My way or the highway is one of the stupidest and most indicative statements of impotency that I have ever read, heard or had the pleasure of seeing in some person's physiognomy. Being heirs to some spiritual tradition is fine, being custodians or waving fancy titles is fine to, but it is just as fine to disregard them altogether and go for the juicy stuff. Paradigm folks, paradigm. In the end, its all about paradigm. Some people require order, a system of training and attainment that is clearly cut. If you are able to do this and that then you can progress to grade X where you will learn to do Y and Z. Others don't. The sphere of human action and conscience doesn't always require a clearly cut shared dogma and modus operandi. And the dogmatic folks out there can be raging as a rabid dog, barking to the moon their outrage and vexation but know this: nobody outside your circle gives a damn. Really, it doesn't matter one bit. You wanna know what matters? Getting the job done. Now, you can pass your lifetime licking someone's ass and bowing to some overinflated ego and call that "perfect love and trust" (or whatever you choose to call it) or you can go the "me" way and follow your bliss. When people eye you strangely and start moving uncomfortably in their chairs you know you just hit the nerve, and hitting the nerve is good. Now, for some words of love: Fuck you, I'm fabulous. J
In dark corners my tunnel vision saw the light and it was perfect. It had no folks complaining that you didn't indulged their fantasies, it had no asses to lick and no thoughts to shut down just to be able to comply and gain that extra bit of knowledge. Humans are the real demons with whom you have to strike bargains constantly. "There is no peace, there is only passion". I'd repeat this mantra over and over again in my head to be kept sane as the post modern relativity clashes with the dogmatic view of those who just can't stand a bit of chaos. Give me a reason to be alive, that's all I saw in their expressions; please tell me that all this isn't in vain. A little girl holds her favourite doll close in her arms and to test herself, she lights the oven and slowly burns her till there's no more doll, only a mass of plastic, now she's free from attachment. The girl grows up and finds herself in a room filled with magical people. "believe in what I tell you" they all say as they try to pierce her flesh with needles and sew in her the trappings of their experience, " your opposition is offensive to us, your questioning is out of the order". Amorphous, they are all screaming with the same voice. So many people, screaming with the same voice, I wonder, how is that possible? Prosaic minds, prosaic people. The new priests emerge with words of fear and subjugation. Fear the lords of life, the gods, bow your head and recognize their superiority. I've got that speech before in my life, in my first year of college. Tend to your promethean fire and gods will be molded by your human hands as clay. No god bears a face that is not human, not even the most transcendent of doctrines bears any other face than that of a human and as such no gods stand before me as anything other than what I allow him to be, and that suits me and in that they are just what they are.
(I just felt like adding this up because its beautiful and im experimenting with the quote thingy)
"The greatest peril of life lies in the fact that human food consists entirely of souls. All the creatures that we have to kill and eat, all those that we have to strike down and destroy to make clothes for ourselves, have souls, souls that do not perish with the body and which must therefore be pacified lest they should revenge themselves on us for taking away their bodies"
As I lay there I knew if that if the man dressed in a suit with his back to me would turn I wouldn't see a face, there would only be the innards of a skull, as if he was made by nature to coexist in the world after a shotgun discharge, despite all laws and reason. I tried to shrug it off, it didn't matter, I wasn't participating in it, it was just another image, but the mongoloid child staring adoringly into the guys bloody mess wouldn't go away and neither would he and I didn't wanted her to notice me, the unwilling observer. She was pale and red haired, the down-syndrome characteristics making her look even more pitiful as she smiled, toothless. I tried again, and again the zoom on her face. I broke it off, the fear overwhelming me.
Sometimes I think the bizarre will always keep me from myself. Sometimes I think I deserve being kept from myself for being a coward.