I type. So I'm not laughing yet...
                        Maybe by the next article           '                   



        

FIRST GRADE IN THE SCHOOL FOR MYSTICS - ARCHEOLOGICAL FIND ON TROUT LAKE

        It is a little known fact that there are ancient, sacred Indian sites located right here in North Bay, Ontario, Canada, not to mention a  number of other places which exist in North America.
         Everybody's always talking about Indian Burial Grounds, perhaps because they like to think of the Indian cultures as being dead. Or perhaps it's because of the respect most North American Indians have for the dead as well as the living. At any rate, there are a lot more sites around than just burial grounds. The native cultures always had respect for what are called, Places of Power.
         And so do I respect such places, why? Because it is a lot easier to have a mystical experience at a Place of Power than not at such a place - the Bat Cave at Bali, for example. Now the Bat Cave at Bali is a place of power, but it is a very busy place of power. And if you're at a very busy place of power, you are going to have a lot of trouble with your concentration.
         Now a busy Place of Power might be a good place for someone to start, if that person has 
a very busy mind. The Bat Cave might be good for such a person. Or there are several Monkey Temples available in India which serve exactly the same purpose. By observing the monkeys in ceaseless action, you can meditate on the monkey-like nature of the human mind, one thought endlessly chasing another, like monkeys in the tree tops, chasing each others' tails.
         But why are we in Grade One of the School For Mystics, and not in Kindergarten any more? Because we have learned that it's not necessary to go searching  two-thirds of the way around the world for a Place of Power, when you might have a better one in your own back yard - or within 500 miles or so, anyway.
        Now the Zen people might well scoff at places of power; they'll likely say, "The real Place of Power is within you." And they would be right and wrong at the same time. This is a discussion for another day, and maybe never..
        I should point out, also, that bat caves and monkey temples are not necessary in North America, and especially in Canada, because we have mosquitoes and black flies. And these will keep the busy mind quite busy indeed!


        At any rate, this particular site has seven circles of stone - let's call it one continuous pathway that climbs in circles. And you can see the places carved into the stone where the peace pipes were placed,
        Twenty years ago, when I first visited this spot, quite by accident, ha! ha!, I was told to take my shoes off.
         "This must be a sacred site, then," I said.
          The woman who was showing me around then said: "We're not sure. It's just that I've played here since I was a little girl, and whenever we played here we always took our shoes off..."


           So I took my shoes off, but rather than walk the full distance around and follow the stone circles, I stepped across them, and when I improperly reached the Place of Power at the centre and the top of the hill, a cat snarled at me.
            This place was still strong enough to animate a guardian at the core, even after a thousand years. I found this very interesting.
            Now very few Indians want to talk about this sort of thing with white men, because they are convinced that white men are too stupid to understand the meaning of the word, "sacred."
White men, it is thought, spend far too much time indoors to ever understand the spirits of living things, which all twine together into One Great Spirit.


            What was in the peace pipes? Well, let us say a mixture of herbs and mushrooms which, once smoked, to say the very least: increased the concentration of the aspirants.
             I asked my friend Joe, who happens to be an Indian who believes in the Socratic method of teaching, but I doubt he calls it that. I asked him what he thought the Indians were doing at this mysterious site one thousand (1,000) years ago. He was non-committal. Instead of answering me with a statement, he just asked me another question.
             "I can't say. It's really up to you, you know," he said, "What do you think?"

KINDERGARTEN IN SCHOOL FOR MYSTICS

                                                              1.


        I was looking at my profile  some place and I saw the words: "Singer, Poet, Mystic, Rhythm guitar." And maybe it was early in the morning before my coffee, or maybe it was a low blood-sugar moment, or an instant of terminal guilt, but I thought the word, "mystic" was pretentious, and I removed it...
        Then I was thinking, "Jesus, the word, "poet" can be pretty pretentious, too!" And hell, yes, that's right - some people are poets some of the time, but are there any people who are poets all of the time?  Certainly not me. And not anybody I've ever met or read about, read, or written about either.... No.... Yeats worked pretty hard at it, and all in all you'd have to sum him up as a poet, but he was an idiot some of the time, just as I am.
         Willie Shakespeare, well there's a guy who almost thought entirely in poetry, but he had his dark spots, too - moments of really, angry, hopeless despair. But read his sonnets and tell me he's not a poet, well. no one's going to tell me that. And Coleridge, look at his essays
on various forms of meter, and he's a duck you really have to call a poet; just look at the focus and concentration he put into his trade. He got pretty good results, too.
         So the word poet fits, somehow, but the word, 'mystic'?  Who on God's Green Earth
would ever be presumptious enough to call himself/herself that?

