A year or so ago, my brother and I started going for hikes with our dogs once a week on his day off. I remember the first hike my brother commenting how the dogs seemed like they were in Heaven, romping around the woods non-stop. I told him that for them this was like Disneyworld—there were things to smell, places to explore, obstacles to jump, an occasional large mouse that would fondle you around the corner for a few of the D-ride tickets and no one bugged you about where you could shit or not. My brother nodded in understanding.
My brother and I soon realized that this was a taste of Heaven for us humans as well and only in part because nature is a public toilet with no cleanup required. It became a committed time, once a week, where two brothers—regardless of whatever else was going on in their lives—made an effort to get together, walk in nature, talk about life and take the occasional piss when no one was looking.
In our lives of busy-ness, we often forget to focus on what is really important to us. This is in large part due to the fact that we have so many other stupid things filling our field of view and secondarily because after so much eyestrain from the driftless floaters, our eyes become too tired to focus on anything else.
It is not all trees and birds and outdoor urination, though. The roundtrip train ride to Connecticut costs $25 from Grand Central Station. As I am a swami, I have taken an involuntary oath of poverty and $100 a month is the difference between me paying rent and still being able to feed my dog or paying rent and starving the little bitch. So my brother, who is doing financially better than the average hobo swami, covers my travel expense. I once talked to him about taking over that necessary evil but greenbacks allude me as much as the logic of women and so, for the moment, he has continued to pay the toll.
The other day my brother said to me, “X,” (as I forgive him addressing me by my formal “swami” title,) “I figured it costs me over $1000 a year for us to go hiking together.” And with that he took a dump on the trail and I stepped in it, leaving a bad smell to haunt the rest of my outdoor experience.
My brother is a Jew. And by that, I don’t just mean he follows the same spin-in-a-circle and touch your head mindless rituals that this particular set of cultists follows. By this I mean that he lives in a fear mindset that is based on a world where there is never enough and everyone wants you exterminated. His freeloading wife who thinks that he is an agro-specialist focusing on the select breeding of money trees only fuels this.
It is my belief that because Jews have been ostracized and kicked out of everywhere they have ever settled—because they were different, self-sufficient and often smarter than those around them—that culturally they have developed a hoarding energetic patterning. Back then when the Diaspora hit, you had to take whatever you could on your person—no desktop computers to break your back; a thumb drive with your documents would be the most you could carry, as well as the bag of gold around your neck that all Jews carry with them at all times. This is in part why Jews are cheap. It is based on an energetic survival fear, or to you New-Agers, “an ancestral blockage of the first chakra.”
But it is not just the Jew who calculates everything with a mind that contains ledgers and tallies, Excel spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations. Most people weigh every interaction as a business transaction. “What’s in it for me?” is the underlying statement in any dealing or in lilting Jew-speak, “How much is this going to cost me?”
On the practical side of things, we need money to pay for rent and feed the starving dog, no doubt. But when everything is weighed on the scale of “Does this tip things in my favor?” you gut out the heart of a relationship and turn it into an interaction which entails little more than, “You make dinner and give me a blowjob once a month and I’ll pay for everything,” or if you have a Jewish wife you substitute “a kind word” for the blowjob once a month (“Why is a Jewish bride smiling when she is walking down the altar? Because she knows she has given her last blowjob.”)
Yes, as a responsible adult, perhaps I should figure out how to pay my keep. Perhaps I will instead tell my brother to keep his thousand dollars and go fuck himself. I know he can’t help it, that like a crack addict, everything he does is weighed into how much rock he can smoke from his pipe or shoot into his vein. But you can’t place a value on a human being (although my pimp seems to manage to somehow) and when you do—whether overtly or covertly—you kill the beautiful day, the fresh air and trees with your fear-based pollution. The will result in your companion either avoiding the toxic nature site altogether or you planting a seed of cancer in the other that if it doesn’t eventually metastasize and kill the relationship, the subtle discomfort will take the joy out of your sharing.
Much is conditioned into us from an education system which defines the worth of a child based on how well he memorizes useless facts and can spit them out come test-time, reinforced by parents and teachers rewarding their academic—and physical—performances based more on how they compared than on how they enjoyed. Taken to market, the value of a child is based on how well they can behave not like a child by sitting quietly, not doing anything mischievous and walking around like a Ken Doll with no balls. This creates a plastic child with no heart and soul and while there may be buyers in a sick society for this kind of “toy,” to suck out an organic soul and replace it with dead processed synthetics is the worst kind of crime one can commit.
Add to this that we are sold by people who care only about money and power on the idea that “Sure, you’re not happy now but if you buy more useless garbage then you will finally find happiness amongst the clutter,” and you have the formula for a society that may manage to still function like a machine, but as a living entity cannot be called anything other than dysfunctional.
“Just think of a businessman: he simply lives as a businessman. Morning, afternoon, evening, night, he lives as a businessman. He dreams of business, he talks of business, he reads of business—his whole life has become business…He cannot be anything else! He does not know how to relax. He does not know how to slip out of this small hole in which he has started living…”
—Osho, Walk without feet, Fly without wings, and Think without mind (p. 104)