Synchronicity
II
Wes
Hansen © Creative Commons Attribution -
NoDerivs
Speaking of synchronicity, when I was in my late
teens I read a book by Robert Anton Wilson which contained a snippet about an
experiment conducted to determine if plants had consciousness. According to
Wilson the results of the experiment were conclusive and positive. While my
sister was attending grad school, pursuing her Ph.D. in physiology, I told her
about this experiment and she laughed and told me I was just too gullible. Fast
forward twenty years.
When I was incarcerated in the maximum–security forensic
psychiatric hospital in Vernon, Texas, while on the Spruce Unit, a fellow named
Fred processed in. Fred was a lot like me in that he wasn’t mentally ill and
had no history of mental illness. For some inexplicable reason Fred had spent
about two years in solitary confinement and was starved for conversation. An
electrical engineer in his mid-fifties who was also a history buff, Fred was
quite interesting so I engaged him in conversation quite extensively.
During the course of a conversation I happened to
mention this plant consciousness experiment to Fred and he became quite
animated. Fred had worked on this experiment. He told me that he attended
Junior College and received his Associates degree in electronics and then
worked his way through engineering school. One of the professors he worked for
(this was in New York State) had conducted this experiment. Fred built the
Faraday cages used to protect the plants and their sensitive instruments from
outside noise or interference.
Fred told me the experiment was conducted on behalf
of the Department of Defense. The military wanted to determine if plants could
sense warm bodies and thus be utilized as advance sentries around military
establishments. It was determined that plants could indeed sense warm bodies
and furthermore, that they sometimes appeared to demonstrate emotion towards
other plants. The professor withheld water from all of the plants and then
watered some but not others. He interpreted the resulting electrical activity
to demonstrate that the plants being watered were expressing anxiety for the
plants which weren’t. He determined that the most sensitive plants were Yucca
plants. I think of this every time I eat a Yucca root. I imagine the Yucca
crying, “No, no, don’t take my root!”
Fred’s story was remarkably similar to my own. His
only surviving relative was an aging mother who was living on a small fixed
income in New York State so he had no outside assistance. Fred was trying to convince
his court-appointed attorney that he was the victim of a conspiracy and she
became angry and had him committed to Vernon. Fred had been living in the
Dallas/Fort Worth area and was working for a large telecommunications company.
He told me he and a co-worker invented a device that revolutionized the
industry and that when the industry found out about it they killed Fred’s
co-worker and framed Fred for the crime thus facilitating the theft of the
invention. I know how these people work and I believe every bit of Fred’s
story. Synchronicity? I’m asking the question . . .
If you doubt that Fred, an engineer from New York
State, could be framed for a murder so that a Dallas, Texas, based corporation
could steal his invention, consider this:
I find it rather convenient that John F. Kennedy, a
U.S. President, was murdered in Dallas, Texas, an obvious patsy framed for the
crime, who was himself murdered shortly thereafter by a Dallas, Texas, night
club owner, while Lyndon Baines Johnson, a Texan, took Kennedy’s place in the
White House. All good detectives look for the motive. All of the books I’ve
read about the Kennedy murder wax on about the mob and the CIA but they never
mention the Texas connection.
With the release of the Jacqueline Kennedy
interviews given to Arthur Schlesinger Jr. in 1964 the Texas connection becomes
even more poignant. The book, Jacqueline Kennedy: Historic Conversations on
Life with John F. Kennedy, hasn’t been released yet but the Houston
Chronicle ran a copy of an Associated Press (AP) review titled, “Book:
Kennedy scorned idea of Johnson as President.” I quote from the review:
President
John F. Kennedy openly scorned the notion of Vice President Lyndon Baines
Johnson succeeding him in office, according to a book of newly released
interviews with his widow, former first lady Jacqueline Kennedy.
She
said her husband and his brother, then Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, a
longtime LBJ antagonist, even discussed ways to prevent Johnson from winning
the Democratic nomination in a future contest.
JFK
chose Johnson, a Texas senator and former political rival, as his running mate
in 1960. But Jacqueline Kennedy told Schlesinger in the 1964 interviews that he
often fretted about the prospect of a Johnson presidency.
“Jack
said it to me sometimes. He said, ‘Oh, God, can you ever imagine what would
happen to the country if Lyndon were president?’ she recalled. ‘And Bobby told
me that he’d had some discussions with him . . . do something to name someone
else in 1968.’”
Johnson
was sworn in as president after JFK’s assassination and was elected to a full
term in 1964. He declined to seek re-election in 1968.
