A Life of Folly

 I've known a lot of intelligent and brilliant people during my life so far, both personally and through reading their works and biographies. From scholars, engineers, biologists, programmers, to highly skilled craftsmen, musicians, artists,  and maintenance repair and restoration people 

They share a common trait/vibe, a hard set devotion to learning and discovery, a good head for details and the integration of such, a passion and focus to know deeply the things they find interesting, even addictively so ... Curiousity and the love for the reward of answered questions (even answers to bad questions) and the thrill of newfound mental and physical skills. Many are walking encylopedias for given topics, experts in the field/topic. Yeah, nerds. I love em!

I've attended 9 funerals in the last 2 years, some of which were "Nerds" of which I speak (N-word ethic at play here folks). 

More than once, while hearing the accolades and accomplishments of their life, I felt the pang as the familiar thought would arise along the lines of,  "They were a brilliant and gifted person. What could they have been if they hadn't devoted so much time in their limited life to the folly of illusory ideas and beliefs?"

I know that sounds harsh, since as the philosopher Daniel Dennet says, "There is no polite way to tell a person that they have devoted thier life to a folly.", which I don't, but there it is ... and here it is too, ironically in a book well known for fomenting much of the folly of illusion in some of the people's lives of which I speak.

◄ Ecclesiastes 1 ► New Living Translation

1 These are the words of the Teacher, King David’s son, who ruled in Jerusalem.
2 “Everything is meaningless,” says the Teacher, “completely meaningless!”
3 What do people get for all their hard work under the sun? 
4 Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes <not true actually>. 
5 The sun rises and the sun sets, then hurries around to rise again.
6 The wind blows south, and then turns north. Around and around it goes, blowing in circles. 
7 Rivers run into the sea, but the sea is never full. Then the water returns again to the rivers and flows out again to the sea. 
8 Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content.
9 History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new. 
10 Sometimes people say, “Here is something new!” But actually it is old; nothing is ever truly new. 
11 We don’t remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now.
12 I, the Teacher, was king of Israel, and I lived in Jerusalem. 
13 I devoted myself to search for understanding and to explore by wisdom everything being done under heaven. I soon discovered that God has dealt a tragic existence to the human race. 
14 I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.
15 What is wrong cannot be made right.
16 I said to myself, “Look, I am wiser than any of the kings who ruled in Jerusalem before me. I have greater wisdom and knowledge than any of them.” 
17 So I set out to learn everything from wisdom to madness and folly. But I learned firsthand that pursuing all this is like chasing the wind.
18 The greater my wisdom, the greater my grief.

This guy sounds a bit neurotic, and way old, worn out weary and depressed, and if not depressed, totally depressing, but I can relate.

 The truth, as most people wish to accept it, wasnt meant soley to bring comfort, much like life on this planet. If you are seeking comfort here youre chasing a folly. A lot of truth, easily avoided, doesn't serve to make you comfortable. Or as they say, "Ignorance is bliss" ... But only to the ignorant. It's hell to everyone else! 😜 

So as the great teacher says, chasing comfort and happiness, even status through knowledge is a folly.

However, the "redemption" of all of these thoughts is that there are myriad illusions we can use to make life more bearable, usually by magical meanings and vaulted purpose, many with the dream spawned by our overactive survival instincts of living beyond death, some even hope to live forever in some form or another. It's hard to imagine our own demise, and even harder to accept the demise of others whose "presence" continues to resonate in our minds long after they are dead until we are. We carry the dead with us and honor them for their lives and struggles. Heaven is simply a tidy place to put them as they continue to guide us thtough our memories of them. Both my parents are dead. But easily ressurected whenever I consider them, what they would tell me, even imaginary conversations from time to time.

We are meaning machines, blips in time in a potentially meaningless universe. Ultimately, in macro timescale there's no point, no purpose, and no hope. But in our micro timescale, we can only thrive and become actualized individuals (i.e. grown ass mature adults, like Mr. Great Teacher) when there is meaning, purpose, and hope to carry on.