          Well, take my time in Bali, for example.
           Bali is a beautiful mostly green island in the midst of Indonesia. Indonesia is a huge Moslem culture,  and marketplace in south east Asia.
             Bali is primarily Buddhist; and the people of Bali consider their Island to be the centre of the earth, maybe of the Universe
             One of the most sacred sites on Bali, however is the bat cave. Apparently the bat cave runs the entire length of the island and there are millions of bats in it (no exaggeration). And these are not North American sized bats, these fellas are quite a little bit bigger and faster.
              My friends and associates were throwing a big party on the beach, lighting a large bonfire. There was to be live music, lots of good food, wine, rice wine, hallucinogenic substances from natural sources, dancing, swimming, a real hoe-down to watch the tides come and go on the beach and the sun set and rise and set again... Lots of attractive women, etc., etc..
               Did I go? No!
               I sat outside the bat cave with water and nuts and a small pillow, so I could sit very still. I was there two hours before dusk, so I could see millions of bats swoop off and leave the cave. I sat fifteen feet away from an altar which was just covered in bat shit.
               The mouth of the cave was about twenty (20) feet in diameter. And when evening came, I sat very still and watched an unbelievable outpouring of bats out of the cave. I must admit to feelings of deep fear and terror. I put a rag between my teeth and bit down upon it
to stop myself from making horrible sounds.
                The outpouring lasted well over forty minutes. When I stood up, finally, my legs were shaking. I walked over to a steep hillside and watched the party from a distance. Two hours before dawn, I was sitting again and I felt the wind of an almost solid stream of bats returning to the large cave opening.
                 Once again I sat very still for hours.


                  Now you might think only an idiot would do something like that, when there was a perfectly good party going on nearby. I certainly was considering the nature of my own idiocy for a good part of the night.
                   But when the bats were flying, there was no time for such thoughts - my "piggy-back consciousness" had entirely disappeared. And I have to say, something touched me that night, more than just bat-wings. Perhaps I was waiting for the Voice of the One Who Is Creating Us to whisper something in my ear.
                    At any rate, I pulled vigils like this at different places all over the planet - a sacrificial platform on Easter Island, the steps of the burning ghats at Varanasi, well before dawn. And I have to say, at some spots, vision did come. And other places nothing much arose.
                    One thing I can say for sure is that "places of power" exist on this planet.
                     And it turns out there is such a place, here in my own back yard.


                      See Article - Archeological Find at Trout Lake, northern Ontario, Canada.
                     
                       Now, let's be honest. The above noted attempt at mystical Realization is an example, of a young man still in the kindergarten of the School of Mystics, if there were such a school in the West, which there is not. (Although there is quite a reputable Zen Temple in Rochester, New York).
                       This article is so silly, I'm going to have to stop writing it.
                        Caveat Lector.
                         ____________

BRANDING FETISH! NOT ENCOURAGED IN MOST CIVILIZED COUNTRIES AND RARELY A NECESSARY EXTREME

             

               O.K, they  came to me out of the mists the other night at 3:00A.M., also out of the forensic wards of a major educational hospital located in the environs of the Province's Capital. And if that isn't vague enough for you, let me also say that this event was long ago and far away ha! ha! and well beyond the statute of limitations of all independent nations which speak in recognizable tongues.

               What was being said to me in the middle of the night was scarcely recognizable. But it sounded like this: "There is a woman who feels she must be branded.... in order to achieve what all women wish to achieve." (This blog is now available to all ages, so we must be delicate)

                "We've had her locked up for the past seven months, but we really do not feel justified in holding her any longer. She's basically an intelligent, witty, delightful person - with just one horrible and monstrous and psychic black hole of an obsession."

                 "Sound's interesting," said I. I just happened to be up at that hour, the  "hour of the dead"

in most hospitals, "Tell me more."

                 "Well, we tried ECT on her. (This means electrical shock therapy) And she seemed to enjoy it! Not the shock itself, of course, because she could scarcely feel that - but the idea of being strapped down to a table, fed a tongue depressor, and being hit with something that made her quiver and spasm..."

                  "I understand! I understand!" I say. I believe in shock therapy myself, but I am not licensed to administer electro-shock. I believe more in what I call,  MINDSHOCKS, sudden,

surprising moments that blow all thought out of the human brain, rather like a high pressure hose cleaning out the cylinders and pistons of the gasoline engine. I guess you can say I believe in "Blowing The Mind" as we used to call it, but only in a positive way and for a positive result - to facilitate further and better flow.

                    "She got it in her mind," the Good Doctor was saying, "That only by being tried down naked over a rock and branded on the buttock... could she ever achieve the orgasm she very definitely needs, and one might even say, ' requires'."

                      This called for a drink from the office bottle, which I keep in several hidden drawyers

in the counter beside my desk. (There is more than one office bottle). I pass the goblets around and I pour the brandy. Only brandy will do at such a time of inveterate introspection.

                        I asked the psychologist if she understood the direction this conversation was taking, and boy did she ever! She was ahead of me.  She said, "I vill go downstairs 'maintenant' and light

ze bed of coals."

                         "First a toast!" We all stand. And raise our glasses... "To science!" I say. We all clink glasses and drain our cups."

                          Our psychologist went downstairs. I heard a door slam and then the sound of the heavy garage door opening slowly at the end of its chains.

                           You must light the coals in an airy space.

                            "Where is she?" I ask the altruistic scientist.

                             "Over there!" he points out the window. I walk over and look down. Ye Gods there is a paddy wagon parked in the middle of my driveway!

                              "Of course, she must be restrained... always." says the good doctor.

                               "Understand," I say, "But at least let's turn off the lights!" Flashing blue lights

were circling across the trees and the lake and my neighbour's bedroom window. Oh, and there was my neighbour sitting on his porch steps, staring listlessly at the emergency vehicle.