Jacqueline
Kennedy also indicated that her husband was highly skeptical about victory in
Vietnam, a central battleground of the Cold War and the conflict that brought
down Johnson’s presidency. She said that JFK, a Democrat, had named Henry Cabot
Lodge, a Republican he had defeated for a Massachusetts Senate seat in 1952, as
U.S. ambassador to Vietnam because JFK was so doubtful of military success
there.
“I
think he probably did it . . . rather thinking it might be such a brilliant
thing to do because Vietnam was rather hopeless anyway, and put a Republican
there,” Jacqueline Kennedy said.
JFK
increased the U.S. presence in Vietnam throughout his brief administration,
adding military advisers to help train the South Vietnamese military. Johnson,
as president, would later commit ground troops to the conflict despite initial
promises not to. Historians still debate whether Kennedy would have done the
same.
Who killed John F. Kennedy? Beyond doubt it was a
sniper with some Texas law enforcement agency who delivered the fatal bullet
but, in the end, it was Lyndon Baines Johnson and his Texas co-conspirators who
set the play in motion. Who were Johnson’s co-conspirators? Who benefitted
financially by Johnson’s commitment of ground troops to Vietnam? Read your history
. . . it was a little company, headquartered in Houston, Texas, called Brown
and Root. Consider the following from Rice historian, Douglas
Brinkley:
[…] George
Brown, of Houston's Brown & Root construction company, also made an
irresistible pitch for the new manned spacecraft center. Cognizant that NASA
coming to Houston would be a local jobs engine, Brown, chairman of the Rice
Board of Trustees, offered NASA 1,000 acres of wildlife-rich pasture at Clear
Lake that Humble Oil had recently donated to the university. NASA's key
location requirement was that the space center had to have a "mild climate
permitting year-round, ice-free water transportation; and permitting
out-of-door work for most of the year." Houston, a gateway to the Gulf of
Mexico, easily fit this criterion.
Brown,
a huge Houston booster, had been a longtime financial supporter of Vice
President Lyndon Johnson. That gave the Houstonian an inside track with the
Kennedy administration. The president owed Texas something, it seemed, for
delivering 24 electoral votes to him in his razor-close 1960 White House race
against Republican nominee Richard Nixon. Without Texas, it's safe to say, JFK
wouldn't have been president. Rep. Thomas, a master Capitol Hill operator, saw
how to close the deal. Throughout 1962, Thomas refused to support a few
Kennedy-backed bills pending before Congress. A quid pro quo was in the offing.
In full Machiavelli mode, Kennedy casually told the congressman that NASA head
James Webb was "thinking of building a manned space center, perhaps - only
perhaps - in Houston." But Kennedy it seemed first needed support for his
pending bills. With a calculated change of heart, Rep. Thomas supported
Kennedy's bills, and in return Kennedy rewarded Houston with the Manned
Spacecraft Center (renamed the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center after LBJ died in
1973). […]
One can’t help but wonder what additional “Machivellian”
deal-making was taking place, especially given that Kennedy’s brother, Robert,
was murdered a relatively short time after John. Synchronicities that can be
demonstrated to have a causal mechanism linking them cease to be synchronicities,
instead they become conspiracies.
Prior to becoming Vice President, Dick Cheney was
the CEO of a little company headquartered in Dallas, Texas called Haliburton.
Haliburton owns Kellog, Brown, and Root. Who benefitted financially from the
invasion of Iraq, Operation Iraqi Liberation or OIL as it’s come to be known?
Haliburton secured no-bid contracts worth billions of dollars and Kellog,
Brown, and Root fulfilled many of those contracts. In other words, billions of
American tax dollars were taken from all 49 states and re-directed to Dallas,
Texas. Is it any wonder that Texas suffered less than any other state during
the recent economic downturn? People who believe these Saudi Arabian morons
pulled off the most spectacular terrorist attack in history without
facilitating efforts from within the U.S. just don’t want to know the truth.
Feed the Mother Texas, until you’re tired and sore!
My question is: How many members of Congress were in
on the scheme? For certain Kay Bailey Hutchinson and Rick Perry knew about it,
but I wonder how many others? Regardless, every member of Congress who voted
for the “pre-emptive” invasion of Iraq bears some responsibility. It didn’t
take a Herculean effort to figure out that Bush Jr. and Cheney were peddling
fraudulent information. All one had to do was read the newspaper.
