The Many Faces of God

The Many Faces of God

​ Marion loves to wear her lips in pink, glossed in a manner of delusional innocence. She walks to her daytime job at the newspaper office every morning and decorates the lies of the world with the whims of her boss. She’s been with men before, but most of them were never lovers. She eats popcorn every evening and gives her dinner the accompaniment of the finest of wines from Southern France. She gets the money from her father, who divorced her mother seven years ago. He loves her well and ensures that she eats her meals on time and has enough to buy her pink gloss. Marion is sad that life never seems to take an exciting turn as the months of her years fly by. Marion is beautiful, but Marion is sad. The cobbled streets of Paris give her no more solace than the wide roads that connect her city to the rest of Europe. While the job at the newspaper office does enough to help Marion hide her mind from herself for eight hours a day, she fills her soul with grimace and hatred for life every night when her cheeks touch her pillow. A Christmas came when the wine didn’t do enough and the broken heart of Marion befriended a rope that hung tightly from a ceiling fan. It was not a tragedy, it was a movement of fate and Marion was gone.

Felix loved his usual doses of LSD by the beach every twice or thrice a year. He believed that the mind needed to be reset every time it got too clouded with the mushy movements of the mundane world. But the last time around, Felix was imprinted. Felix had always believed that his awareness was separate from the objective world and he could dip his hands in the water without getting wet. But the LSD had brought him to believe that everybody shared the same ability. This induced a flame of spiritual jealousy deep inside the materialistic caverns of Felix’s soul. So he turned to DMT to find an explosive way out of the confoundedness that kept him separate from his ecstasy. The DMT worked. It gave him peace. At least it did the first time. The second time, Felix was imprinted again. And this time, he was drawn to strongly feel that the human body was an unfortunate bondage and this vacation to the Earth was an opportunity to free one’s soul from bondage. The wrists of Felix met the sparkling sharpness of an unbranded kitchen knife and left his body lying cold and still in his mother’s kitchen. Felix was beautiful and Felix was free. And now he was gone.
Dr. Kennelly was a victim of Asthma and she had dedicated her life to cancer research. Her everyday contact with tragedy had given her the courage to become an alcoholic. Her everyday interaction with death had given her the wisdom to become loose in speech and careless with her research. When age brought the perception of “fifty years old” into the awareness of Dr. Kennelly, she decided that her lifelong rejection of tobacco smoking was a hoax and she let her resistance slip into the delights of spending $200 a month on tobacco. Her Asthma met several instances of acute torment and left Dr. Kennelly struggling for breath in a twin bed in her lonely bedroom. Her daughter would visit her once a day and kneel beside her, reading poetry from Gibran and Rumi trying to give the old woman a sense of eternity. Dr. Kennelly was beautiful, but she didn’t know that. A morning came when breath had become a matter of perpetual endurance. She was a medical lady. It wasn’t much of an effort to find the pills that would bring her peace. Her daughter read her eulogy and seemed to be the only one that wept at her funeral. Dr. Kennelly’s research was taken up by some other team across the country who eventually made progress. But nobody will remember Dr. Kennelly. Nobody will remember the soul that was spilt because of its contact with the mortality of human dreams.
Bobby Dream was a delightful young poet whose verses dared to explore the darker nature of human existence. He left his heart to the safekeeping of his childhood sweetheart, Emily Karma, who ensured the softness of Bobby’s heart when his talent swam swiftly into the spotlight of concrete human society. Bobby Dream’s verses gave hope to his friends and reminded them that life was no struggle to make it to the throne, but instead a dance to make the grave itself a throne. Bobby’s friends implored him to take his literature to the world in a formal, published manner. Bobby resisted for several years but finally found the plasticity in his mind to reject his rebellious human heart. After nine bestsellers, Bobby decided to go on a romantic date with his hypocrisy. He looked back on his teenage rebellion and touched its innocence again. He admitted that he had failed his purpose. Ms. Karma was now married to a man who worked at the steel factory and she had three children. One winter morning, Bobby Dream saw her walking with her youngest who seemed to hop along as her mother smiled in the sunshine. The smile gave Mr. Dream a heavy remembrance of his carefree heart in the days of his youth. Today had become an endless struggle through sessions of book signings and new contracts with the publisher. All Bobby wanted was to lay in Emily’s lap again and listen to her whistling as the cold breezes of winter would reflect off the warmth of their communion. Mr. Dream would never find such a moment again. As he penned down his last poem, Mr. Dream polished the pistol that seemed so friendly today. Emily Karma shed tears on the mud that would make the grave of Bobby Dream. Bobby was beautiful and forever in love. He took away from himself as much as the world had done. Mr. Dream’s poems live on, but Bobby is gone.
They were all beautiful and now they’re gone. Does that mean that the lives that they lived were any less charming? We move and we move struggling through the resistances of our hearts hoping that eternity would kiss us before we meet our doom. Is it that eternity is a gift only for the few? Is it possible that our mortality is realer than we fear it to be? Is it alright to live our lives in an unforgivable vibration of boredom and hatred chasing dreams that were sold to us by people who were just like us? What are dreams? Why do we dream? Why do we aspire for higher states of human living? Let the sound of the sky’s violins create causeways in our hearts and remind us of our inherent beauty. There is a sense of needlessness that is natural to our hearts and if we dare to touch it again, we might meet the peace that we have craved for ever since we left the warmth of simplicity in our younger years. We are chasing the things that we believe will help us dance, but we never see that this is the only moment in which we can dance. I am a man of poetry, music, and other erotic things. I have touched beauty in the middle of the darkness, with the ability to rejoice even when nobody is watching. It has taught me that my mortality is my liberation; the very foundation of what we can deem beautiful in this immense, miraculous life. If all understandings fail, the only thing that we need to remember is that we are free. And our freedom can never be blemished by the streetlights of space-time that help us dance between what is real and what is not.