                                It's O.K. My neighbour is also a medical man. He understands such urgencies.

But was he questioning his association with me, even back then? It was impossible for me to tell.

                               The psychiatrist spoke into a small radio in the inside of his lapel. The lights

went off immediately.

                                I do not think it's prudent that I finish reporting this entire case at this time. But let me only say, the woman was unshackled and then shackled again in a more compromising position. She did achieve her goal, but it was not exactly as she had imagined it would be.

                                 I must caution my readers that Fetish and reality can be disappointingly different. And only a very rare person will achieve orgasm the moment a branding iron touches her bare flesh. The pain is extreme and intense beyond all imagining, and not really conducive to pleasure of any kind.

                                   It is the aftermath which is sometimes rewarding.   

                                                                                              Case 7:  Respectfully submitted.

 

              

 

PRIMORDIAL MOMENTS, THE CLARITY OF PAIN: HOWLS OF A FOOL IN THE NIGHT!

                I just spent 48 hours in the most mind-numbing pain imaginable. Every time  I put my foot down to attempt a step in the midst of a dark night, in a dark forest, in a pitch- black cabin above a dark lake; every time I put a little w eight on my left foot, the whole world would brighten noticeably.

                It was as if there was a 40 watt bulb inserted in unseen track lighting in the back of my skull. And that bulb was connected directly to my swollen left foot, ankle and toe. And every time I put weight on that foot (which was swollen up like a like a ten sausage boil) the incandescent bulb in my brain  would brighten noticeably

                 There I was standing on a flat rock circled by eight 100 foot red pine trees my foot'd

squeeze down on the ancient granite of the Laurentian Shield, and all of a sudden the forest was bright all around me... And I'm thinking, "Jesus, who turned on the lights?"

                 And the forest wasn't just suffused with light, but a strange intensity of sound helped light up all the trees as well, And after a few seconds of this strange experience of light and sound, all washing around the trees and lighting up towards the heavens, I realized that I was hearing the magnified sound of my own scream, which in some mystic way, penetrated the rocks and trees around me.

                 I was on crutches and as I lifted my left foot off the ground, the forest darkened and I couldn't see so well, and the wall of sound disappeared. But as I took the next step, all was brightness once again...

                It's a strange sensation, and it's one I'm sure that many of you have had when agony suddenly fills your being and pain rings your torso like a gong. At such times you hardly even notice the sounds you make because pain is the more immediate reality, the deeper existential fact.

               Now I come from an ancient northern people, a tribe that has known about pain from the beginning - a sudden mind-numbing pain such as you feel when some fool strikes you across both shins with a steel bar... everything goes quiet for a second or two, then there is this strange brightness and sound that seems to come from everywhere at once.

                The reason my family has always loved to focus on such events of sudden hideous unimaginable agony, is this: such surprise gifts from the cosmos of sheer, unexpected mind-twisting  pain, such moments are, almost entirely, the  source of the sense of humour of my

people.

                 Uncle Fred tried to kill a large ugly fly against the wall of a log cabin, and as he swung

the bottom of the saucepan (8 inches in diameter) in an attempt to crush the fly, he connected with cousin Walt's forehead instead of the fly.

                  There had to be about twelve of us sitting around the woodstove drinking a mix of moonshine, alcools, and various juices ( called a "Purple Jesus Punch"). And after Fred connected

there was silence for three seconds, and the sound of a gong, then a wave of hilarity such as I had never heard in my entire life up to that point. Several guys were rolling on the floor; one man fell out through the door. And my entire  extended family was screaming with laughter, crying they were laughing so hard - laughing so that they couldn't catch their breath.

                It's one of those moments that stays with you for the rest of your life, and always gets a response out of you, if the person survives the event, and sometimes even if he doesn't. It's as if God's Flyswatter comes down and, "WHACK!" it's all over. And even if death occurs, if you look closely around the family circle, you'll notice that most of the buggers are surpressing a laugh

anyway.

                As I was making my way out of the woods, down a goat path towards the lake, each time I stepped on the hot swollen foot, the night'd light up and my screams would fill the trees.

                 It was a forty hour ordeal without alcohol or painkillers, and about a six hour wait in the hospital with sweat running down my back, and down my forehead and between my eyes, trying all the while not to scream and scare the kiddies in the emergency room.

                    A few low-pitched quavering grunts of pain did escape my lips every twelve minutes or so when I moved my leg; and it was enough  to make two or three infants cry, but that was about it. I noticed that after about 2 1/2 hours they moved me into a back room, where I waited another 3  so hours. My hideous bellows were more acceptable back there.

                      I must say though, the experience of 40 continuous hours of agony, clears your mind in a most surprising way. Even now, back at my office, after I have swallowed a handful of anti-inflamatories of the highest strength available, even now the room seems preternaturally bright, as a thunderstorm sweeps the streets outside. I must say (now that's  its over), that it was a cleansing experience, rather like the rain just now below...

                       Ha! Ha! The experience of that quarter mile portage, dragging a canoe through the night, bellowing like a mad ox and swinging my axe at the stars - well, it will be one of those 'special' moments of my life. You never forget experiences of mind-bending  pain. And now that it's over (Oh please say that it's over!) I've already started to almost chuckle about it.