I wrote a poem while locked up in jail. I call it:
Forgive
them Mother for they know not what they do
Creator
The
drift of the Mother is dark indeed; She needn’t be present to plant Her seed.
She
comes on occasion when life is unwell, an Isis in hiding under Her veil.
She
awakens Her lovers, their wounded dream; She gives them meaning, dissolving
what seem,
misery
and illusory, a temporal scream. A deliverance from sorrow, Her people
unchained;
Prometheus
rising, Her will ordained.
The
essential darkness, beginner’s mind; Her jewels and adornments a pleasure to
find.
Awaked
from ignorance, unending bliss; a manifest of wonder brings us to this:
Serve
Her will, She’ll open the door; a timeless kingdom, possibility galore.
Accept
the wisdom, the ancient lore, follow Her love to yonder shore.
Feed
the Mother you fools, for She’s the One to adore!
Feed
the Mother you fools, for She’s the Eternal Core!
Feed
the Mother you fools, add to Her ancient lore!
Feed
the Mother you fools, cross to the yonder shore!
Preserver
The
essence of the Mother unchanged through time; Birth and Death, the eternal
rhyme.
Listen
to the story it tells of this, Colloidal Suspension, lovelorn bliss.
What
is illusory and what is real; the sword of death a determined appeal.
Discriminate
wisely, you’ll see the truth; transcending time, eternal youth.
So
mourn not Death nor yearn for Life, the Mother in essence is full of Strife.
Feed
the Mother you fools, try to even the score!
Feed
the Mother you fools, no reason to abhor!
Feed
the Mother you fools, calm the tempests roar!
Feed
the Mother you fools, let your spirit soar!
Destroyer
Fraudulent
kings born into power, integrated desire, prostitution, and war;
Boardroom
warmongers, a slick ass campaign, exporting death with moral disdain.
Kings
and their jesters plying the trade, demons and fools a hell-bent tirade;
Mercenary
killers still keeping the score, all they care for continuing war.
Scene
after scene, crusades of hate; blood begets blood, it’s already too late.
Killing
sons, daughters, the young; aborting their future in the name of the State.
Sorrow
by sorrow recorded in time; destiny repeating, the doom innate.
Feed
the Mother you fools, treat the world like your whore!
Feed
the Mother you fools, enjoy the bloody gore!
Feed
the Mother you fools, until you’re tired and sore!
Feed
the Mother you fools, there’s room in hell for lot’s more!
You see, everything we think and do feeds the
Mother. It can’t be otherwise for, by definition, She is the fecund
shuffle – the creator, preserver, destroyer. She bringeth life forth and taketh
life away. She is the Universe, the Dance of Time, harmony made manifest . . .
DeathSong
Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home
“This
message is a message of hope. The Hopi and Maori Elders say that we are moving
into this time, this time of the World of the Fifth Hoop. This is a time when
all the four Sacred Powers are going to be reconnected.”
Larry Merculieff as quoted in Sacred
Drumming by Steven Ash/ “Buffalo Spirit Man”
“The
stone people are the record-keepers for the Earth Mother. This consciousness is
long and slow. In order to tune into them, you have to slow down to their pace.
The Hopi are the keepers of the sacred stone tablets for the sacred red power;
these have predictions inscribed on them that foretell the future. The Tibetans
have sacred stone tablets secreted in the mountains. In Africa there is a set
of black sacred tablets. All around us are sacred stones. Spending some time
looking and then meditating with stones is extremely revealing. They are
protective, energizing, strong, and comforting, and even have a sense of
humor!”
Steven Ash/”Buffalo Spirit Man”, Sacred Drumming
“Brother,
you say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is
but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it? Why not all
agreed, as you can all read the Book?”
- Sogoyewapha, (Red Jacket),
Seneca 1752-1830
“He
alone sees truly who sees the Lord the same in every creature, who sees the
Deathless in the hearts of all that die. Seeing the same Lord everywhere, he
does not harm himself or others. Thus he attains the supreme goal.”
- Lord Krishna, Bhagavad Gita 13: 27-28
Truth is one; only It is called
by different names. All people are seeking the same Truth; the variance is
due to climate, temperament, and name. A lake has many ghats. From one ghat the
Hindus take water in jars and call it "jal". From another ghat the
Mussalmāns (muslims) take water in leather bags and call it "pāni".
From a third the Christians take the same thing and call it "water". Suppose someone says that the thing is not
"jal" but "pāni", or that it is not "pāni" but
"water", or that it is not "water" but "jal", it
would indeed be ridiculous. But this very thing is at the root of the friction
among sects, their misunderstandings and quarrels. This is why people
injure and kill one another, and shed blood, in the name of religion. But this
is not good. Everyone is going toward
God. They will all realize Him if they have sincerity and longing of heart.
