Chick-fil-a

Posted on August 2, 2012 by bluedepth

I wrote this as a Facebook comment, but I think it’s good enough to be elevated all the way to a blog post. I would welcome engagement on this subject, feel free to leave comments.

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I actually have a vested interest in this entire kerfuffle surrounding Chick-Fil-a. The president of the company declared that they do not accept marriage equality for people like me. At first I only patronized Chick-fil-a because I was under the erroneous impression that their inequality towards people like me was rooted in their patriarch who was more than 80 years old and that his children would correct the company when he passed on. As it turns out, that is not the case.

At first Chick-Fil-a was guilty of basic inequality, a kind of mild bigotry. But over time more information was revealed about just how much Chick-fil-a hates people like me. They have donated money to organizations that have as their central purpose to deny marriage equality to LGBT individuals. There has also been some talk about how Chick-fil-a has donated money to support the Ugandan “Kill The Gays” bill, which supports the active murder and disposal of people like me. Driving past a restaurant that makes food where the management has demonstrated hatred and bigotry against me makes me upset.

The president of Chick-fil-a has stated erroneously that God, through the Bible, has decreed that people like me should not marry. He is unaware that his very church that he loves and believes in did indeed marry same-sex individuals from the beginning until 1250AD. Just because the church changed their tune does not mean God has. It would be more accurate for Dan Cathy to describe his position as “We chose to hate gay people and we chose to be bigoted.” Because that is what he has done. For 1250 years God, through his Church has sanctified relationships like mine. Just because you are ignorant of the history of your faith does not mean you are innocent of being a mean vicious bigot. It just means your ignorant.

In the end, what does it mean to not go to Chick-fil-a? It means that your money, or the instruments that hold value, even coupons for “free” food, which just shift the value from currency to your patronage, end up benefiting these people who have actively chosen to be ignorant bigots bent on demonstrating their hatred for their fellow man. They pose as Christians and I question this assertion. Jesus Christ, the man the Christians claim to follow had absolutely NOTHING AT ALL to say about people like me. His teachings were centered on love, forgiveness, and how one could eliminate suffering through following the path he taught. I am unable to successfully connect the actions of Chick-fil-a, a noted Christian company with the teachings of their Messiah, Jesus Christ. I do not see the love, I do not see the forgiveness, and I do not see any elimination of suffering. They uphold the banner of inequality and in the case of Uganda, state-sanctioned murder of people like me.

I am not like the rest of you. I am less of a person than the rest of you. I am not able to get married, despite being in a loving relationship for 15 years. I am beset by Christians who hate me despite their Messiah only preaching love. I am afraid for my life, I am afraid for my rights, and I am afraid that the inequality demonstrated to me means that those that treat this entire conversation so cavalierly do not really respect me or understand just how important equality is.

As I have said to many Christians before when they exhort that Jesus only wants to love me: I don’t want love. I want equality.

And I don’t want Chick-fil-a. I don’t want to support hate. I am sad that others do. But there is nothing I can do, there is nothing I will do, other than write these words. Do as ye will. Pray it doesn’t harm someone you love.

Buddha's Fingerprints

Posted on May 22, 2012 by bluedepth

I was midway through “Mastering the Core Teachings of the Buddha: An Unusually Hardcore Dharma Book” by Daniel Ingram and decided that I really couldn’t finish reading that book. It wasn’t because the author or what he wrote was difficult to understand or really any concrete reason honestly, however as I was reading there was a mounting feeling that continuing to read the text would somehow damage my recent spiritual explorations. This isn’t the first book that I’ve cracked open on the subject of Buddhism, and it isn’t the last book that I have either slogged through out of some sense that if I start something I really ought to finish it or in the rarest cases, stop reading half-way through.

I’ve also run my toes through other books, most notably some core Zen books that I found free online. I didn’t really get along with Zen either as I didn’t have the chops for it. As I read along with the Zen teachings I discovered that a large part of the foundation of Zen is wound up with cults of personality and pretty hardcore physical abuse. Teachers are pseudo-deities and they are fond of beating their students to a pulp. Uh, no thanks.

So it brought me back to this book by Mr. Ingram. The writing style of the book was very conversational, very colloquial, and around page 140 or so it became exceptionally particular and rather obnoxiously dismissive. What struck me in the earlier chapters was this feeling of threat from this particular book. Not the general threat in the sense that the words were in themselves threatening, but threatening to my own spiritual development. I started to feel a kind of chafing as I was reading about how there were all these steps, and these stages and how everything was so meticulously laid out. It started to upset me, in a very deeply spiritual sense. That any random persons spiritual journey can be laid out with such rigor, such structure really repels me. That people are just machines playing back music and that the music never ever changes from person to person. I suppose I was chafing against dogma, and that dogma was of the core teachings of Buddhism which I don’t necessarily ascribe to. I’m all for the cessation of suffering and a lot of what the Buddha had to teach makes sense, but it’s one thing to see the morality as waymarkers versus seeing the morality as a pair of manacles tied to a chain and led through a machine.

