Enlightening Nonsense

I was actually proud of myself for not engaging my emotions in his full frontal assault when in the past I might have found myself getting drawn into an argument and lobbing some of my own bombs in his direction, weapons designed to maim the other as much as win the battle. The HeartMath Institute has research that shows that any angry outburst, even if one believes it to be “justified,” is harmful to a person’s immune system (the system they tested) and takes him out of heart/mind coherence where better health resides as well as an ability to access your full intuitive nature to solve your problems. My recent reading of this has not yet made me immune to getting angry but has started to help me see anger from others in the same way that a scientist gazes into a Petri dish, wondering if I added a loogie to the mess if the bacteria I was studying would thrive or die.

The truth is that Austin cares much more about money than I do. He has enough money now to retire and still pay for his three kids to go through college and grad school and to the moon and still have some left over to join the circle-jerk with Hugh Hefner and yet he still focuses on making mo’ money, mo’ money, mo’ money.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jukQX2pl2Q 

This is in large part due to the fact that not only his salary but also his self-worth is based on his billable hours. This has resulted in him being on various medications and going through two weeks of shock treatment that erased some of his memory to deal with his depression and anxiety that seems entirely based on his earnings and what that means to him.

I donate 10% of anything I make to charity and to others. I seriously doubt he donates the equivalent ratio, which would be around $150,000 for him to charity. And I am next to certain his vote for President has little to do with protecting the environment or foreign policy or who’s been the most creative in their cigar placement, but with which candidate will let him keep most of his money via tax breaks.

He's either Hitler or J. Jonah Jameson from "Spiderman"

While I value my freedom to move around without Big Brother tracking every financial interaction I make, my being under the radar has probably cost me more in comforts than it has gained me in untaxed dollars. I lost a good job that I had and liked for ten years at a health club. I lost two more yoga teaching jobs, one at a gym and another at a yoga studio, where “paperwork issues” were the main contributing factor to my termination. One involved a fruity Fitness Coordinator named Blake that wanted me to get on my knees in front of him in submission and I pretty much told him, “I’d get down on my knees to suck your dick before I did so to Kowtow to you,” but that’s another story.

Just about every job is run by people who have been conditioned into a system that preaches a false religion that you cannot work unless you fill out government forms that declare you are a “taxpayer,” which means one liable to the Income Tax—which you most probably are not—and that the company has the right to withhold money from your paycheck because they are acting as unpaid agents for the Internal Revenue Service. As a result, I have not been able to get any work at any institution that requires this, which are basically all institutions. I went through a financial rock bottom where I couldn’t pay my bills and my eating suffered in variety and quality; where I once ate only organic food, now this word became an otherworldly fantasy like Heaven.

And more recently, I have discovered that my cloaked status is a big wedge in my relationship with Ace, who desires a “normal” life with an abnormal man and I am seriously considering plugging back into the Matrix for love. I’m starting not to care if the Federal Mafia takes their cut anymore. I’m so tired that at this point even the pursuit of Truth has become exhausting.

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FOR THE FULL PIECE GO TO:

http://rebelyogi.com/full-frontal-assault

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THE FOLLOWING IS AN EXCERPT FROM THE PAGE “LET THE DEAD BURY THE DEAD.” FOR THE FULL PIECE, PLEASE GO TO:

http://rebelyogi.com/let-the-dead-bury-the-dead

(Comments can be left here)

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“Jesus said unto him, Let the dead bury their dead: but go thou and preach the kingdom of God.”

—Luke 9:60, King James Bible (Cambridge Edition)

Why is it so important that we “make our mark,” that our legacy lives on, that we achieve some form of fame, even if it is only on a local level as the girl who had the biggest North Star zit? When I showed my mother the short poem I wrote called “When The Day Comes” [http://rebelyogi.com/when-the-day-comes.html] about leaving no trace of yourself when you depart from this world, she responded with something like, “That’s not what we want—we want to leave an impression.” Why?

My sister-in-law’s father has said to his grandkids such things as,“Remember this about me when I am no longer here”; I assume he meant when he is dead and not just out of the room. Why? Why should you influence what these independent souls think in the future? It’s bad enough that you try to nag and control them into obedience as a mini-you while you are alive, perhaps sickly inspired by the Austin Power: The Spy Who Shagged Me, but after your dead as well?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tkmi_UTsjtE&feature=fvst

It’s because you fear death and have given up any hope of finding Ponce de Leon’s fountain of youth but instead think you can have a touch of immortality by planting tumors of memories in the younger generation. Just leave the little bastards alone and die!