- Sri Ramakrishna
"The first peace, which is the most
important, is that which comes from within the souls of men when they realize
their relationship, their oneness, with the universe and all its powers, and
when they realize that at the center of the universe dwells Wakan-Tanka, and
that this center is really everywhere, it is within each of us. This is the
real peace, and the others are but reflections of this. The second peace is
that which is made between two individuals, and the third is that which is made
between two nations. But above all you should understand that there can never
be peace between nations until there is first known that true peace which is
within the souls of men."
- Black Elk
“It makes no difference as to the name of the God,
since love is the real God of all the world. Even your silence holds a sort of
prayer.”
- Apache Wisdom
"Like
all good teachers, the world repeats her lesson. Over and over ...with wordless
variety... She spells the name of Love."
- Joan Walsh Anglund
"It
is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible
to the eye."
- Chogyam
Trungpa
"This
is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated
philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is
kindness."
- The Dalai Lama
"Grown men can learn from very little
children for the hearts of little children are pure. Therefore, the Great
Spirit may show to them many things which older people miss."
- Black Elk
"Being
Indian is
an attitude, a state of mind, a way of being in harmony with all things and all
beings. It is allowing the heart to be the distributor of energy on this
planet; to allow feelings and sensitivities to determine where energy goes;
bringing aliveness up from the Earth and from the Sky, putting it in and giving
it out from the heart."
- Brooke Medicine Eagle
“We
cannot all sit on the same side of the Fire. A Council Fire forms a circle, not
a line or a square. When we move to the side, we still sit at the Fire with our
Brothers and Sisters, but as we move away from one we move toward another. The
circle, like the Dream Hoop, brings us ever back to where we start. Any time
words of respect and love are spoken, they will return as given. A harsh word
runs forever in the circle, eventually vanishing from the wear against itself.
Love settles within the Circle, embracing it and thereby lasting forever,
turning within itself.
The
Medicine Wheel is the circle of life (sometimes referred to as the Scared Hoop)
starting with birth and continuing throughout our lives until death, when we
have gone full circle. The Medicine Wheel has four Directions, each direction
offering its own lessons, color, and animal guide. There are two paths shown
which cross in the center, at which point for me is the heart (for when you
work from your heart, you can reach all directions). The path from East to West
is the path of spirits (the Blue Road), the path from South to North is our
physical walk (the Red Road ).
East
- beginnings - purity, family, innocence, amazement of Life
South - youth - passions of life, friendships, self-control
West - Adulthood - solitude, stillness, going inside oneself, reflection
North - Place of the Ancient Ones who have gone over - place of wisdom
Above - Freedom of mind, body, spirit
Below
- Nuturing, Mother, life
- Luther Standing Bear, Oglala
Sioux 1868-1937
"We
are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings
having a human experience."
- Teilhard de Chardin
"A human being is part of a whole,
called by us the 'Universe,' a part limited in time and space. He experiences
himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest - a
kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of
prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a
few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by
widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the
whole of nature in its beauty."
- Albert Einstein
"The
caterpillar does not understand the butterfly."
- Mahayana Wisdom
"As
you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as
you may think."
- Apache
Wisdom
“Let
us imagine ourselves for a moment in the lecture hall where I originally
presented the material for this chapter. Above, we see the many lights. Each
bulb is separate from the others, and we may think of them, accordingly, as
separate from each other. Regarded that way, they are so many empirical facts;
and the whole universe seen that way is called in Japanese ji hokkai, “the
universe of things.”
But
now, let us consider further. Each of those separate bulbs is a vehicle of
light, and the light is not many but one. The one light, that is to say, is
being displayed through all those bulbs; and we may think, therefore, either of
the many bulbs or of the one light. Moreover, if this or that bulb went out, it
would be replaced by another and we should again have the same light. The
light, which is one, appears thus through many bulbs.
Analogously,
I would be looking out from the lecture platform, seeing before me all the
people of my audience, and just as each bulb seen aloft is a vehicle of light,
so each of us below is a vehicle of consciousness. But the important thing
about a bulb is the quality of its light. Likewise, the important thing about
each of us is the quality of his consciousness. And although each may tend to
identify himself mainly with his separate body and its frailties, it is
possible also to regard one’s body as a mere vehicle of consciousness and to
think then of consciousness as the one presence here made manifest through us
all. These are but two ways of interpreting and experiencing the same set of
present facts. One way is not truer than the other. They are just two ways of
interpreting and experiencing: the first, in terms of the manifold of separate
things; the second, in terms of the one thing that is made manifest through
this manifold. And as, in Japanese, the first is known as ji hokkai, so the
second is ri hokkai, the absolute universe.