It comes down to reading a buddhism book and not believing in buddhism. I suppose any book and faith could switch places. I have no interest in the Koran because I have no interest in Islam. I have no interest in the Torah because I have no interest in Judaism. And really, why exclude the 800 pound gorilla in the corner? I have no interest in the Bible because I have no interest in Christianity. The big three are stultifying. So rigid, so structured, so planned out. There is no soul in these faiths. Nothing to explore, nothing to discover. Everything is safe, paved, prepared and many of them have little rest areas in which you can get off the road and have a snack. Even as it appears Buddhism is very much like this as it turns out. Everyone reads the texts and then goes about mindlessly following because, really, what else is there? So you learn all these new words and vocabulary and you notice names that ring dim bells in the other texts you have read and over time you come to the stark realization that the author is beating around the bush and in a way, brought on a crisis of faith in a religion that I don’t believe in. For Buddhists it’s all about being and not-being, ultimately the realization of Nirvana by becoming enlightened. It’s all very important sounding but my problem is I know too much about the structure of the Universe. I have more than a passing idea about QM, Brane Theory, M-theory, String Theory, GUT, TOE, the list goes on and on. Ontology and Cosmology and, well, lets face it, I’m too smart for my own good. I’ve dabbled too much. I’ve in a way, seen too much and imagined too much. When I read about the cessation of dualities I can’t help but think of Bohm’s Implicate Order, and when I think of that I think about the potential of living in a holographic universe, which then brings up threads connected to the Everett Interpretation for QM, that each observation causes a split so that every potential possibility is realized. The raging undercurrent of all of it is, that as I read about the experiences this man, Mr. Ingram has with meditation I think about his brain. About how it processes information, so up along with this goes what I know of behaviorism, Jungian analysis, and the real thorn-patch of quantum neurodynamics. So I see all these learned sages going on and on about attaining this and that and getting teachers to teach you this and that and I find myself wondering "Don’t these people know that what they are seeking is actually extending their consciousness into the quantum foam that exists between their synaptic clefts?" And then I imagine David Bohm looking all sternly at me and giving me a ‘tsk tsk tsk’ gesture. If it wasn’t for anything else, I have Tielhard de Chardin on my shoulder like a little angel whispering in my ears about the noosphere. Perhaps Eckhard Tolle is a little devil on the other side, I haven’t made up my mind. But this is what gets me. How can anyone know what another persons spiritual path is going to be? Just because 2500 years of people all referring to each other and repeating each other lends some small credence that there is something worth exploring, there is a part of me that blanches when told that this is how it really is and that in a way I could obtain a map of what is to come and follow it.

I suppose in this sense, following a map is what dogma is all about. If you reject the map, or you don’t follow it, then you should feel bad or foolish because you aren’t doing it right. You aren’t doing it the way 2500 years of much wiser people have done it in the past. And how dare anyone buck a 2500 year tradition? Uh, well, hate to break it to you, but I’m kind of a pain in the ass if you haven’t noticed yet. I’ll ignore 2500 years of learned thinking if it means I get to explore on my own.

And so we get back to faith in a central pillar of spirituality. I knew when I lost my faith in Christianity, when I was 8 in the library of my grandmothers Presbyterian church, that my faith, that my entire spirituality would have to be formed not from things I could find to follow but made up of the experiences of my life. That the only really honest faith, the only true spiritual path I could ever know and feel any amount of strength in would have to spring up from deep within myself. I can’t hear God from without, I have to hear him (or more entertainingly, her) from within. And when I mean God, I don’t mean some objective father(mother) figure in the sky, somehow judging me as I lead my life, but really God as a handle for really what can only be regarded as my own soul. In that way I am a proud secular humanist. Secular in that I reject all faiths, humanist in that the only faith left is whatever I find when I turn my sentience inward. So in a way, coming back to this book, I had to stop reading it because it was pushing me too hard, offering a map, dogma, too strongly.

So I have questions, and the answers I seek seem at least on first glance to shimmer on the horizon like a mirage in front of the Buddhism banner, but then as I approach the mirage falls apart and I find myself wandering around again. Funny how much real human spirituality includes the notion of wandering around in a desert for a very long time. For that we can blame Moses, who apparently needed a map! Getting back to it, the best way for anyone to find, well, actually, I haven’t the foggiest idea what they should do. I know what I should do, and for me, more specifically and clearly, it’s exploration that has to continue forward without structure, without a map, without dogma. So I can’t read that book any longer.

