Enlightening Nonsense

(c) October 23, 2009

As one of my pet peeves in life was to be misinterpreted, I figured finding my dead body without a note would only lead to more speculative conclusions by people who barely scratched my surface and think they “know” me, and my soul would not be able to rest thinking, “NO, THAT’S NOT IT AT ALL!” Unlike Jesus who can remain on the sidelines while everyone fucks up the game and deceives themselves that they are following his playbook, I could not remain so silent—even in death. Yeah, I wrote “fuck” in my suicide note—actually “fucks.” Go figure.

Most look at suicide as a sad event. “The poor man couldn’t handle the pressure” or “She magnified her issue to the breaking point.” I suppose thinking themselves more capable than some poor dead slob helps them to go on living their miserable lives without so much as a peep of protest. It is because people have been conditioned to value life above all else that they are too cowardice to place principles such as Truth and Honor above even living and that is why we lack people today of the meddle of our country’s Founding Fathers and our hospitals and resting homes are full of people hooked up to tubes while drooling with glazed eyes for the last days and weeks and months of their lives; they are terrified of dying and we are afraid of letting them go.

A man is mugging a woman and because the onlooker is like a frightened animal, in that he values his survival more than the small chance that he could overpower the man with the gun and alleviate the woman’s suffering, he slinks away into the shadows and justifies this with, “What could I do, I was helpless?” He didn’t provide the help based on his own fears and so he is help-less, i.e. without any help to give. And we all say to him is, “You did the best you could do,” but by the time the police arrived after his call, they could no longer “help” the woman who is now either dead or traumatized for life. I would call him a coward and be challenged with, “What would you do!” in which case I’d answer, “I’d take action without consideration for the odds.” Which is what I have done here.

Few look at the kamikaze or the suicide bomber and think, “How noble!” Most still see him as a delusional who “Didn’t value life” or was conditioned into a culture of destruction. In our arrogance we think we “know” and yet these choiceful dead seem more free in their ability to choose to even end their lives for a principle, even if that principle is something with which we don’t agree or is based on some made-up fantasy Heaven, than those who continue to live for some fake principle like “duty” to a family or a country or a future world “for our children.” We sit in our armchairs and provide commentary and call what we’re doing “living” while they play the game gloriously and we call that “dying.”

How silly, really, a suicide note that is all general philosophy and contains nothing of the man who lies dead beside the note. Without specifics, the note will become like a poem, too ethereal and therefore up for more misinterpretation. So perhaps I should be more specific. But from my vantage point, I can see that all that you would call “the man” is really just inconsequential details to Who I Am and I have about as much interest at this point in discussing these trivial facts as I do in talking about which sports team won the latest baseball game.

I had a psychic reading by someone who is legit where I was told, among other things, that I didn’t have to “come back” but I did, which means to those who don’t speak gibberish, that my soul didn’t have to incarnate once again into a body, that it already got/learned everything it needed to on the physical plane and it could now permanently reside on another realm of existence. But regardless of guiding laws like gravity or karma, the one overriding principle is that of free will, “choice” if you will.

I came back because I didn’t want to miss the party in 2012 as the planet provides the support for humans to encompass a change in consciousness on a grander scale. That is why I came back. Not to burn any final “karma” or to meet one final “soulmate” with whom to bond. Seems a bit unromantic, yes. While I don’t drink or do drugs, I guess I’m just a spiritual “partier” after all, who wants to enjoy one more “kegger” before I stumble my ass to the graduation ceremony.

All souls, whether Buddha or Jesus or Marion the librarian, when they enter a physical body are still subject to the learning curve to which a physical being has to go through. A baby has to learn to walk and the haze has to clear so that the being can remember clearly Who He Is and live fully in his power. Most remain in the haze and think that this is all there is and so their life becomes about living efficiently in the fog; they build special glasses and water-repellent body armor to survive in this misty world.

Others intellectualize about what lies beyond the haze and usually attend endless classes and workshops and read an infinite number of books where they learn to parrot rituals and techniques and “lingo” focusing on dissolving the cloud of unknowing. These people are more lost than the Foggers, for they deceive themselves into believing that they are making a clear blue sky for the benefit of everyone, but with each vaporized cloud there will always be “just one more” hovering there waiting to be cleared. With their “save the world” horse blinders, they never even ask if anyone else but them even minds having a few clouds in the sky.

They don’t have the wisdom to see that cloud busting is a losing battle and the way to a clear sky is by adjusting your vision so as not to be so disturbed by the clouds. And so they will forever remain in a community of Cloud Busters, always pushing their “mission” to the chagrin of everyone else. The Cloud Busters look down at Foggers who are satisfied in the fog while pretending to be basking in the light of the sun, while not realizing that in the exhaust of each ritual and technique they perform, they are polluting the world by creating more toxic clouds as a by-product of their “good” works.