[AS OPPOSED TO HOW I USUALLY POST HERE WHEN I HAVE A LONGER PIECE TO SHARE, GIVING YOU THE BEGINNING OF THE PIECE AS A TEASER AND THEN SENDING YOU TO THE "PAGES" TO READ THE REST, THIS IS THE END OF THE PIECE. I'VE BYPASSED MOST OF THE "NONSENSE" AND WENT RIGHT TO THE "ENLIGHTENING." MAYBE THIS WILL MAKE YOU TO READ IT TWICE--OR NOT AT ALL.]

FOR THE FULL PIECE GO TO:

http://rebelyogi.com/swami-x-eats-the-meat

(Comments can be left here)

I used to have a pattern of taking everything to extremes. While others were becoming vegetarian, I was looking into how to become a breathearian. “Enjoying your carrot sticks? Yeah, that is a bit heavy for me. But I must say, this air in here is just delightful!” When my friends started to shave their faces, I would shave my whole body. “If you saw the movie ‘Powder’ you’d friggin’ get it.” While others were seeking to get laid, I sought to be laid from a chicken. After rupturing a few hens’ rectums with a shoehorn, I gave up on this dream and relegated my shoehorn solely for tongue depressing. And it’s worked, my tongue, once happy and carefree, has every since been depressed.

My vegan dogmatism resulted in me not having a winter coat for a couple of years because the huge and heavy warm coat my Dad handed me down had a few tiny strips of leather around the sleeves. It resulted in me throwing out or donating anything that had a touch of animal on or in it, including my detachable Rollerblades that were totally convenient for me to convert to boots and go into stores that don’t allow you to roll down their aisles—which is most—and then pop on my wheels and roll to my next destination with ease because one day rolling I looked down and realized the boot was made out of suede and while I never ate suede, I would be damned if I would support the slaughter of a flock of suede with my rolling advertisement. By the time I realized the error of my ways these Rollerblades were discontinued.

Not to mention it slightly inhibited my ability to enjoy a time out with friends, as I was constantly “boycotting” that restaurant for serving foie gras and protesting that store because they sold fur. I even dropped wearing my 9/11 WAS AN INSIDE JOB T-shirts and sweatshirt and talking about this obvious FACT as I grew tired of ruining dinners.

Whether you are committed to a job or justice, a cause or country, and sometimes even a person, usually you are just one step from being committed to an asylum. I rather cut out the middleman and just submit myself to a loony bin where I can blow spittle bubbles and smear my shit on the walls with reckless abandon.

I have come to a point where I have questioned if following anything—be it a religion or eating pattern—in a fundamentalist way does not make you free…but only a douche. Forgetting what it does to others—from burka’ed beaten Islamic women, to pedophile priests, from book burning bastards to President I’madoucheandfag of Iran proudly declaring that there are no gays in Iran after his gay burning Bonfire of the Faggeties—what does it do to the individual?

The individual soul is already trapped by it’s jailer—the Ego’s identification with the body’s shape and sex, religion, means of employment and thoughts and beliefs—to add one more steel-tipped Doc Martin wearing guard at the gates of the jail cell is not going to help one liberate himself from the jail of self-identity. I made the declaration that I would extricate myself from my jail cell at all costs—even if that meant leaving it in a body bag—as even with the pleasant curtains and Hindu goddess wall hangings of the New Age, living in a jail cell is no life for a free soul but just another trick of the Ego to keep you from seeing that the prison guards and walls and bars are INTOLERABLE.

What is harder for most to see is that the prison guards and walls and bars are not outside obstructions to freedom but are built and maintained by one’s own continually fed identification system with his small self. The only hope for freedom is to abandon your inheritance of a religion, a belief system, a moral code based on dead men printed in dead books and to be born again, coming out of the Universe’s beautiful womb and realizing that you are the Lord and “there is no other.”

“I am the LORD, and there is no other; apart from me there is no God. I will strengthen you, though you have not acknowledged me.”

—Isaiah 45:5, New International Version

“And let me declare my one Law: Only Mormons are getting into Heaven.”