So, to redeem my thoughts about the dead nerds and wierdos I've loved and known, we are all committed to the folly of illusions and unfounded beliefs ... but I think we need them in some ways to thrive in a universe.

And that is what most of these people did in their lives, thrived! Maybe because of thier illusions, or despite them.

My theory is 98 percent of all human endeavor is killing time.

Jerry Seinfeld

Free from the Gilded Cage (Another Vivid Dream)

 Last night I dreamt I was serving a second mission in Dallas Texas for the LDS church. I served there 1982 - 1984 as a missionary, trainer, District Leader, and Zone Leader. All three of my trainees went on to be A.P.s ...Assistant to the President, or Apes, as we liked to call them.  At my release, my mission president shook my hand hard and said he wished he had realized sooner what I great trainer I was since he would have had me doing that my whole mission. I remember being a bit relieved for his delayed ignorance.  And truth told I had a good and patient trainer, made so because he was suffering from colitis and was soon sent home.  This was the perfect environment for me to learn the ropes without being forced into full-on missionary work straight out of the gate.  I was the first new missionary in my incoming group to "Pass Off" on all my scriptures and discussions, mostly due to brother Bill's bad GI, which put him mostly horizontalwith intermittent sitting, which gave me time to get up to speed doing the same reading... sometimes outside our green cinderblock duplex apartment out in the middle of the well-named Plainview, Texas - I unconsciously used that tact whenever I was given a new missionary to open an area (Eastland, Brownsville, and Denton come to mind).

Coincidently, and maybe not so, I was back in Dallas last week doing training for my company at an undisclosable location, and Oh! How the memories of my youth came flooding in again.

Looking at the dream now, awake, and hopefully my senses sober, I was probably something like a mission president, or advisor, train the trainers, etc... The dream was certainly a conflation of  the two events .... So here it is, as best I can recall, my dream:

I was in a big meeting with all the bigwigs, most local, one remote, in a local area conference in the northern suburbs of Dallas, where the swanky people swank it up. Let's just call it somewhere south of Plano toward Farmer's Branch where I lodged last.  I was sitting in the conference with my beautiful girl-friday, my travel assistant. On this fine occasion of verbal drudgery, we were being a little frisky-flirty up in the lower balcony seats, me smelling her neck, she twirling my hair, and we both making goo-goo eyes at each other, sometimes at ourselves, sometimes over what was said, as we listened to the hub blub of blatherers who like to speak far too long about complicated contorted stuff, which is actually, in reality, small and simple stuff really, if you're not too tight butthole over things that don't quite matter (OCD maybe) ... and their continued anxious concerns for looking good on the outside while having a rotten thorn inside them, that they're loathe to pull out, and especially loathe to have it pulled out by others because they were acting like whited sepulchers the J man spoke to, was, may I say, a bit mentally taxing to my chi.  

As the speaker kept speaking and the lectern kept creaking in the amplified mic. And this repeating, as each lecturer took turns at the lectern. The breathers kept breathing their heavy concerns mixed with do or die motivations, and expectations of high perfections, and the weepers cried for lost loves .... Uhhhhg.

In this stream of woes and man yer hoes, keep digging holes, and burying loves lost, I remembered one of my favorite stories as a kid, Aesop I think, of the little mouse that came along and solved a huge problem for what to him would be a horrible beast, by removing a simple thorn from the paw of that very thankful, but fearsome beast.  Being small enough and thus able to get at and remove what it could not. .. And by small things, even simple things are great things brought to pass" ... or at least grateful things.

I always thought of myself, like probably every kid did when hearing the story, as that little mouse... but in my dream, I realized I may also be part of the beast, no being much older, and maybe a fearsome thing.  And of course, as the beast, I'm never going to piddle with a tiny mouse for prey when I've got bigger concerns for my immediate comfort and peace.  Conclusion possible, I may just be the beast here, in this dream.  Now the question is, "Where is my thorn?"  Help me Mouse! ... maybe I need to find the mouse, as the French say at the scene of most crimes of passion, "Cherchez la Femme!"