Now
the consciousness of ji hokkai cannot help being discriminative, and,
experiencing oneself that way, one is bounded, like the light of a bulb, in
this fragile present body of glass; whereas in the consciousness of ri hokkai
there is no such delimitation. The leading aim of all Oriental mystic teaching,
consequently, might be described as that of enabling us to shift our focus of
self-identification from, so to say, this light bulb to its light; from this
mortal person to the consciousness of which our bodies are but the vehicles.
That, in fact, is the whole sense of the famous saying of the Indian Chandogya
Upanishad: tat tvam asi, “Thou art That,” “You yourself are that
undifferentiated universal ground of all being, all consciousness, and all
bliss.”
Not,
however, the “you” with which one normally identifies: the “you,” that is to
say, that has been named, numbered, and computerized for the tax collector.
That is not the “you” that is That, but the condition that makes you a separate
bulb.
It
is not easy, however, to shift the accent of one’s sense of being from the body
to its consciousness, and from this consciousness, then, to consciousness
altogether.
The
Buddha himself, according to his legend, had broken the net only after years of
quest and austerity, when he had arrived at last at the Bodhi-tree, the tree
(so called) of enlightenment at the midpoint of the universe – that center of his
own deepest silence which T. S. Eliot in
his poem “Burnt Norton” has called “the still point of the turning world.” In
the poet’s words:
I
can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And
I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
There,
at that tree, the god whose name is Desire and death, by whose power the world
is kept turning, approached the Blessed One to unseat him; and assuming his
fair character as the inciter of desire, beautiful to look upon, he displayed
before the Blessed One his three exceedingly beautiful daughters, Yearning,
Fulfillment, and Heartache; so that if the one seated there immovable had
thought, “I,” he would certainly also have thought, “They,” and been stirred.
However, since he had lost all sense of the ji hokkai, of things separate from
each other, he remained unmoved, and that first temptation failed.
Immediately,
the Lord of Desire transformed himself into King of Death and flung at the
Blessed One the whole force of his terrible army. But again there was neither
an “I” nor a “They” where the Blessed One sat immobile and the second
temptation also failed.
Finally,
assuming the form of the Lord of Dharma, Duty, the Antagonist challenged the
right of the Blessed One to be sitting immobile on that still point of the
turning world, when the duties of his caste required him, as a prince, to be
governing men from his palace. Whereupon the prince, in response, simply
changed the position of his right hand, letting its fingers drop across the
knee to the earth in the so-called “earth-touching posture;” at which summons
the goddess Earth herself, who is Mother Nature, antecedent to society, and
whose claims are antecedent too, spoke forth and with a sound of thunder made
known that the one there sitting had, through innumerable lifetimes, so given
of himself to the world that there was no one there.
The
elephant on which the Lord of Desire, Death, and Duty was mounted bowed in
reverence to the Blessed One, and the army as well as the god himself
disappeared. Whereupon the one beneath the tree achieved that night the whole
knowledge of which I am here speaking – of himself as no “self,” but identical
with the ri hokkai, transcendent of all names and forms, where (as again we
read in the Kena Upanishad) “words do not reach.”
And
when he had broken past the net of separate things, within which feeling and
thought are entrapped, the Buddha was so struck by the mind-shattering sheer
light that he remained seven days seated exactly as he was, in absolute arrest;
then rose and, standing seven paces from the place where he had been sitting,
remained gazing seven more days at the site of his enlightenment. Seven days
again, and he walked back and forth between the places of his standing and his
sitting; after which he sat for seven days beneath a second tree, considering
the irrelevance of what he had just experienced to the world-net to which he
was returning. Seven days more, beneath still another tree, and he meditated on
the sweetness of release; then moved to a fourth tree, where a storm of
prodigious force arose that ranged over and around him, seven days. The world
serpent, ascending from its station beneath the cosmic tree, gently wrapped
itself around the Blessed One, spreading its great cobra-hood above his head,
protecting him as a shield. The tempest abated; the cosmic serpent withdrew;
and for seven days, at ease beneath a fifth tree, the Buddha, considering,
thought: “This cannot be taught.”