Does that mean I will stop meditation? Absolutely not. There are answers in meditation, I just know it. I can feel it. But like everything in life, nothing comes free and easy. This pursuit will take me probably the rest of my life, but in the end I can sit back and laugh and notice that it was right all along because it was mine. True, it’s a frankensteins monster made up of things I’ve picked up from wiser men than I, but at least it’s my monster. This monster not only sings “Putting on the Ritz” very well, but also dances. I couldn’t very well leave out that reference, now could I?

This also pretty much concludes any other readings or pursuit in the direction of the banner of Buddhism for me. It’s not for me. While I respect Buddhists more than the other faiths, they all are hamstrung in the very same way. Too much structure, too much plan, too much dogma. In a way, when I ask myself “Am I doing it right?” the only honest answer is “Absolutely, because it can’t be any other way.” Now when I say I won’t follow the Buddha it doesn’t mean I won’t raid his tent for neat ideas and shiny bits. I rifled through Jesus Christ’s footlocker, I have no compunction with dashing the Buddhas tent and sorting out his goodies. It’s just, I’m drawing my own map, and I’m drawing it as I walk along, french curves, spirals and mad meandering squiggles all.

Faith is like a fingerprint. No two are alike. Dogma is meaningless because of this one central idea. How can you share what can’t be standardized? What you need is 30 kiloqualms over there. What is a kiloqualm? That’s a silly question! It’s obvious! (to me) 😉

Easter Tidings

Posted on April 6, 2012 by bluedepth

It’s Easter time, which is one of the very-important-so-lets-go-to-Church Christian Holidays. Many Christians, well, the good ones, have been involved with some sort of lenten fast for the past forty days and it doesn’t end until Easter Sunday, which is in two days from today.

As a used-to-be-Christian who now regards himself as somewhere between a secular humanist, a buddhist, and a neo-pagan this holiday is much like all the other Christian holidays, which is to say, a giant batch of goof in order to facilitate cultural assimilation. The big holidays for Christians are Christmas and Easter. The birth and death and resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Now, Christmas has it’s own special sort of silliness. We chop down trees and dress them with baubles and we have figures that occupy popular consciousness and the “Baby Jesus” only appears as a sideline player in that yearly conflagration of economic stimulus and material goodwill. The other holiday, the one we are adjacent to now, is Easter. Once again we have a cultural hodgepodge of really goofy things all colliding at the same time. At the core of it should be, but isn’t, the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I’ll get to the silliness of that later on, but bear with me. The holiday is supposed to be solemn with a celebration of this one mans ability to somehow pop back to life after being dead and through resurrection cleansing our sins in the eyes of God. Except none of that matters. Children don’t give a flying rip about Jesus Christ, he’s just a suave white guy (usually) who appears in quickly flashed artistic impressions of historical events and kids just get a general sense about all the hocus-pocus behind it all and just shrug because for a child the notion of death and resurrection are meaningless concepts. To Children, summer lasts forever and nobody dies. What kids associate with the holiday is the exact core of what the Christians tried to subvert by laying their tripartite-dead-notdead-heavy_mystery_time-God on top of pagan rituals. Like Eostre. A pagan germanic tradition that occurs in April and involves candy, rabbits, brightly colored eggs, and a host of deities from faiths that Christians find distasteful, like Eostre herself, a goddess, or Freyja, a teutonic goddess. So, in order to culturally assimilate the unwashed barbaric hordes you don’t try to kill them off en-masse, instead you co-opt their rituals and you pretend that it’s always been this way. You get to their children and before you know it, after a few generations come and go, the entire backstory has been whitewashed and a new narrative has been put in it’s place. The problem with whitewashing an old narrative is that it quite often hangs around. People still do the same things even if they don’t really know why any longer. So Christians assemble (like the pagans), they celebrate Easter (the pagans celebrate Eostre! Wait, it’s so close!), people assemble Easter Baskets full of candy, dyed eggs, fake plastic grass and a host of rabbit icons… holy crap. We’ve fallen completely off the Christian wagon kids! This is all dirty no-good filthy pagan crap! Where did Jesus go, we misplaced him, oops. But at the end, after all the egg-hunts and eating of chocolate rabbits, which, I must say is about as pagan as you can get, turning an icon into something edible and sweet, BOGGLE… and then to eat an Easter Ham, which I think is a really mean thing that Christians do as Jesus was a Jew and !@#$ KOSHER and last I checked PIG WAS NOT KOSHER oh whatever. After Easter dinner then everyone gets in their finery and toddles off to Church. Then and only then do we get heaping helpings of the steaming pile of Jesus Christ narrative. It’s a lot like Jesus Christ the cannon, being packed with Jesus Christ grapeshot and aimed at the belching rabbit-icon-eating/pig-eating/non-kosher horde of barbarians and fired with magical Jesus Christ gunpowder of guilt.