                       Well, no that's bullshit. It's too soon for laughs. All I get is quavers of fear, and I fall forward on my knees and beg and spit up flem at the same time.

               Then when I scuttle back and crawl up onto my chair in the twilight, a sense of holiness fills the room...                                                     

                 

                This is how we pray in the north.

                                                                                                                             Caveat Lector.

                                                                                                                              ___________

LIES, DAMNED LIES, AND UTTER MENDACITY!

                                                                               1.


            The difference between being  (A) Being "Born Again"  and (B) experiencing  Christian  "Realization" is a great difference. A great divide separates the two.
            
             (A) The path of most modern day Christianity is the path that leads to the "born again"
experience. What is necessary for this path is to follow the principles of the "established Bible"
with blind obedience.
                  Unfortunately,  blind faith leads often to further blindness - the acceptance of "Creationism", six thousand years back to the garden of Eden and a world created in seven days. It's Daddy's World. And you know what?  There's nothing really wrong with blind obedience in daddy's world. I'm a daddy myself; and I do appreciate it when my children do what they're told, when they're told.
                  So long as they remain children, that is!
                  You have to say "no" to kids  or they don't feel loved. Also you have to say no or most kids wouldn't live past the age of 8.
                    But blind faith only takes a person  so far. There's a big difference between  'trusting' that things are all right and 'knowing' that things are all right.
                     Now that we are adults, and we know how to cross the street ourselves, neither the Church nor the Government needs  to keep ugly facts from us, unless, of course. they have something to hide!

                      (B) The path of Realization. Realization comes from  "a great spirit of inquiry." It is what happens at the end of the Grail Quest.  Christian Realization exists, though millions might argue otherwise. But in the spirit of honesty, Christian Realization does not differ much from Buddhist or Hindu "Enlightenment"; kensho or satori also exists in Islamic terms, which a study of the Sufis will make plain.
                        There is a purpose to the dance of the whirling dervish, and that purpose is to clear the surface mind and allow for "inquiry" deeper and  deeper into the psyche of the dancer.
Think of it in terms of "the zone" fine athletes all over our Globe understand' start with the zone,
an awareness without thought, then allow the mind to go deeper.
                         At the end of the journey, there is Realization. The problem with being born again is this: it's the same person who is born again. Realization involves a change of identity, so it's a very different animal.


                          This is what the earliest Christians taught, make no mistake. Now they are derided as being "gnostics". But the gnostics were just early Christians seeking a "knowing experience" of the Christ, who they knew to be their ultimate identity. Not some special  teacher with miraculous powers, but rather a heart-mind so basic as to be the eternal reality of all men and women. 
                          And when the Christ, the Anointed One, is known to be the basic reality of all men,
is this not the real proof of His divinity?And we are linked  to the Same? If this divinity is the innermost nature of us all, then what's the problem?  We don't need to study the life of a teacher who lived 2,000 years ago.  We don't need more priests! 
                          We need Modern Shamans, guides who can lead us on that longest journey - to the place that is closest of all - our inner Home, our soul, our innermost nature:  God within. "Cleave a block of wood, I am there. Lift up a stone and you will find me there." Gospel of Thomas.
                           In the east, when a person says, " I have found the answer, I am Buddha! Between heaven and earth I alone exist" he is congratulated. Then he is told he has  much work yet to do.
                           In the west, you start saying, "I have found my innermost nature: I am Christ!"
Believe me, you will not be congratulated."

                           All this will change as our society matures.
                            But the maturation of the Christian world could have started 2,000 years ago! Instead some evil deceptikons stole the keys to the Kingdom and camouflaged the way to the door.




                                                                     *   *  *




                                                                            2.




                    Almost without exception, the Empire Church has treated its flock as children or "sheep" if you would prefer. Let's be honest, it has been far more profitable for the church
to keep its congregation in an infantile state.
                    After all, there are lots of things that kids really should not know. The complete translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls, for example. It's better not to give a full translation. The church is looking out after you - it's considering your best interests - by not allowing a full translation.
                    You must remember, every one who was appointed to translate the scrolls
was a cleric of some sort, and by their actions, you can see they all agreed. There are some facts the congregation should not see. "Because it's past their bedtime!"


                     John Allegro was the only man who came up with a full translation of the scrolls and fragments he was allocated. And when he told the truth and personally released the translation
of his part of the task (within years, not decades) he was maligned, "discredited" and publicly rebuked. His career suffered terribly until his death
                 Note: He was never actually discredited, because his translations were dead on. And John Allegro has been completely vindicated in the last ten years, or so.  (See the work of Jan Irwin in "The Pharmacratic Inquisition" - Youtube). There is also a Russian scholar who has  completely vindicated Allegro.

                  Allegro took the time to learn ancient Sumerian, which turned out to be a key in understanding the hidden codes in both the Old and New Testaments. Sumerian, it was also discovered, was the unknown link between ancient Greek and Hebrew.