Others have moments of clarity, a vision past the clouds—usually in spite of all their rituals and techniques and “good” works—and when they return to the blurry life beneath the clouds, it becomes almost unbearable for them to accept. Most of them go insane. It is the very few who come to see Who They Are and can remain with this knowing and accept the limitations of the body and the physical plane; they understand that their car can only reach 30 mph and are at peace with driving it on the highway.

My mind opened and was downloading information very rapidly and when I would talk with others, it would feel like they were moving in slow motion: “And I went to the store…it was a nice day…I was going to go for groceries and while it shouldn’t have mattered what clothes I was wearing, I spent about an hour choosing my outfit…” My mind could see the bigger picture of where they were going and all the pit stops along the way became somewhat unbearable for me and it took all my energy not to shout at the top of my lungs, “FOR GOD’S SAKE, JUST GET TO IT ALREADY!”

I could also see the bigger picture of people’s soul journey. All their insecurities and conditionings and challenges and denials were scattered in their field and in my vision I could see it as easily as most could see colors. They were getting caught up in the minutia of Act I and I had already seen the whole play and knew that once they entered Act III all their Act I worries would be laughable even to them.

And while it might have been more “sympathetic” for me to help them to pick up one piece at a time and place it back into their broken machinery, I found myself impatient by their inability to see, feeling like an engineer frustrated as he faced people talking about models made out of popsicle sticks heated by fire when I was exploring geodesic domes and free energy.

And as much as I tried to call these travelers “brother” and “sister,” they did not feel like family to me, and each of their blind spots felt like assaults to my hypersensitive instrument.

And soon I split inside and found myself witnessing my very own talk of Popsicle sticks, while at the same time being aware of far greater building materials. It became excruciating to feel myself limited by concepts and feelings and physical boundaries when at the same time I saw beyond concepts and understood that immersion in anger or joy was just a temporary fix—that didn’t really fix anything—and that physical boundaries were also only more mind creations.

I hated myself for not being beyond schooling. The only way I had been taught to graduate was through the curriculum and I knew that no classroom could teach me what I already knew and that to sit behind a desk when I was being beckoned to the beyond would be to glance out the window at the kids playing recess and knowing that all this work was for the sole purpose of being able to play. It didn’t compute. Why not just cut out the middleman and go outside and play?

While these thoughts have been coming up for some time now, I always said to myself that I wanted to leave here a Master and not a servant, that I wanted to choose death and not succumb to it. It’s come to the point that “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” have weighed so heavily on me that I no longer care. And in this, I have discovered the key.

When you release yourself of your needs, your goals, your purpose, there remains only one choice: whether to remain living purposeless or to move on to a new arena where the fog is a different hue and you can delude yourself with a different “noble purpose” for a time, until that cloud, too, dissipates and you see it was just more smog keeping you from seeing the bigger picture. I am not interested in picking up more false purpose and so I choose to step outside of choice.

I lived somewhat of a silly life and it seems almost strange to end it with a note that is as somber as a politician who faces slamming bars for corruption, prostitution and everything else that corrupting power has corroded in him. But whether silly or serious, when your view widens you see all lives beyond their blinders and understand that no life is more or less important than another and no mission is more or less valued than another—that it is all a game of curing one’s miasmic vision and thus being able to see beyond the murkiness. And then it all looks a bit silly.

While I never bound myself to the construction of a wife and children, no man can walk this world without leaving a few footprints in his wake. I leave behind a family that won’t understand that my choice is made out of power and not weakness. They will probably feel guilt, as if there was something they could have done to keep me hooked up as a vegetable to the I.V. for just a little longer, not realizing that a beating heart and a bellowing set of lungs is not life to me and that my life had become little more than this, regardless of mobility and brain function.

I suppose my “offspring” is my writing but I don’t really care if they become upstanding citizens or sociopaths.“Let’s better the world for our children.” Publish it or burn it, I don’t give a shit about my children.

This life no longer serves me and to remain in it would be a prison that, while others may find it the best game in town, I see only as solitary confinement. “Well, at least solitary confinement is better than death!” But that argument is based on fear of losing the only thing they know and ignorance of what lies beyond what they know. And whether there are vast realms beyond the pale of the physical or it is an eternal nothing, I am ready to explore—or to vegetate. Either way, the worms will be fed.