Even the timing of the holiday is annoyingly pagan. The Christians really don’t get how to whitewash and properly murder and cannibalize mythic narratives. They establish that Easter is the Sunday closest to the first full moon after the vernal equinox! What the HELL does the vernal equinox or the !@#$ MOON have to do with Jesus Christ? Huh!?! Oh wake up! It’s got nothing to do at all, it’s just a bunch of confused old men trying to retain control on what amounts to being an uncontrollable herd of sweaty messy barbarians. When you go to Church next, look around. Now imagine what it looked like 1600 to 1800 years ago. Never mind, it’s the same thing, only now you all think it’s true and believe and that’s really all that matters. You’ve bought the Christians cart of goods that they have for sale, but you still do quintessentially pagan things! If belief gives godlings life, then Krampus, Santa Claus, and Eostre are very much alive and well. Keep being good, keep eating rabbit icons, and keep on futzing about with dyed eggs! Eostre needs all your belief energy to even stand up to Big Daddy, JC, and the Spook.

Speaking of dead things coming back to life, the resurrection itself. What a monumental pile of hocus-pocus if I’ve ever seen it. We have never seen anyone go from well and truly dead to alive all on their own, except for once, 2000 years ago. Sure. What’s more plausible? That Jesus Christ died, went through hell, and then was resurrected, OR that he was nailed to a cross as a form of capital punishment, where he lapsed into a coma from exposure, malnutrition, and poor hydration then when “dead” hauled off the cross and then laid in state. Then after recovering from being in a coma, got up and wandered off?!? What if that was really what happened?

So Christians elect to believe that a dead man suddenly popped back to life and then they see the miracle of that and then tacitly agree to suspend all rational thought thereafter. Accept it, it’s the word of God. Accept it, it’s in the scriptures. Accept it, you have to if you believe. Accept it, or you’ll be a sinner.

Get off the collective cross, we need the wood.

So, enjoy the Easter fantasy. The pagan rituals you still perform without knowing why. Still buy into the narrative sold to you by the Christians and never feel any hint of awkwardness that you’ve suspended your own rational thoughts and given control of your actions over to old men who don’t even notice your existence. It sounds so silly, but, there it is.

And people wonder why we haven’t been visited by aliens or have mastered space travel. If you were an advanced alien culture, and you saw the kind of hocus-pocus that we humans readily believe in, would you elect to just do nothing or would you watch us very carefully to make sure we never leave the third planet from this unremarkable star on the edge of a very unremarkable galaxy?

So embarrassing. We aren’t ready, at this rate we won’t ever be ready. Not really.

LJ – Catholics and Their Pets

Posted on February 12, 2012 by bluedepth

From 10/6/2003</h2

An authoritative magazine published by the Jesuits has lashed out at the culture of pampered pets, saying animals have no souls or rights.

But they have our love more ardently than we could ever have for the Jesuits or their Church. Yeah, you’ll go to church and you’ll say what you have to because you think you should – but you’ll do anything for your pet. Ah well, not like they are really relevant.

UPDATE:

Saw this when lisa asked some questions about it…

But, it says, “the spending of money on very expensive and expressly made foods to nourish dogs and cats is completely mad and morally condemnatory”.

Such a harsh position was unlikely to go unnoticed yesterday, the feast of St Francis of Assisi, who befriended animals and fed birds.

Father Mario Canciani, who blesses pets in Santa Maria in Trastevere Church, in Rome, says the article was written in isolation from the real world.

“The average theologian is almost always solitary, and closed in his ivory tower,” he says.

=laughing my way all the way to the birdbath=

LJ – Shrublet In Hell

Posted on February 3, 2012 by bluedepth

From 3/17/2003

Here we all sit, on the brink of war… and all I can think of is “We are a Nation of Peace” as a flying image, colliding with the notion that we are essentially going to flood the Euphrates and Tigris rivers with blood. We’re going to most likely bomb Iraq into the stone age – so much for being a nation of peace. I see Dubya’s new anti-war stance not as some honorable position but rather it’s the “Get the Hell out of Dodge” policy, that it’s just about Dubya and Saddam. Why don’t they simply just sit down like civilized people and try to bludgeon each other to death with their own hands? I’d go so far as to say that this may very well be Generation Y’s Vietnam. Our proud soldiers go off to fight some foreign battle and what of them when they come back? How many Vietnam Vets came back to a chilly America? How many “Rumble in the Sandbox” troops will come home facing a public that doesn’t believe in them because they fought a war against one single man and an idea? Where is good old fashioned 20th century thinking? Ah yes, right here in the enlightened 21st Century. I suppose it’s better to bomb Iraq into the stone age and create thousands more little Saddams than it would be in pursuing a more peaceful and more lucrative solution, say, flooding the middle east with American goodwill. Hah, fat chance of that happening now. The best way to battle terror is to blindly lash out, that way you can create destroy it with a war.