                  In 1945 there was  the discovery at Nag Hammadi, Egypt. It was the same situation as would be found later at Qumran. Scrolls two thousand years old were discovered hidden in earthen jars in caves by the Nile. In this case, actual gospels were discovered. Several of these gospels were meant to have been in the Bible.
                   I've written about these facts in earlier blogs. But I've got to say: "Some of this stuff really burns my ass!" The lies! The damned lies! The utter mendacity!




                                                        *********

                                                                        3.           

               Realization has been passed down to us over many thousands of years; it is ancient and
fundamental; it has even been called the "Fundamental Fact" of human existence. Through it subject and object become one; the lower I dissolves completely into the great I AM. Until there is nothing left, and integration is complete.
                But there must be nothing left of the old identity. Why so? Why did ancient priests sing
"Hymns to Annihilation"?  Why would they want complete ego death?"
                Because " Once you are nothing, you are everything", one mystic says; "You can see clearly, and "no longer through a glass darkly."


                But this is tricky, the psychologist says: "Complete ego death before a person achieves psychic health can lead to actual death - unless something arises to fill the void within."
                 Well, yes.  There is a down side. When we have a system in the West to re-assure the seeking pilgrim that he/she is not going crazy, it will help  in a major way. Each seeker, every one, must pass through the dark night of the soul and the Chapel of the Black Hand .                  
                 It's not easy... No one ever said it was. For it is a quest that will cost the journeyman not less then everything.
                    
                 "And when I was nothing, I was everything!"  D.H.Lawrence wrote in his poem,  "Song of a Man Who Has Come Through."        (See his "Collected Poems.")

ROVING REPORTER RANTS: BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PART...

ROVING REPORTER RANTS: BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PART...: " Admittedly, I have had some bad reviews. Some! Did I mention that I have received a few curses in Latin? Well, here goes then. ..."

BRING BACK THE LASH! DEALING WITH CLERICS IN PARTICULAR AND CLERGYMEN IN GENERAL

         Admittedly, I have had some bad reviews. Some!  Did I mention that I have received a few curses in Latin? Well, here goes then.
          It seems it's O.K. to talk about mystical union with the One who is creating us, but it is not acceptable to enter into the psychological depths of the intricacies and necessities of  a Woman's Orgasm in the same article. This is what, sacrilege? What century are we living in?
          May I suggest to you - it's not such a big step from the 21st century back to the 16th century, when they had public lashings and brandings! But it wasn't all fun and games.
           Do you know how long the Spanish Inquisition lasted for? A hundred years? Oh, no the private torture chambers continued long and long. And the public didn't get to see! Nor did they get to see the hidden repressed spasmodic orgasms of the long-robed clergy... Nor do we now, for the most part, but we get to see them weeping in their beers the morning after, begging for forgiveness.
           ( The Spanish Inquisition continued on for 600 years.)
            My position is this: forgiveness is the Christian way. Ho! Ho! But before we forgive these pale, limp-wristed members of our clergy - skin that makes 'em look like they've been hiding under lily pads all their lives: it's our absolute and holy duty to put them through a few hoops.
The hoops should be: (1) Fearful public humiliation; (2) a taste of the lash over some months.
As Charlie's Nana used to say most mornings at breakfast, from the time Charles was three: "Cowards fear pain; and they hate to cower in public; and to scream like eunichs every time they feel a taste of the Lash! This is good for their grovelling souls; and to expect more of the same each Sunday morning, with exacting  regularity... It makes them think."
            "And one thing you can be sure of: never will such a half-man/ half-newt transgress again! In fact, it's quite possible you'll never see the fearful little shrimp in public again for the rest of his life!"
             "No one will miss him! Besides, the Lash is cheap! It doesn't cost a hundred grand a year to keep the little fruit behind bars.  And also there is the social aspect to consider: it's fun for the whole family to watch such a wimp begging in public - on his naked knees, "Please don't lash me again. No, please! And his weeping and loud bawling: everyone enjoys that! Especially when he tries to wiggle and crawl off into the audience; and there's no escape nor mercy anywhere."
              "Then she'd pat me on the head," says Charlie, and she'd look into my eyes with the deepest seriousness: "Never forget, sonny, 'Hilarity is to the public's good.'"
               Says Charles. "I never knew what that phrase meant. Nor do I ever want to know."
               
           (3)     Oh yes, the third hoop that must be written permanently into our Criminal Code is this: "Any anal tears the perpetrator causes, he shall receive in kind." Now as a former defense attorney I must admit, this provision sounds a bit ominous, especially when followed by this following clause "All provisions of this section shall be judicially interpreted solely in terms of the tenets of the Old Testament."
                  This entire section is a bit like  Wonder Bread - you eat it and wonder. And I can only shake my head and wonder about the implications. Though, having listened to the Affadavits of Charlie's grandmother, I must say, "All in all I approve wholeheartedly."
                  You must weight the limited pain to a few dubious defendants against the health,
happiness and psychological well being  of the entire non-offending Community.