The Mortality of Culture

The Mortality of Culture

History has seen a great number of traditions passing with the progress of time. When traditions coalesced into a socially acceptable collection of ritualized behaviors and actions, humanity called it a culture. There were cultures that had witch doctors healing their sick, those that openly kept their women within the possessive needs of men, those that richly celebrated dance, music, and art, and the advanced ones that had all these elements incorporated. Inevitably, culture was something native to its region of origin, rarely moving beyond the boundaries within which it was found to be rational and a thing of heritage to be protected and nurtured as time moved on. Culture is vital to building societies that need to be decorated with human intelligence. It gives a society the platform on which every individual can express his or her subjectivity and do it with the support of the community. It gives human beings a platform on which there can be recognition for subjective expressions of art, music, dance, and several other talents. However, this platform is created with the help of collective ideology and very rarely through spontaneous understanding. It would seem only plausible to support and help build such a thing as culture, but like all primitive things such as cannibalism and living in caves, culture must die. When an artificially created ideology meets with nature’s fierce forces of evolution, the mortality of the human mind is revealed, and the mortality of all the things that it has created.

Indian culture is one of the richest heritages not just the country, but humanity as a whole can cherish and exhibit as a beautiful development of intelligence through history. This culture saw the fruition of the world’s most intelligent spiritual seekers and spiritually realized men who not with their ideas but with their pure presence and articulate poetry showed this world the meaning of life. Civilization dates back to very old times here, and some of nature’s oldest secrets were discovered and revealed in this country. The spiritual texts here are rich and the purity of their interpretation lies entirely with the discretion of every individual. Like every culture, Indian culture has always had its flaws. The world for a very long time was ruled and grown by paternally dominated structures of society that failed to understand the role of the woman that was very vital to the growth and care of humanity’s most prized gift, intelligence. Several cultures around the world, excluding a few intelligent ones that had people who lived and taught much ahead of their time, entirely neglected the role of women in the evolution of this race. Using the lowest forms of power, physical and logical power, men through the years repressed women and eventually developed a strange sense of contempt for the opposite sex. If we scratch a little deeper through the layers of our conscious mind, deep in the unconscious, even the most open-minded men will find the psychotic attitude of dominion and power toward women, secretly camouflaged behind all the other ideas of poetry and romance that are associated with women.

While the rest of the world has socially been able to transcend the primitive attitude of the subjugation of the woman as a social sensibility, a few countries of which India is one have found it hard to do the same. The problem does not lie with failed holistic approaches toward the improvement of this social situation but with the inability to clean the inner psyche of a very stubborn past. The logical approach to solving a problem is to take into account all the factors on which the problem is dependent and then to take appropriate action on each of these factors to arrive at a reasonable solution. This approach does not work when the entire source of the problem lies not with the factors that create the problem but with the attitude which fuels and supports these factors. In the past, through ideology, men repressed women and kept them within their control. Ideologies are eventually nothing but relative ideas that connect and seem sensible to a thinking mind. But sensibility is dependent on thought and thought is nothing but a partial perception of an observation, and is wrong almost all of the time. The problem arises when we take our thoughts for truth and develop the attitude of absolute trust in our thinking processes. The time has come when our evolution has reached a stage in which we can look beyond thought and understand the follies of our past. There is no need for the empowerment of women, we need to understand that women have always been empowered. It is through the foolishness of male ideology that we failed to understand the inevitable fact that the equality of sexes is not something to be brought about, but something that has always been inevitable. If we can see this fact, the idiotic attitude of the majority of men toward women will disappear not through effort but through common sense.