For
indeed, illumination cannot be communicated. Yet not sooner had the Buddha
conceived that thought than the gods of the highest heaven – Brahma, Indra, and
their angels – descended to the Blessed One to beg him, for the good of
mankind, the gods, and all beings, to teach. And he consented. And for
forty-nine years thereafter the Buddha taught in this world. But he did not,
and he could not, teach illumination. Buddhism, therefore, is only a Way. It is
called a vehicle (yana) to the yonder shore, transporting us from this shore of
the ji hokkai (the experience of the separation of things, the many bulbs, the
separate lights) to that, yonder, of the ri hokkai , beyond concepts and the
net of thought, where the knowledge of a Silence beyond silences becomes actual
in the blast of an experience.
And
so, how then did the Buddha teach? He went forth into the world in the
character of a doctor diagnosing an illness, to prescribe for his patient a
cure. First he asked, “What are the symptoms of the world disease?” And his
answer was, “Sorrow!” The First Noble Truth: “All life is sorrowful.”
Have
we heard? Have we understood? “All life is sorrowful!” The important word here
is “all,” which cannot be translated to mean “modern” life, or (as I have
recently heard) “life under capitalism,” so that if the social order were
altered, people then might become happy. Revolution is not what the Buddha
taught. His First Noble Truth was that life –all life – is sorrowful. And his
cure, therefore, would have to be able to produce relief, no matter what the
social, economic, or geographical circumstances of the invalid.
The
Buddha’s second question, accordingly, was, “Can such a total cure be
achieved?” And his answer was, “Yes!” The Second Noble Truth: “There is release
from sorrow.”
Which
cannot have meant release from life (life-renunciation, suicide, or anything of
that sort), since that would hardly have been a return of the patient to
health. Buddhism is wrongly taught when interpreted as a release from life. The
Buddha’s question was of release not from life, but from sorrow.
So
then, what would be the nature of that state of health which he not only had
envisioned but himself had already achieved? That we learn from his Third Noble
Truth: “The release from sorrow is nirvana.”
The
literal meaning of the Sanskrit noun nirvana is “blown out;” and its reference
in the Buddha’s sense is to an extinction of egoism. With that, there will have
been extinguished also the desire of ego for enjoyment, its fear of death, and
the sense of duties imposed by society. For the released one is moved from within,
not by an external authority: and this motivation from within is not out of a
sense of duty, but out of compassion for all suffering beings. Neither dead nor
having quit the world, but in the full knowledge and experience of the ri
hokkai, the enlightened one moves in ji hokkai, where Guatama, after his
enlightenment, taught to the great old age of eighty-two.
And
what was it he taught? What he taught was the Way to release from sorrow, the
Eightfold Path, as he termed his doctrine, of Right Views, Right Aspirations,
Right Speech, Right Conduct, Livelihood, and Effort, Right Meditation, Right
Rapture.”
- Joseph Campbell
"We
are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts,
we make the world."
- The Buddha
“God is directly perceived by
the mind, but not by this ordinary mind. It is the pure mind that
perceives God, and at that time this ordinary mind does not function. A mind
that has the slightest trace of attachment to the world cannot be called pure.
When all the impurities of the mind are removed, you may call that mind Pure
Mind or Pure Ātman.”
- Sri Ramakrishna
“It is no small pity, and
should cause us no little shame, that, through our own fault, we do not
understand ourselves, or know who we are. Would it not be a sign of
great ignorance, my daughters, if a person were asked who he was, and could not
say, and had no idea who his father or mother was, or from what country he
came? Though that is a great stupidity, our own is incomparably greater if we
make no attempt to discover what we are, and only know that we are living in
these bodies and have a vague idea, because we have heard it, and because our
faith tells us so, that we possess souls. As to what good qualities there may be in our souls, or who dwells within
them, or how precious they are — those are things which we seldom consider and
so we trouble little about carefully preserving the soul's beauty. All
our interest is centred in the rough setting of the diamond and in the outer
wall of the castle – that is to say in these bodies of ours.”
- St. Teresa of
Avila
“A
human being has so many skins inside, covering the depths of the heart. We know
so many things, but we don't know ourselves! Why, thirty or forty skins or
hides, as thick and hard as an ox's or bear's, cover the soul. Go into your own
ground and learn to know yourself there.”
- Meister Ekhart
"When
I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love has
always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they seem
invincible, but in the end, they always fall - think of it, ALWAYS."