I sit back and think upon loftier thoughts because all of this depresses me, and I find my mind wandering towards what Jesus Christ said, that the solution was to not kill, but rather to forgive and to love. I find it quite engaging to hear Dubya invoke a God he is currently plotting on rendering moot. What footing does any good Christian have if they in good conscience allow this war to proceed, knowing that they have turned away from the teachings of their God because of laziness? It’s far easier to bomb and kill and murder than it is to forgive. I can just imagine the knot in the pit of the Pope’s stomach when the first bomb falls on the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.

In brighter news, the Yahoo! main page is a cavalcade of good news items:

Bush Says Saddam Has 48 Hours to Leave or It’s War
U.S. Raises Terror Alert Level Due to Iraq Crisis
U.S. Sees Signs Iraq May Use Chemical, Bio Arms
Turkey to Debate Helping U.S. on Tuesday
Annan Orders UN Staff Out of Iraq
Deadly Pneumonia Defies Global Health Experts
Charges Delayed in Elizabeth Smart Case

The part that particularly drew my attention was this one: * Deadly Pneumonia Defies Global Health Experts. I wonder if this is the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning?

Synchronicity

Posted on January 27, 2012 by bluedepth

Sometimes you can’t explain how things unfold. Previous generations labeled things like this kismet, or fate. A really tremendously great word for what I just dealt with could be called synchronicity.

A few days ago while I was marveling at my silly dress-up vest with the finished pockets sewn closed, I was standing under an old-time fixture that I had installed all on my own. Frankly it was going to turn out to be a nod to the past any way it unfolded. It was either going to be the fixture we eventually chose or a “in the spirit of” Tiffany-style lamp. So either way we were going to install a fixture that prized the past. We noticed the “Edison Style” bulbs immediately and almost in the vein of “love at first sight” these fixtures trumped the Tiffany-style stained glass ones almost instantly. It helped of course that the “Edison Style” was $45 while the “Tiffany Style” was $90. We could afford a small bit of throwback style for half the price.

So while I was looking at myself, all trimmed and shaved (for what it’s worth) in a dress vest, under an “Edison Style” bulb it had to be synchronicity for what transpired tonight. For the past few days I’ve been dwelling, at least mentally, in a space that appreciates how excellent really old designs are and sometimes these designs are actually pinnacle moments. They are wonders, marvels, true magnificence that once expressed can’t really be improved upon. It takes a real romantic to even entertain that an old thing retains value. In some ways I sense that old things not only retain their value but augment their value because they last, or touch something deep inside that means something very important to you.

So I stood there, in the civil twilight of pre-dawn right before work. Standing under an Edison-style bulb and appreciating my reflection in the hall mirror and being filled with a feeling that something quite like this could have been how my predecessors felt in the 1800’s when all this technology was brand new. Nobody then marveled at the warm yellow glow from an Edison bulb as a matter of romance, they saw it as an improvement to paraffin, naphtha, or beeswax candles. So for some strange reason I thought of someone I never met, ever in my life but only know through Ancestry.com. That would be my second great grandfather Fernando Race. The father of my maternal grandfather, Allan (I think). So oddly enough I had technically summoned the shade of my second great grandfather and it was something very deep and meaningful.

I never EVER knew any of these people. The only memory I have of my maternal grandfather is little blazes of bright memory. Me sitting on his lap while his model trains ran around his little train village in the basement of my grandparents home in Ithaca. It’s true that scent can bring you back, and it does for me. Funny enough if I catch WD-40, an industrial cleaner and lubricant, and it’s scent, accessing these memories of my grandfather all becomes very plain and very simple and they kind of burst forth right into my mind. Scents carry memory, alas, nostalgia. So getting just a scent of WD-40 puts me right back there. So thinking about the past also helps put me “back there” and frankly I find it highly entertaining that I find myself preferentially dwelling in the past where things I take for granted would mostly likely be interpreted as high sorcery.