So on I daydreamed about that story where it led me while muted sounds met my ears.  I zoned out at a zone conference you might say.  But in my reverie and escape, I was pulled back to reality when ... I heard the words "What ever it is that is in you, giving you pain, be brave enough to pull it out."  Still half-dazed I remember looking sideways at her face, with words of concern in my ear ("her" being my assistant in case I lost you), with her left leg draped over my right, and our inner arms loosely around shoulders playing with each other's necks and hairlines, probably looking like some four-legged, two-headed monster.  It was then that I was pulled from my dream within a dream, and pulled from my diversion.  I heard my name, my full name, and title (Rank)

He, the latest speaker, was talking about me now! And looking at me now!   Disgusted a bit it seemed by our PDA.

He said I was being sent back home, and released (fired basically) because I had used the word cunt in my conversation one too many times with the wrong person entirely (CONtext bitch, Context! - words I've been speaking to myself lately to overcome my affliction with jumping tangent without giving enough context for my listeners. and being sometimes woefully misunderstood. lol). 

So I was being kicked out, in public, out of the mission, out of the group, out of my responsibilities, and being sent home early on the reprimand. Probably disfellowshipped or at least dishonored in one way or multiple ways.  I remember thinking, "This is an extreme response. Really!?  Just for calling a rose, a rose?"

After what was a scramble of events of untangling ourselves, like dreams are when panic sets, I calmly stood up, trying not to laugh, be inappropriate as I am sometimes, or say anything I'd regret ... and as I stood, I said, "Thank you for the release. (1) We'll see ya'll on the flipside!"  with nothing but a pleasant grin ... not a finger as implied. 

As I stood up to go, surprised, she took my hand to stand as well. She truly was by my side all the way. This helped immensely as we exited the event gracefully, past open eyes aghast, up the aisle and out the back way, out of the auditorium, and down the elevator to the parking garage, with the city wet waning and a bit windy out the elevator window as told by the motion of the rain droplets on the elevator glass windows as we looked at each other and the city we were sinking into, as cars lit their lights early for the dusking sun. The breeze gently blew into the elevator as the doors opened to the parking garage ... still frisky and both feeling set free from the pain going on in that room, from people who are too afraid to love or admit they might not always be on the right side.  We exited the elevator, stage left, got in our really nice mission car (2021 Nissan Silver Altima, if you're dying to know), that the mission had furnished me. Once in the car and settled, we exited the bowels of the parking garage to join our fellow travelers on the wet, windy, and waning roads. As we exited the out ramp, I lit my lights in a show of solidarity with my fellow travelers. It really wasn't that dark yet. I looked loving at her for her love and support and said thank you for it with my eyes.  I was especially thankful for her understanding. 

We drove home, southwest into the sunset, to our provided digs at Farmer's Branch, which in my minimalist's relative terms were quite swanky.

...Hey, they have outdoor hot tubs AND pools all year round in Texas! ... which means birds flying and perching and carrying on about you as you swim. Heaven! I especially enjoy the crows, and all kinds of corvids, during covid even more, and gained a special interest for that have rudder tails!  ;)  

The cold pool made for some serious Wim Hoffing, if you're into that sort of thing (good for chilling drinks and melons at least)... we moved hotels from La Quinta (haunted house) to Hampton Inn in Farmer's branch because it had better amenities... and I'm all about better amenities - Amen!   
/Tangent....

Arriving back at our digs, we both went to our separate rooms and offices, each seeking to pack quickly what was most dear and needed to get out of town as told.  This was our new mission now, together, to get away before they told us just where to go and how to do it. I was being released, right? Then I'm outta here - don't need ta tell me twice!

The last thing I remember was my phone ringing as I was rushing to pack everything I valued and putting the annoying number of my superior on block.  As we were almost out of our now past digs, there was a knock on the door and more commotion that I won't get into now ... 