- Mahatma Gandhi
“Some
people want to see God with their eyes as they see a cow, and to love Him as
they love a cow - for the milk and cheese and profit it brings them. This is
how it is with people who love God for the sake of outward wealth or inward
comfort. They do not rightly love God, when they love Him for their own
advantage. ”
- Meister Eckhart
“I did not know then how much was ended. When I look
back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still see the butchered women
and children lying heapen and scattered all along the crooked gulch as plain as
when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died
there in the bloody mud, and was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died
there. It was a beautiful dream . . . the nations hoop is broken and scattered.
There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.”
-Black Elk, Lakota
"Upon suffering beyond
suffering: the Red Nation shall rise again and it shall be a blessing for a
sick world. A world filled with broken promises, selfishness and separations; a
world longing for light again. I see a time of Seven Generations when all the
colors of mankind will gather under the Sacred Tree of Life and the whole Earth
will become one circle again.
In that day, there will be
those among the Lakota who will carry knowledge and understanding of unity
among all living things and the young white ones will come to those of my
people and ask for this wisdom. I salute the light within your eyes where the
whole Universe dwells. For when you are at that center within you and I am that
place within me, we shall be one."
- Chief Crazy Horse, Oglala Sioux (This statement was taken from Crazy
Horse as he sat smoking the Sacred Pipe with Sitting Bull for the last time,
four days before his assassination, an assassination orchestrated by the U.S.
Calvary)
"Our
wise men are called Fathers, and they truly sustain that character. Do you call
yourselves Christians? Does the religion of Him who you call your Savior
inspire your spirit, and guide your practices? Surely not. It is recorded of Him
that a bruised reed He never broke. Cease then to call yourselves Christians,
lest you declare to the world your hypocrisy. Cease too to call other nations
savage, when you are tenfold more the children of cruelty than they. No person
among us desires any other reward for performing a brave and worthwhile action,
but the consciousness of having served his nation. I bow to no man for I am
considered a prince among my own people. But I will gladly shake your hand."
- Joseph Brant (Thayendanegea), Mohawk - 1742-1807
But
if anyone obeys his word, love for God is truly made complete in them. This is
how we know we are in him: Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus
did.
- 1 John 2:5-6
Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wishes to
come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever
wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake
will find it. What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and
forfeit his soul? Or what can one give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of
Man will come with his angels in the Father’s glory and then he will repay
everyone according to their conduct.”
Matthew 16:24-27
Every entity made up of
more than one conscious life has a collective consciousness. How could it be
otherwise? Continuing in this vein: Does every entity made up of more than one
conscious life also have a collective karma? It’s certainly something to
ponder.
DeathSong
Warrior
Every day spent waiting for the other foot to fall; each
moment, uphill and into the wind, redefining time. Dream, enlightenment,
madness, filter dependent manifestations of Will suspended between truth and
illusion; one Source field energies subtly integrated yet varied by the
presence of noise. I can tell you a story with respect to all three: locked up,
a concrete box, thirty feet to a side, filled with psychoses of every order; a
cold, dark, winter in a sane man’s soul. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way
Home.
I met the guy in holding with dilated pupils, the
taste of bloody fear rocking me a lullaby. “I’m tripping my ass off,” he said.
He hung himself by the fire light that night – fecal matter everywhere. Suffering
no delusions, I cut myself just to feel the animus – the rage of life
previously denied – bringing light to the ebony heart of doom. Meanwhile, inspired
by the interference, the schizophrenic was holding six conversations all at
once – five with himself, one with a fellow schizophrenic – a symphonic
cacophony improvised yet full of profound melody. Michael, called up from the
bowels of a thorazine freeze, asks, “Wanna play some bones?” “Dude, you
couldn’t play bones if your momma slapped the white outta your mouth,” I
replied. He laughed and sank back into the freeze, the photo, a nudie shot of
his girl, free to flee, floats to the ground. I pick up the picture and return
to the symphony. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
Out of oblivion this cat we all call Scrappy attacks
me with a plastic spoon screaming something about peckerwoods stealing his
soul. Scrappy doesn’t know, there are no true peckerwoods anymore – maybe never
were. In the world of time you’re either dark or light; only in the realm
beyond time, where myth, dream, madness share root, does the cross, the
yin/yang, the Linga/Yoni, bear truth. Although sickly thin, Scrappy eats food
others throw in the trash; I don’t understand at the time but my own bleak
future is beckoning. Five hundred push-ups later and he’s still stabbing my
worn out mind. You call me peckerwood one more time and I’m gonna make you eat
that spoon . . . Scrappy. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
The symphony, reaching a frenetic pitch, calls up the
daily ritual. The priestess with her tray of dope serves up voluntary
communion. Awakened, the Rastafarian rejects bread and blood but masturbates
for the fifth time – homage to the queen. Subsisting on pickled jalapeños, the
Rastafarian shits acidified water constantly, blackened drawers screaming a
rank tale of unmanaged misery. Every time the concrete box, filled with dark,
dank, doom, smelters in the spent spunk spawned by unmitigated self-sex and
becomes nearly unbearable. Nichols, the heroin infused, self-medicated
bi-polar, tells me a hood tale. The Rastafarian comes from wealth – Houston
Symphony and corporate law; ruined his life smoking wet, otherwise known as
formaldehyde or embalming fluid – a relative of PCP (angeldust). Angeldust . . ?