It wasn’t until a few days after my “in the past” reverie that I called my mother out of the blue. No reason for it other than I love her and miss her terribly and the missing feeling goes away a little bit when I talk to her on the phone. So I called her on my way home from the gym. People at work who find me … unique… (a great word, I love it) always ask to visit with my mother to see if that can explain why I am the way I am. Why I’m emotional and ebullient and always say whats on my mind. I laugh at my coworkers who puzzle over my behavior at work. If they knew my parents, they’d understand I wasn’t crazy but that I was as they see me, which is beloved (and special, huge heaps of special) 🙂

Then my mother laid two big whammies on me. The first took my breath away. I don’t really want to delve deeply into it for it’s subject matter, at least not now, but while dashing down I-94 going somewhere between sixty and seventy miles per hour she laid a HUMONGOUS whammy on me. It was a challenge to retain my composure and not drive off the highway into a ditch. The news she shared created a new emotion. It was a complicated knotwork of surprise, shock, and a heavy dose of what would be if you mixed “Eureka”, “Synchronicity”, and patent incredulity. Baked at 350 for one hour and seasoned with a kind of half-joking expectation, almost a kind of odd deja-vu sensation.

So I dwell here, thinking about things and people in my life. It’s important not to say too much lest I give it all away that I know, but I’ve been waiting many years for this to happen and this has awakened the voice of my power animal, my totem if you will. He talks to me in my own voice, and comes from deep within, my intuition and I’ve learned to respect that part of me, or him, or both. I will dwell where I am, quiet and waiting. That’s what I think I should do and that’s what my totem is telling me outright to do.

Anyways, beyond the unavoidable teasing which I apologize for of the previous section, it wasn’t the end of the whammies my mother laid out on me tonight. She shared with me some things which I’d rather not share here, but bear directly on my random mental roulette ball landing on the Races and Tuttles. I could have chosen anyone from my past, and thanks to Ancestry.com and my Uncle John and my Mother I don’t really have to wonder much anymore, that who I thought of first would come, in a way, forward through time and tap me on the shoulder and in a very roundabout way give me a wholly unexpected hug from the 19th century all through the agency of nobody else but my very own mother. I hate to be cryptic about this, but I feel I have to be circumspect. Suffice it to say, in a very strange and surreal way I feel like this part of my life was meant to play out this way, and that Fernando Race, his son, or his grandson – my grandfather dwelled closeby me that day when I was caught in my reverie of the past.

It wasn’t until I talked with my mother tonight that so many tumblers all clicked into place. I don’t know exactly how much she appreciates what has happened, but for me, at the focus of this storm of synchronicity, with so much all colliding all at once as if it fit together so perfectly that it lacked seams, that these two things will likely come to pass if I do not meddle in my fate. Time and time again I have been ringside as I have attempted to meddle in my fate and been handed my hat for my troubles. This time I won’t. It’s very Zen, but in a way, to move forward I have to remain perfectly still.

I can say that the synchronicity thrills me. So if anyone out there puts two and two and the square root of minus two together and expects that answer, then we should indeed talk. Life is happy there, or at least, it could be.

Dreaming about Watches

Posted on January 2, 2012 by bluedepth

Have you ever dreamed that you had a watch and looked at the time in your dreams? I just woke up from a dream like that. It had a number of other qualities 😉 but at the end it also featured me looking at my watch. In my dream I could have sworn that the time was 10:30 in the morning, but actually it is 8:46 AM.

This dream has got me thinking about the physics of that existence. I carry around my self-monitor even when I dream so when the dreams are offering me a chance to explore something I wouldn’t normally feel alright exploring I usually don’t elect to go forward with whatever it is. Its the flow of time that interests me. If everything in a dream is constructed out of my mind, then a watch, indeed the flow of time itself is completely malleable and up to me. There has to be some basic irreducible moments in dreams because you can’t spend an eternity dwelling in a dream-state, you do move forward despite the notion that time is a complete construction in that state.

I think the jury is still out as to the phenomenology of dreaming. I’ve seen competing theories ranging in meaning from dreams as prophetic tools, diagnostic tools, all the way down to a bored cortex that is clamped down with a motor inhibition yet continuously gets input from other parts of the brain that are accidentally firing due to their functions as part of the restorative part of sleeping. I think dreaming is more than a bored cortex making up bits and pieces to keep itself occupied while the limbic system and the hippocampus are busy refining the days memories, chatting up the immune system, and pushing brain chemistry back to a point where we are unlikely lot run into pink elephants.

I do certainly believe that the brain is actively occupied in a lot of maintenance procedures during sleep. Resetting neurotransmitters, dealing with chemical deficits here and there, and conversing with the immune system, but for me, dreaming feels more than just a random series of inputs making my cortex come up with a set-dressed stage to entertain me. I think that when we are in a dreaming state, that we are much closer to the reality that exists purely in our minds. Existence there is not really bound by reality in the real world. I’m sure a more spiritual person would approach this argument that when you dream you are in direct communication with your soul. In a way that is compatible with what I imagine, as the physics of the brain have to point almost by default to the existence of a soul, I just don’t go that far. When people dream, the only real thing that your mind has to go on for stimuli has got to be the noisy click-clack chatter of cells that are firing “accidentally”. I put “accidentally” in quotes because it’s actually very much a quantum mechanical thing, these cells are so small, their connections so fine that a portion of what they are firing for might be the foamy background noise of virtual particles being created and annihilated in the very small spaces between synaptic clefts between neurons.