While most at the end are prone to a life review, I am no different. But rather than a 40+-year movie with a notebook in my lap filled with copious entrees, I see a 3-minute YouTube video that, like time-elapsed photography, moves rapidly through this last incarnation with all its trials and tribulations, relationships and isolations [probably a lot less interesting than the classic YouTube video, “What What (in the butt)”]

It’s hard to take seriously all the situations where I loved and hated, where I helped and hurt. For those remaining who I have touched, who still can’t see that there is no “good” or “bad,” I only hope I haven’t left any more vapor in the air to distort the light of your vision. I hope that the ocean washes my footprints away and all that remains is a clear shore for you not to worry about distorting the memory of my path, but for you to walk your own without regard to impressions that are long washed away.

While my few physical possessions may be of value to some, whether for cash or for clinging, let them all be burned or given away to charity, for any musings through them will only more obscure the Truth that I was never really here and merely trap the ghost of me in the mind’s cage of those who think they care.

My wish for the capsule that carried my soul is for it to be of some final use. Donate my organs to those in need. Give my bones to a classroom for study or to science for experiment. Give my meat to the hungry, be they human or animal—yes, leave it in nature where some wild animals can partake of a nice meal; “The Last Supper” of sorts, only “this is my blood…this is my body” would be much more literal.

If all this is too much of a hassle for those in charge of my remains, then just have me burned, for hassling over a corpse is about as stupid as banging one’s head against a wall solely to justify the purchase of a bottle of Aspirin. A pyre of sorts would suit me fine. Stack up some wood, dowse it with gasoline and throw a match. BOOM! Maybe it wouldn’t make a “BOOM” sound—more of a SNAP, CRACKLE, POP. Oh great, now I’m reduced to a sugar-laden, processed kid’s cereal! I would dig marshmallows on sticks but I’m guessing that the taste of burnt flesh would kinda make that not palatable for tongues that have grown accustomed to sterilized food with masking sauces and spices and have so distanced themselves from unadultured, unwashed, ungenetically modified food whose dirty surface only enhances its earthy taste.

Keep anyone associated with a position in any organized religion away from the bonfire. While I was raised in a Jewish family, it is probably a good time to let everyone know that I did not die a Jew—nor was I ever a Jew. “If your mother is Jewish than you are a Jew.” I don’t believe in the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus or Heaven or Hell or any other made-up religious nonsense and “If you’re mother…” falls under that category of superstition. Who the hell are you anyway to make up some bullshit rule and say, whether I agree with it or not, that I am subject to it? You have balls, I’ll give you that; I’d like to kick you in your balls.

Keep any Christian priest away from me, for those perverts would probably molest my dead body before returning to their usual diet of little boys. And for that matter, any of the “cool” religions, such as Buddhism or Taoism—the KEEP OUT sign applies to you, too. Walk around all piously and either punish yourself by shaving your head or eating only plain rice or wearing boring clothes or sitting endlessly while the world passes by—how the hell are you any benefit to me or anyone else? I never actually met anyone who called himself a “Taoist.” I guess they can come.

The only Muslims I want there are suicide bombers. At least those pieces of shit are courteous enough to dispose of themselves. The rest of you praise Muhammad the sex offender, while the men justify oppressively covering women from head to toe and the women justify this as some holy writ from the pedophile prophet. If I didn’t hate Christianity so much, you morons would be at the top of my religious hit list.

Mormons are just too silly to even discuss. Place a placard at my death gathering that says, “FUCK, SHIT, COCK, PUSSY” and we won’t have to deal with any of those ridiculous Mormons—they melt like the Wicked Witch of the West in the vicinity of any “bad” words, as if a word could be “good” or “bad.” Idiots.

I joke, but it is these religious morons that have been responsible for so much war and hate and destruction and guilt in the world that I think if we put them all in a capsule and shot them into outer space, that we would no longer have to deal with alien abductions on earth—the aliens would be too busy fighting amongst themselves over whose god’s dick is bigger than the other. Even the Ku Klux Klan is more honest in their hatred than organized religion and if one can place those inbreeds higher on the scale of conscious development than even the bacteria that comes out of the infected penises of bacteria that live on pond scum, you know you’re in trouble.

I guess you’ll need to hire some Taoist bouncers to keep all the religious riff-raff out.

Finally, before disposing of my body, please bring my dog to it and allow her to see and smell it. I have a feeling she may whine a little but maybe this is just one final grasping of mine at love; she’ll probably just take a piss on me. It is important for me that she knows I didn’t just leave and abandon her, that I left altogether and the reason I am not coming back is because my sentence was over, I became a free man and that it was not really much of a choice for me—that I chose “life” even though others may look at it as death and that the only thing that even remotely kept me considering extending my stay was to be with her just a little longer.

In Love & Death (isn’t that a Woody Allen movie?),

Swami X