He flew too close to the Sun. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
Forty-five days in this mad house will make a sane
man sorry and a sick man sicker. I rode the bus to the hospital in Vernon,
Texas; not a place where you go to get well but, rather, a playground majoring
in small-town pimpin’ and surrealist performance art. There can be no doubt the
cuckoo flew the coop in Vernon, Texas. Most every “patient” accused of murder;
mommas killing babies, babies killing mommas. Former beauty queen stabbed her
boyfriend 27 times and tries to talk to me about God. Rage, barely suppressed,
colors her cheeks rosy. She doesn’t like what I have to say about God. I told
her, “Just because I sit cross-legged on the mushroom cap doesn’t mean my own
nymphomania is in remission. Stab me 27 times and I’ll love you forever.” If
you’re not spooked yet just wait until we finish. Some dreams aren’t meant to
survive. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
Those in “charge,” Dr. Black and the Doctors
Freidman, state-sanctioned pimps dealing bread and blood, are themselves
invertebrate whores. Determined to serve the sanctioning state, they desecrate
the holy ground, serving up pressure induced fracturization yielding medicated
lobotomy – mind freeze addiction to the bread and blood. Delusional disorder? I
suffer no delusions regarding Dr. Black and the Doctors Freidman: Cockroaches
wallowing in their own scatological hell; Well-trained primates armed with
fecal projectiles they lob at truth determined aggressors; Hoarding dragons
guarding the bright, shiny, lie for they know not why; Deathstar Stormtroopers
dealing a living death – the list is endless – in the end simply mythic forces
serving the tyrant, Status Quo, keeper of darkness, illusion, and dysfunctional
madness. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
My own initiation to the charnel ground of
psychiatric warfare is welcomed. Not one accustomed to baptism by fire, I come
prepared. Knowledge gleaned from well-read and better understood tomes about
societal misuse of psychiatric “treatment” serves me well. The enemy,
unimaginative, deals a straight deck of corrupt attempts: induced paranoia; tests
loaded with essay questions confined to bi-valent answers; manufactured and
unsupported drug histories; in the end all plays on fear, fear, fear. My own
mental technologies ground me in time beyond time where there is no paranoia,
no drug history, and certainly no fear. After brief battle the Deathstar
Stormtroopers succumb to their own fear and deal an empty, fabricated fraud
rather than living death. I can’t help but wonder how many others have gone
before and, not as prepared, fallen prey. Take eat – flesh – take drink – blood
– it’s all dope and prune juice to me. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
They finally came and took the guy down from the
fire light. He’s only been there a week. You would think someone cared but this
is Harris County, Texas, birthplace of the death penalty as Pop Art;
screen-prints of electric chairs fill the void between here and Huntsville. I finally
beat Alejandro at dominoes. I think he put a contract out on me, old school
Syndicate that he is. I guess I’ll find out . . . if Scrappy doesn’t get me
first. DeathSong Warrior: It’s a Long Way Home.
Peckerwood dreams don’t become me but, boy, I love
the sound of Rusted Shut after 45 days in the putrid bowels of hell. I start to
hear visions of Man as the Bastard so I try to grind away the world. Steel
brushes grinding the pick-up mics – broken guitar – a feedback highway all the
way to Summerland. I end up in Port Arthur, Texas, birthplace of the tornado
construct. Monuments to the hurricane on Gulfway Drive, pictures of the burnt
out church, Baptist, clear testaments to the Presence, an inspiration for my
own tornado – DeathSong Warrior: It’s
a Long Way Home. It may be a small world but it’s still a long way
home. Are we there yet? Truth is . . . we’ve never really left. The upper limit
of stability . . . effortlessly obtained.