As you're probably wanting to know, we managed to avoid more of the yammering hoopla and their desire to settle my fate for speaking bad words to talk about good things.  Yeah. We got away!

That's when my alarm went off or I noticed it going off.  My phone alarm didn't wake me because it was in the dream.  Actually, the dream ended when I heard my son yelling and pounding the wall from his room, "Turn off your alarm!"  ... It goes off at 6 AM.  lol

As I pondered it more, this morning, and now fully awake, it had meaning for me, deep spiritual-sauce kind of stuff.

You see, for me, AWAKE, the simple problem with the religion of my youth, that could be solved so elegantly is for them to pull out the thorn of bigotry and disapproval they hold toward other people not living in accordance with their set ways (and yeah, I'm talking about human sexuality, and homosexuality specifically here since as you may know, my father was such and held the tortured heart of a beautiful man trying to live in a cage that didn't fit him ... but anything goes as far as what is causing you pain.  Whatever it is, I say, "Release It!" ... or at least have it checked. :)  We need more people at peace in this crazy world right now.

Yeah,, sure it will still hurt to step on the wound, touch it, have it touched, or poked, or have any pressure applied, but with time it will heal if you can learn to tolerate the discomfort enough (I broke 3 ribs, and cracked 3 this past summer as I racked my rib cage and collapsed lung being stoo-ped). 

 Maybe most progress from pain, and away from it can be had with just a simple change of heart (policies and how it is spoken about out loud) and a lot more kindness and understanding, just like their savior showed.

And if you really, by definition, cannot feel empathy for the thorn, or those carrying it, at least show compassion.  Maybe just some silence and some serving, with peace upon you and in you ... but you can't have that carrying thorns yourself. 

Maybe we/they really don't even need to talk about it, and it's simply a distraction from other things that REALLY matter RIGHT now in our shared world and universe, "each another's audience, outside the gilded cage." (2)

You may be somewhere else, spinning around something else, but like everything, the same principles apply to very different things. If you are experiencing pain from something, anything at all, pull it out, get rid of it, disinfect the wound and expect some healing ... which means more pain usually.

But have faith that you can heal, eventually.  My dream was about healing.  And if you can't do it yourself, I pray that you have a little mousey friend in this world who can help you get it out - any way you need to have it extracted, so that your soul can be at peace again, and you can regain the flow and calm of the Wu-Wei.

I've said before, I did not leave my religion, I graduated from it. And god bless my Alma Matter, my SPirit Mother, the cradle of my soul.

I can't wait to have another dream about our further travels home together, where ever we call that. At least I hope to dream of it again. I still remember her face - vividly, and she is no one I know or have known (maybe a weird amalgamation). 

I hope to see what happens next in my dream, this particular dream.

... and I sure hope it includes the word cunt! 

Sorry, but I really cunt help it.  :D (3)

Peace be with you my friends and family, in whatever adventure you are presently in.
If I know you, ICU, and you have my <3, always. 
And if not that, I can always get away fast into the cold and the darkness, down a deep dark hole of isolation, where I best find my chi ... I AM a Water Rabbit, sometimes a Jack one too. ;)

Comments welcome.

NOTES:
(1) See my recent blog titled, I Release You, for the tangential reference.

(2) A line from one of my favorite Rush songs which highlights a concept my son recently showed me in another light with his woodshop project he'd done. He selected the simple word Sonder, which was CNC'ed on to an alder placard. I helped him finish it in the garage and gave him access to all my art tools.  It was beautiful naked and turned out beautiful dresses, and a word that helped me immensely in reiteration of the concept that my bad habit of improperly applying the idea of the "Theory of Mind", which higher intelligences, such as ourselves, surely, possess ... me often getting it wrong and making it worse. 

Sonder  n.  the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own, populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, and ways of interpreting and thinking about a shared environment ... Nov 16, 2021 ~ Uploaded by Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (edited).