                 I do forsee a few possible legal problems with any admissions against interest the clergyman makes in public, while under the lash. But we'll deal with those ducks when they start to quack.
                 One thing I must say, though, after a six months program of screamings and lashings, our public prisoner would have no psychological blockages left. Though he might have developed a few tics, involuntary quavers and shudders he'd prefer no one ever see him do in public ever again.
                   So it goes. Explore every mystery, no matter how disgusting the journey might become;
your Roving Reporter will see it all the way through to the end!
                   "Discard nothing. Everything may serve."  Carpe diem.
                                                                                                   __________

BAD LUCK AND DARK NIGHTS: BANSHEES WAILING FOR MY SKULL

          Things have been turning sour for me the last five or six days, and nobody gives a damn, and I'm not sure I care too much myself. All I needed was a short period of time when nobody showed up naked, nobody tried to sell me suspicious objects from underneath his coat; and nobody tried to kick in my door in a shrieking frenzy, screaming horrible things up from the lane out back.
           There are times when a person has to say "no" to everyone and everything, sit in a comfortable chair and catch his breath. "Breathe," as a healer said to me recently. Breathe right
into the earth; take your shoes off and let your feet feel the earth. I did this back of the house, but then I saw two cars I recognized coming my way, so I had to duck back inside and play possum. I want to say that this breathing business works, and I'm going to try it again soon.
            
            I have a thought: "Everybody hates me!" But what kind of twisted, pitiful thinking is this - not to say paranoid? Everybody might hate you from time to time, but it's highly unlikely that they all  will turn the foul beacon of their hatred on you,  at the same time. 
             It's highly unlikely that everyone's going to hate you/me  at the same time for the simple reason that no one is important enough for everyone to think of at once, and therefore hate all at once. As my father said to me one time when I was sixteen, when he saw me staring at a pimple on my chin for a long time in the mirror: "you wouldn't worry so much about how you look, if you realized nobody is going to pay  much attention to you anyway."
              I had to think about that one.

              When a wave of paranoia overtakes you when walking through a public place,
when you feel: "O God they're after me!" And you try desperately not  to break out into a mad wild run, and flee through the mall...  Maybe my father's advice will help: that people don't pay attention, and maybe it won't. But remember this saying of a famous psychologist: "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that someone isn't actually following you!"

              
             The truth is, the editors back at the office of "The Talk of the Town Press", Bay City and
formerly of Ottawa told me I'd better lay off the Study of the Female Orgasm until they could look more deeply into the legal ramifications of the matter. "It's not so much the articles that we're worried about," Calvin tells me: "It's that the paper might actually be liable for 'the primitive methods' you employ in your field work'.
               "Primitive methods are essential," I said.
                Calvin held up his hand and said, "Let's talk another day. Today's been dark enough already."
                 And it was going to get darker.
             
                 My neighbour, Tim, dropped by and when I told him about the legal liability worries of the editors, he laughed!
                 "That's not the way I heard it!" he chuckled "I heard that two of the editors think you might be turning into a dangerous asshole! Writing about mysticism one week and sex the next."                 "The two subjects aren't really different at all. And every case was researched minutely. Everything really happened and was reported inconsiderable detail."
                   "It's the field work that worries them and your methods They feel the editors can be liable for putting you on such an  assignment. Also, you're offending some of the wives."
                    Tim took off up the lane.
                     I sat on the steps to the lake, having dark thoughts.

                     All at once the full moon was emerging from behind a tall white pine tree. Suddenly a great howl called up right behind me, about 100 yards back.
                      "I hope that howls a dog and not the howl of the Wendigo calling me home," I thought.
                       The howl started up again. I could see the dog, right across the bay. "AAAAAAOOOOOOO!" I howled back. Then the dog replied. Then we howled together.
I could feel this primal scream therapy blowing out the cobwebs of my brain. I was feeling better already;I was feeling marvelous!
                         It's a primitive cure, but it works for me. The dogs across the lake started in, and I could see we were going to have a real party.There were fifteen or twenty dogs now. I could see the lights turn on one by one in the houses across the lake.
                         Primitive methods!  
                         Sue me!


                                            
            


             


.