I can’t escape the theories from David Bohm, that perhaps these tiny spaces between synaptic clefts or even along neuron cells themselves are an interface between classical reality and the implicate order. That the soul is a part of a holographic superstructure that lies independent of classical reality and needs a brain of sufficient complexity to access these special conditions. That it is our larger, more convoluted brains that lead us to consciousness, sentience, and that dreaming is a natural epiphenomenon of that sentience.

If all of of this supposition even has a whiff of being true, that means that the soul is immortal, and that our experience in the world, our persistence in it despite how often our bodies are effectively replaced and how much of our bodies aren’t really ours, but mostly bacteria is all because we are expressions of the implicate order inside flesh. Here we arrive again, like a big circle and back to a really awesome statement: All Is One.

It would be certainly something if our ability to dream Implied a soul, that our bodies were constructed to tune the implicate order and that our consciousnesses, our sentience is not only a fundamental structure of the universe itself but that we are actually all connected in a fashion in the implicate order. The ramifications for ethics and morality are mind boggling. If we are all in a certain way intimately connected to each other wether we are alive or dead, then we are never truly alone and when we do violence to each other, we are doing violence to ourselves.

There is no way to prove any of this. It’s pretty to think about and perhaps someday science will demonstrate wether the brain actually does what I suspect that it does or rather the opposite, that it’s all just a flash in the pan. I really find the entire notion of my soul being a part of the implicate order to be very comforting and puts a rather fine set of clothes on Buddhism.

Responses

Posted on November 22, 2011 by bluedepth

I wrote a lengthy response to a blog entry I just read called “I’m Christian, unless you’re gay.” and I’ve included it below:

I just read your article, Dan, and thank you for writing it. I was raised as a presbyterian by my parents who had all the best intentions. When I was eight years old, waiting in the church library for my parents to retrieve me after sunday school I had a crisis of faith and subsequently lost it completely. Always after that it was just a mechanical pursuit, go to church, go through the motions… the callousness of children. As I grew up I was confused and kind of terrified by gay people. They weren’t anything but ‘other’ and for the most part I didn’t want to know and elected to avoid the subject as much as I could.

When puberty hit me, square in my too-short-jeans (they always seemed to be too short, because I was growing so fast) I discovered that my own sexuality was starting to develop around me. I say this in hindsight as a 36 year old gay man now, but back then, I had no concept at all about sex other than some vague ideas which entertained anyone I asked when it came to sex education. Mostly met with laughter and a shrug, it was uncomfortable for every adult I ran into. Over the years I found myself looking at other males and having feelings for them, females were there but they weren’t anything more than just people. I wanted more with the other males. I tried lots of ways to suppress and destroy what I was becoming. I would masturbate until the feelings I had went away and that was a way to cope for a while, then I thought if I found the right girl, she could save me from being gay. I tried very hard to be what I thought of as normal, and it all culminated in a really uncomfortable attempt at losing my virginity with my at-the-time girlfriend. I was so conflicted and so worked up that I never got to actually lose my virginity with her. A few days after my 18th birthday I was in college. I was online. I met another boy, also 18, another student and we started to talk. It was a few hours after that, sitting in the late-night-nobody-around student union atrium that I made my first overtly homosexual act. I reached out and laid my hand on the other boys leg and it was an incredible feeling. I finally found what I was supposed to be. When years of pain, agony, confusion, and suppression suddenly lift – it was as close to an epiphany as I think anyone can really have. Ever since then my life has felt good and right and correct. That this was what I was supposed to be. That in a very relevant way, this is how God intended me to be. That’s how it felt.

As I said, I lost my Christian faith, but I started to build another around me. Instead of buying into things I could not possibly believe (affectionately called the hocus-pocus of Christianity) I started to read. I read about Christ, about Siddharta Gautama, the first Buddha, about Moses and Mohammed. I wandered and ranged over as many religions as I could get books on – Zoroastrianism, Shinto, Wicca… you name it, I had read at least something about it. Over the years I have synthesized my own faith and it struck me that the core of almost every faith on Earth can be summed up by the Golden Rule. In so far as you would do, do as you would have others do unto you. That was all I needed. I found that every religious “teacher” was basically shaping this one rule into differently shaped and colored packages and selling that to their believers. I felt uniquely good. I knew myself, I knew what Jesus was trying to teach me (along with the others) and I knew I wasn’t wrong for my feelings. Shortly thereafter I had several other epiphanies including one which revealed my purpose in life. So I know why I’m here and what I’m supposed to do. That’s incredibly comforting.