(3) Pussy, twat, privates, verginer, pusk'ette, crotch lips, 1-2-3 lock box, vaginal region, etc. :P

 

Today, I Rise.

Seems like every day he comes to consciousness with a parched mouth and a full bladder. The delirium of sleep has yet again removed all sense of time and space. Garble-headed, he finally realizes where he is and wonders what time it is since it's still dark outside. Well, that useful knowledge will have to wait since his cell is charging on the bathroom counter. More importantly, he's also wondering how long he can prolong getting out of bed while still making it to the toilet without peeing himself a little. Yes, he's really that lazy, but to be nice, we'll call him lethargic.

Finally, with the utmost effort and courage, he rolls himself 1-2-3 out of bed, right onto his bare feet, and prances in the dark, like a blind cavefish in its cave, right to the bathroom. He puts his hand down to make double sure the lids are up and immediately upon knowing he is in a flow state.

He made it! No leakage! 

He'd hoped so, since these were his favorite man panties and he was hoping to wear them one more day, just one day more, as the song goes. 

Standing now, above the painful stream, becoming less so with the release of pressure, wavering to and fro, chaotically, yet on target, he congratulates himself at his skillful aim. He muses how years of such experience have made him a Jedi master of the stream, as he continues hitting the target center while seeming to float around a toilet bowel telescoping in and out, sometimes appearing so far away. He's standing, wavering like this most mornings, always for what seems far too long and a quart too many. Time seems to pass in slow motion as the peeing continues, as does the euphoria at its release. 

Finally, the flow becomes rhythmically intermittent, like someone milking a goat. This is when he knows it's almost over as he lazily reaches his arm to the flusher and pushes it down. He taps the last drops into the vortex as it all disappears and is replenished with 'fresh" water. 

Drying his hands (after washing them in the sink, not the toilet, mind), he checks his cellphone for the time. When the screen comes on he's squinting at the light, chiding himself at staying up late yet again and eating far too many snacks. It's 5:48, no time to get back in bed. Besides, the alarm will be going off in 12 minutes anyway. He turns on the light and groans at the finality of it being morning, feeling the ongoing exhaustion at burning too many candles at too many ends as he opens the mirror and retrieves his toothbrush, dabs a squat of paste, and begins brushing his teeth while putting the paste back and closing the mirror.

Staring at his messy hair and tired face in the mirror, he tells himself, "I am a warrior with a fierce spirit!" as he raises his electric toothbrush lackluster into the air, punctuating the word spirit. "... who gets to live one day more!", he grins with a rabies smile.

Spitting the toothpaste into the sink, and rinsing his mouth, he rises from the tap and sees his face rising in the mirror with him. Smiling at himself, he winks "lucky sucker!", and pulls a wide-eyed expression at himself in hope of some sort of revival. He stretches his eyeballs out a few more times while brushing his hair and laughs a low energy belly laugh which moves his shoulders slightly up and down.

Yet, underneath his silly steely facade is a heart that continues to get the shit beaten out of it, yet somehow seems to keep brimming with love and ... Oh, God, that bowl of split pea soup he shouldn't have eaten so late is now ready for deposit.  Turning on the fan, he goes back for round two... while hoping this doesn't make him late for work, which it probably will, since he'll likely need to take a shower ... which means his favorite man panties are going in the bin after all. 

"Today, I rise.”

Just Another Day

If You're Bugged - Speak into the Mic.

When I die, I hope death is the end, not because I don't enjoy existing. I just don't like the options presented. 

When I was young, I was told, always a bit too convincingly asserted, that we have a soul which lives on after death, by what turned out to be some pretty insecure people on the subject. That's understandable, and I don't fault them for all the wishful thinking, life is scary and beautiful. It's easy to form an addiction to it, especially with an escalated sense of survival instinct brought about by fear or trauma. Most people don't want to die. Some people do at some times, sure, but mostly, most people, most of the time, want to live. If death isn't the end, like most people hope it's not, I know I don't want to go to heaven. It seems a far too competitive place that everyone wants to go, to commune and vibe with god (goodness). My religion even taught me that there were multiple levels of heaven - like that of a concert ticket, even a nosebleed section ... Nah, no thanks. I'm done with the ranks and the rankings.