ROVING REPORTER RANTS: PROBLEM SOLVING WITH A GUN, COURAGEOUS WOMEN: PAIN IN THE ASS SYNDROME

ROVING REPORTER RANTS: PROBLEM SOLVING WITH A GUN, COURAGEOUS WOMEN: PAIN IN THE ASS SYNDROME

PROBLEM SOLVING WITH A GUN, COURAGEOUS WOMEN: PAIN IN THE ASS SYNDROME

   
        In the wild and wholly North, things have a way of working themselves out. When you're living in a one acre clearing in a cabin north of the 60th parallel and the next village is 37 miles away and you're a nine year old girl, you are somewhat at the mercy of the elements.
       What elements am I talking about? Not the deep patches of snow or the torrential stream that doesn't freeze over evenly, or the last three of your father's sled dogs.
        No, the dogs like you because you feed them moose meat or cariboo, which you have shot yourself. No the elements that cause you trouble are the following: (1)You must be careful about the wolverines. There's a little known fact about wolverines - if you track a wolverine, the wolverine will circle back and track you
        Now a wolverine is a big weasel. You don't want a big weasel on your tail. Because weasels don't fight fair - never have and never will. The notion of "fairness" really doesn't occur to wolverines. And if you ever sat down beside a wolverines ha ha, and took 3 hours to explain fairness to him ( if you could  get a wolverine to sit still for 10 seconds, which you couldn't)
chances are you'd see the wolverine roll around on his back and laugh.
         Problem is, wolverines don't seem to laugh. Otters seem to laugh when they're sliding down wet rocks and splashing into lake water. They seem to do a hell of a lot of chattering together, which seems like laughter to me. There's a pack of them down from  my cabin.
          When wolverines fight, they go straight for the balls. And they're really quick and they're
low - about thigh level to a Kodiak bear. A wolverine will consistently drive a Kodiak bear away from a kill the bear has made. These 1000 pound bears want to protect their balls just like any other sensible male, aware that  his "man"hood is dangling 3 inches below his groin - detachable and free. The wolverine keeps making quick snaps and thrust with his powerful neck, and the Kodiak bear ( or grisley bear) runs away.
             Wolverines also have a nasty habit of pissing all over their food and then burying the food, leaving in there for a week, and coming back and eating it when it's extra tasty. Wolverine piss smells as strongly as a spray from a skunk. If you start to irritate a wolverine, he'll break into your cabin, tear the place apart, smash everything, steal  your food and piss all over the remains. Grown men have been known to abandon their homes. Some northern tribes believe the wolverine is the devil.  Enough said. 
          Polar bears are a whole different ball game, sweet as they look on Coca Cola commercials, it's a mistake to approach one in the wild, because you are on the polar bear's food
chain. It's a mistake you'll only make once. I have never seen a polar bear and a wolverine engage.
And I'm not sure I want to.


           Back to the story. The second element (2) the nine year old girl has to worry about  is the northern lights. When you're far enough north, the northern lights make a sound: they seem to sing to you. And if they form a circle pattern and thrust down at you rhythmically and repeatedly; you can get lost in them - effectively you become hypnotized, if you're sober, If you're not sober, if you eat those funny red-capped mushrooms that seem to grow near evergreen trees, and then you stare at the northern lights... you may not get up for days....**
            And then you have to worry about the third (3) element of danger in your environment: if you lie still for too long: you'll be raped by your insane uncle, who has sniffed too much gasoline.


             Nancy was raped by her insane uncle every day for two years, from when she was nine til when she was eleven. And she lay still for it because if she didn't, her uncle would rape her younger brother. Then she took matters into her own hands and when uncle came at her one more time, she stabbed him 189 times in the face and the chest and the groin.
              Then she fed uncle to the sled dogs.
               Problem solved. No investigation required. 


                Three years later a visitor was abusing her mother, so she shot him right between the eyes with a 303 rifle.
                 Same problem, same solution.
                  The dogs got fed.


                   In this case, I am assured that Nancy is orgasmic, and I believe her. Her illness is really
not of a repressive nature, because she found her own solution. She was a victim, but she didn't stay a victim for three decades.
                    Her neurosis manifests in a very common way - common to women who have been abused at a young age. She flaunts her sexuality, in order to taunt and tease and piss off everyone.
She's actually still quite angry and she is sexually obsessed. So she'll walk down Main Street with her breasts exposed, which is not really a problem. But she is judged by a lot of Christians, especially when she stands outside the chapel door exposing her teats during one of those boring 
Anglo Saxon hymns.
                      The pastor tends to call the cops, because "she is causing impure thoughts!"
                       Not in me!
                        The police can't really hold her anyway, because it's no longer illegal in Canada
to walk around sunning your breasts.
                         In my opinion, all they can really charge her with is, "Causing a disturbance." But she doesn't really make any noise.The police think the situation is funny, and you have to agree with them. The root causes aren't funny, but the present manifestation.


                          I have to admire her courage. She found her own solution to a difficult situation, and she's not really crazy, though she sometimes pretends she is.
                           I had a problem yesterday, when the mother of my eight year old daughter showed up and Nancy was sitting topless in my living room. Things got quite noisy. I pleaded for she and my daughter to stay, and said there was really no problem. But pleading doesn't work in this world. Nor will it work in the next.
                      Diagnosis? Nancy has "pain-in-the-ass" syndrome. She can be a real pain in the ass!
                      But I like difficult people...     I must.






** By the way, the Lapplanders have a system for mushroom-eating, passed down to them by their ancestors. They discovered, through the wisdom of the ages, that their reindeers loved to eat the red capped mushrooms with white flecks. (Read a children's fairy tale and you'll see one, or read about the early Christians...)                                    ( amanita muscaria ) 
                            Some of these guys are a little too close to their herds, and I can only suspect
that their ancestors were closer still. They observed  their reindeer eating the mushrooms. And because, I can only surmise
reindeer piss was part of their regular diet - an early morning drink perhaps, before they had booze or coffee. And these "poor" primitive people started getting extremely high. When they went out in a sled pulled by reindeers, their sled started to fly across the night sky (so high they were). They started a myth about a fat holy man with a big sack (for gathering mushrooms), who'd wander around evergreen trees where the mushrooms grew. And he dressed in red and white, like the mushrooms.
                          And he'd get high and his sled would fly, and he'd laugh: Ho! Ho! Ho! And so we get this lovely story, more fact than fiction, usually told around the winter solstice: all as a result of:  reindeer piss!
                          Mock nothing!  Everything may serve.