We must begin with the understanding that man and woman are not opposites, they are two different functions of one process, human life. The opposing polarity is a superficial difference created by nature for the deeper understanding of union and love. The polarity is an illusion created to understand a reality that is much greater than the illusion. I understand that in the past, the collective human mind dwelt in a state of consciousness that was at a very low level. In this level it was easy to succumb to psychological illusions of separation. Look at where we stand now, entirely able to analyze the mistakes of our past as a species and to effect change in a manner that can be momentary and genuine. The difference between men and women is very superficial, you can say a man and a woman are like two waves that wave differently, but are both made by water and supported by the same ocean which is life in this universe. Look beyond these foolish social and political ideas, look at the utter truth that is burning before you. Isn’t such a thing as women empowerment so foolish? To even conceive that a culture would treat its women with such despicable and unevolved understanding is a shock! The woman is empowered, she is grown from the same soil that a man is grown from, nurtured and cared for by the same sun, wind, and water. If we cannot look beyond the patterns of form that dance on the canvas of existence, our illusions will lead us to much greater suffering, not just the suffering that they have created for women. Humanity as a whole lacks awareness. We have limited our intelligence to intellect and failed to see that spontaneous observation or momentary perception is the only reality that exists. Instead, we dwell on ideas of logic and morality, leaving our hearts to rot at the hands of the politic.

Morality is nothing but an idea, just like how the repression of women was an idea. The time has come when we have no more place for ideas. Intelligence is not born of thought, it comes through awareness. The man who believes in backward ideas such as repressing the role of women in society is like the Neanderthal who will find his place in the graveyards of this planet. If as a race, we do not take responsibility for our own evolution, and still put our faith and trust in the ideologies we have inherited from our ancestors, we will lose this game. The Earth is a mother, but she is as strict, as she is kind. What is our race but a virus that is creating so much trouble for the rest of Earth’s children? The beauty is we are a virus that is self-aware and bursting with intelligence. We have the ability to turn things around.

Like the human body, culture is mortal. Remember how we had to give up beating up people who were sick because we thought they were possessed by demons? We must give up culture when it turns out to be dysfunctional. Culture is ideology, it is not fresh, and it is not bursting with life! Look at the trees how they dance to the ever-refreshed breezes that beat through nature’s lovely painted skies. These dances show us what it means to be alive. Life begins when history is forgotten.

We teach our children how to value money, success, and reputation before we teach them how to value themselves. Self-dignity is not something through which you value yourself, it is a process of intellect through which your ego establishes itself and separates itself from the source of life. Instead of self-dignity, try self-enquiry. From the youngest years in school, society needs to encourage its children to look within for answers instead of looking outside. The outside world is a dysfunctional drama, a terribly damaged record tape repeating itself again and again. The answers to change are within each individual. We need to teach children to uncover the unconscious processes that still work inside. It is this that we can call ‘original sin.’ The unconscious tendencies and processes that are inherent in our very DNA! Through self-enquiry, each individual can understand for him or herself the dysfunctional working of the human system and take the responsibility of change unto oneself.

Understand this carefully, through the social and political approach, no change will ever be effected. If you have not understood this yet, you need to understand it now. Women will continue to be ill-treated by men, and they will continue to retaliate and fight. This fight is superficial. The inner psyche of man needs to change. Men need to understand the need for this change. Men are unable to understand that the repression of women is the repression of evolution itself. Man is afraid of the woman, for she is an aspect of the species that can look through and beyond logic into dimensions where man is almost incapable of reaching. To conceive that a form of life so tender, so easy to defeat can behold intelligence so great was befuddling to ancient man. He could only conceive things such as power and dominion, he could understand the axe but not the flower. Intelligence has evolved now, power has become a thing of the past. We are in a stage of evolution in which we need to pay attention to the subtle, the gross has lost its utility. Through forgiveness and understanding, our society can take a step forward to developing a world in which competition shall exist but lose its absolute value. The woman is inevitably equal to man, teach the children this, teach them to look beyond separation and understand their connection to their fellow beings and the rest of existence. Stop teaching them how to make money, how to be successful, how to develop a great reputation, these are things reserved for the miserly in understanding. We are gods of the galaxy and we shall step up and take our responsibility as sentient beings and live with love.

Culture is dead, you are alive. Wake up, the universe is calling you to dance.

 

“We have to stop consuming our culture. Create your own roadshow.” – Terence Mckenna