Besides, I wouldn't want to hang out with most of the people I know who believe in heaven in the heaven they believe in (and by default then, hell) I also don't care to go to hell, that seems to be a place that is way overcrowded as well (Maybe even by some people who thought they were going to heaven).

Many a religious believer would tell me right now that it's not up to me what happens when I die or where I go. But, the thing you have to understand about my religious upbringing is that I was taught the primary law of the universe, above all other laws, is agency. This means that neither god nor his evil counterpart (nor his trusty sidekick) can force me to do anything against my will, nor do they control the consequences. I always have a choice, and thus I am always completely responsible for said choices and fully accept the consequences - no codependency here! There's no need for further suffering from my bad choices by putting it on someone else.

So, if it turns out by some great surprise, that I'm still around after my body bites the dust, I'm not going to heaven. My life has been so full of both wonderful highs and terrible lows, I feel it would be a bit like putting the guild on the lily. I really don't deserve either, having had so much of both. I'd be okay hanging out around the universe though. I might even revisit some of my old haunts and spook the living, or tiptoe across the backs of frogs croaking in the receding light as day turns to dusk and the insects stand out and glow in the angle of the evening sun as they fly about. If I really had a choice, I'd come back to earth, not as an ape again, but probably an insect, with wings ... I guess in that sense, with my former consciousness intact, or maybe blurred a bit, I'd be an angel. 

I think a lot of people would choose to fly on their next incarnation of life if that's as much an option as going to heaven or hell. Anyway, you must concede that if the other two are actual options, why not reincarnation? Can we really place limits on fantasy?

So, and here's the best point I'd like to make, if you're sitting, standing, or meandering along in your life, wasting time and pondering the depth of your navel, and if that pondering is seeking an answer, maybe even needing a sign or a message from God or a higher power (maybe even your own) ... don't swat a flying insect that comes to you! The damselfly, ladybug, moth, or hornet, or any other flying insect for that matter that comes and flys about your headspace, maybe even alights on you (if you're lucky), that wonderful flying thing may be a reincarnated angel. It might just be some dead person previously, who chose to be an insect on this go about, maybe even your grandma.

 Commune with it, listen, observe, maybe even speak into god's microphone if you feel like you're being bugged. It may have a message for you, from the divine ... even if it is to say, you are heard, noticed, and loved by some part of the universe. I've experienced this so many times that it feels as true as heaven.

The moral to the Story: Never squish an insect! - you may be killing the messenger... and there also may be unavoidable consequences to the act, like becoming what you most hate in your next incarnation (that which you would show no mercy) because you lack empathy and understanding for life, all of life, and what it truly is, in all shapes and forms that it may come to you ... that is unless you'd rather go to blah blah bland old heaven, where nothing bad ever happens, and by default, nothing ever all that good. Every form of life is equally valid, even the bugs.  And guess what?  Maybe God loves insects too.  He certainly loves beetles more than humans and all other insects, if we're going by quantity (Beetles make up 1/3rd of all insect species, and 1/4th of all species on the planet!). ;)

God is said to have told us, "Thou shalt not kill.". No clarifier as to what we shall not kill (most egocentrically assume human life, but god never added a human clarifier to that - we did).  Thou shalt not kill, period... and don't fuck with spiders - seriously bad karma there! *

* The US is home to around 3,500 species of spiders. Most spiders in the USA are not dangerous for humans or larger pets. In fact, only two types of spiders in the US can be dangerous for humans: the black widow and the brown recluse. So basically, odds are, when you kill a spider you're taking a life that did nothing to deserve your ignorant violence ... and most of them were doing you a favor by preying on insects that really can be pests.