                                                                                                              Case 4. Respectfully submitted.

PURITANS! EUROPE IS LAUGHING AT US!

                    They think we are a bunch of Puritans! Even my native friends think we're a bunch of
PURITANS.... well, mostly the women think this. Because they are the ones who work the gardens, bleed every month, carry the water and the wood, do the cooking have the Children and PRETEND
to take the priests seriously. 
                      Then we make 'em walk to the LIQUOR CONTROL BOARD and buy us our booze!

                       That's what we have up here - way the hell and gone up into the Great White North.
You can't walk into the rather austere room of the CONTROL Board hammered, or even pretending that you're hammered, or laughing too loudly. That way you you won't get a drink. And you  can be banned for weeks....!
                       In the Victorian Era, (which Charlie's grandmother stepped right out of... Hell, she was born in the 1880s. She was Victorian! And she was not kidding about the LASH! ). In the Victorian
era. if a table leg had a curve to it, or had a gathering at the knee, or. worse still, an ankle. These
suggestive   'wooden body parts' were covered up with cloth... I think this was mostly in England,
but I'm sure there were some clothed table legs over here! There probably still are clothed
tabled legs in parts of New England and Ontario.
                       It's not the fad so much in L.A.
                       And I  haven't seen A Liquor CONTROL Board south of the Canadian- U.S. border.
Nor do you see this phenomenon so much in Mexico or Peru. And I'm told that Sweden and South Africa are determined to get rid of linens on table leg ankles. Though certain of our Zulu brethern
and my Jamaican Rasta friends are getting to like cloths on table legs: because it gives them a place to hide from their women!                       
                        

                      We have a rock and blues festival up here in North Bay. It takes place in August.
And 80,000 people attend and buy drinks. The festival takes place in a large park overlooking
a lake. Two people I know well were having sex on a tiny island about fifty yards out from the 
crowds. The woman was kneeling on all fours ( to keep a look out). The man was kneeling behind
her. He was moving in a strange fashion, rather like a dog humping in the street.
                       On his face was an expression of pain. Well, he was in pain because tiny rocks and
sharp pieces of shells were digging into his bare knees.. He couldn't have lasted much longer because of the pains in his knees.
                       They sent a police boat after them! But they didn't stop screwing. It became a race
between the couple finishing the act and the arrival of the police boat. 
                        Now the crowd caught onto this action and they stopped watching the stage. And eighty thousand people started cheering the couple on. With a loud rhythmic chant shouting something like, "GO! GO! GO!" It was hard to make out the words.
                         Well, the man didn't orgasm but the woman certainly did. And I'm sure the
woman helped the man out later.
                          But this wouldn't happen it Sweden. Would it? Please e-mail me at zappadat@themenace.ca. Of course, in Sweden naturally they'd be having sex. But would they send the police boat?
                


                           The point is: WE ARE A BUNCH OF PURITANS! And it's not good for our health.
I mean, we impeach a president because someone's giving him pleasure with her mouth! Come on!
                            And we despise the Taliban because they want women to wear veils? We're in the same league, I can tell you - only everybody's wearing a psychic condom they're not aware of.
Sexual liberation? It lasted fifteen minutes and we forgot what we learned.
                             I can tell you, Europe is laughing at us! Well, maybe not England. England understands us perfectly. But at least the English are intelligent enough to have developed a strong and sophisticated industry of sadomasocism. (Though I'm told members of Parliament keep trying
to turn back the clock and criminalize practices the nation should be proud of. Fools! Give the matter to the Tourist Bureau instead and have them advertise the Whipping Trade overseas.
I can tell you a lot of North Americans would come, and need to attend, and they'd be dropping their pants while pretending to study the Parliament Buildings)


                              I was laughing, too. But not with a police boat approaching.



                        

                               And SEX!  OOOPS! No one ever wanted to openly admit there was such a thing .
Things aren't so bad any more. But a  perverted repression and all-pervasive guilt still resides
deep down in the psyche of North America.
                               And if you don't believe me, let me hypnotize you, if you live in North America 
(And even if you don't). And we'll do some regression therapy together, and we'll see where you're
stuck and why.
                               And I promise not to bring out the electric sex toys until you're awake!

                                Years ago all the liquor bottles were hidden. We weren't allowed to see them.
That might have been an inducement for us to get plastered. Everything was hidden behind a white
partition wall. You had to write out your order quietly on a little slip. Then a government employee
in a smock would walk through a little door in the back, and bring you your bottle.
                                It was like watching a woman strip, when she never did take her clothes off.
And I'm at expert at stripping and the tease. I lived at a Burlesque Palace for a year and a half.
And I played guitar there every day.
                                So that's one ambition I've achieved. I'd always wanted to play in a band in a strip club, ever since I saw this woman take her clothes off and dance around this thick hanging rope, in a tiny club in Vienna with a hot three piece band.                     
 
                               Oh, and to be fair I must say:  now when we walk into the Liquour Control
Board of Ontario, we can actually SEE the bottles! And we can touch 'em, too! And the people
working the cash registers are pleasant people, not judgmental fools!
                               So Europe is laughing and other parts of the world, as well. And that's O.K.
I was laughing, too, until they sent the cops.