As I grew up I was regularly exposed to a nebulous menace from the established religions. They didn’t want me, they didn’t love me, they thought I was broken. They called what I did with other men a sin and as I got older I started understanding things better and this understanding helped me avoid “Jews” and “Christians” and “Muslims” because they were toxic human beings who were uniquely unpleasant and unhealthy for me to be around. I loved that in America, with it’s secular approach to everything I could deal with people right up until I had to really know who and what they were. I didn’t come out of the closet to them, and life moved along well. Deep down I was filled with a kind of deep sadness. I knew what the teachings of Christ were, but everyone was muddled in Leviticus and completely confused about what the story of Sodom and Gemmorah was really about. It wasn’t about sex. It was about treating guests well and honorably. As I got older and my thoughts and tastes refined through education and experience I came to see modern Christians as hypocrites. I went thru an anti-Christian phase where I actively hated the shape of chuches and the people I saw spill out of them on Sunday mornings. My anger was rooted in my disbelief that people can go weekly and hear sermons of love and tolerance and then when it’s all over, they go back to their mean wretched vile little lives. It was anger at just how meaningless their faith had become. They were the clockwork drones of the Church. They went, they heard, they sang, they got all dressed up and all of that, but they never really listened. Once service was done, they went back to what they really were– Horrible human beings. From my mid-twenties thru my early thirties I actively cultivated a marvelous misanthropy. I hated my kind. I hated human beings. We were monsters. The very worst possible thing ever created. Satan doesn’t have shit on us, we’re so much better at his game than he ever was.

In the past few years I have mellowed on my misanthropy. Most people don’t really care as long as their little lives are not upset. I also got over my sadness that nobody had listened to Christ, or any of the others. We were all so busy killing, cheating, maiming, and otherwise blowing each other up – and that life trudged forward helped dissolve all my sharp edges about religion. It doesn’t matter if religion tries to make people better, they’ll be what they really want to be and life will just keep on going.

Then the gay marriage flap started. Generally I don’t care one way or another, but on a more civics-minded level all I really do care about is equality. I don’t care for tolerance, I’m not looking for love from strangers. I’m just actively interested in them keeping to their own little lives and not trying to hurt me or kill me for who and what I am. I’ve been in a loving relationship with another man for 14, soon to be 15 years. This relationship has lasted longer than my parents relationship did and longer than many straight relationships do. Yet I cannot get married. It’s fine actually. It was a shock to me just how much people don’t really care when it comes to certain things… I was hospitalized recently and the hospital, a methodist-linked hospital at that had no qualms about respecting my partners rights and even went so far as to have a lawyer handy to help me fill out medical power of attorney for the both of us. So, Hospitals don’t give a flying rip. I asked my Credit Union if my partner could have an account based on our relationship and once again, they didn’t care and were fine with it. I could fill out my last will and testament and that would set my wishes after I die, that really isn’t an issue either. Neither is the religious angle of a marriage as I would prefer to have a pagan handfastening ritual than anything else and I have a priestess who’s ready to rock-and-roll if given the word. So what does it come down to? That CONTRACT that you all (the intolerant, so don’t feel upset, if that isn’t you) don’t want me to have access to. That’s all I’m missing. I’ve got 14 years down, all of this other stuff too, everything but equality with the rest of you.

In the end, life will trudge forward. Perhaps the intolerant will die off and we’ll eventually be equals under the law. I will always hold out hope that someday Christians will wake up and listen to Christ. Maybe not be so monstrous and evil and horrible.

And as for you, Dan, and your article. You have woken up and I thank you for what you wrote. I’m sorry that so much pain and horribleness has to be in our world and that you have to be the lone voice of love and compassion that Christ was all about. I try my best to imagine that other people feel as you do and that feeling fills me with hope for the future. You seem like such a dazzling and wonderful gem, and so much a minority, so very alone in being so awake.

Gays are not monsters. We’re just people. We cry and we hurt. We hurt when you ignore your messiahs lessons about love and compassion. And we hurt the most when we can’t celebrate the people we love like you can all because you keep us under your heels. It hurts when you declare that God hates us, it hurts when you deny us basic equality. Next time you look in the mirror I hope you see yourselves for who and what you are and you weep for what you have become. Feelings are everywhere. Step lightly.

The Bible is Hilarious

Posted on September 4, 2011 by bluedepth

LiveJournal 9/10/2003 –

If, according to old testament law, you should kill someone working on sabbath, for example carrying something – then the person doing the killing is carrying a stone, and therefore must also be put to death. Since you cannot stone someone to death without someone doing the stoning, and since stoning itself represents work, then the natural solution to what Exodus suggests, if taken literally, is that the entire population of people who follow this law should whittle themselves down to one very righteous individual standing alone, holding a rock.

I love the Bible.

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