a functional truth.

"for those without faith there are no answers. for those with faith there are no questions." the chief rabbi lord immanuel jakobovitz

these days, i'm not really into faith. i'd rather write about what i know, like erectile dysfunction. but i'll focus on faith, and god, or faith in god. i could write with some authority about erectile dysfunction. in fact i come from a dysfunctional family. but god is an important topic, and nobody's interested in my family crap.

speaking of crap, i recently upgraded the plumbing at my cottage. there's a new septic system, new pump, all new pipes, hot water tank, toilet, toilet paper, everything's brand-spanking new. now you may well wonder what the heck that has to do with god. well, folks came to stay at my cottage and immediately the toilet wouldn't flush. no flushing. i was flush once, but no more. thousands upon thousands of bucks, roupees, dineros, and those folks had to crap in the old out-house! now, i ask you: is there a god? does he exist or is he dead? and, if he's dead, who's running the show? and, if he's alive why doesn't my toilet work? why does he create typhoons, or bafoons? and why should i capitalize the G? oh yeah, and why is he a he, or is she a she?

i watched a youtube video lecture by a swami ballanuts who was all about incessantly asking oneself: 'who am i?' he was good in pointing out all that we're not: not so good with the who we are part. i mean, we are the eternal self? what does that even mean? does he know something i don't? or was that a leap of faith? was he just parroting what he's read or heard? meditation, the ancient science of 'dhyan yog,' is supposed to be solely concerned with personal direct knowledge. i know that my 'little brother' is dysfunctional, but i have no personal direct knowledge of eternity.

in meditation one experiences a cessation of experiences, an absolutely blissful state of consciousness no doubt. i get that, directly, and it's profound, tremendous, not to be minimized. it's a fully functional tool. it's huge. i'm proud of it. but my truth is: i wonder how the hell 'they' all can talk of an eternal self, a heavan, a paradise with such authority. what is god (?) who was the first mother (?) how did anything, any of us, even come into existence in the first place and where do we go in the last place (?) in fact, who am i (?)

why can't we all just admit that we simply don't know, and that we're all in this together (?) we gotta keep looking, keep searching. but, meanwhile, i believe every swami, rabbi, mullah, lama, scientist, philosopher, priest, pundit, tom, dick and harriette should face the certainty of our deaths without the certainty of answers, and cut the crap.

the buffalo.

re-posted from a few years ago.

On my third day in India, I saw a man beating a water buffalo mercilessly with a wooden cricket bat while a smaller man held it by its nose-ring and neck-rope.

The men were yelling while flogging the beast as it bellowed in pain. Nobody paid much attention until I grabbed the arm of the larger man and demanded that he stop. Then a crowd quickly formed around us and the two men screamed at me and at the crowd. There were a lot of histrionics I didn't understand until one willowy old man told me in English that the buffalo was very stubborn. I said that was no reason to beat i.

At that point, the two men did something I was not expecting. They handed me the rope and intimated that the buffalo was now mine. The two men stormed off, the crowd laughed, clapped, called out to each other while I stood frozen to the spot.

I was at a total loss, no idea what to do. Within three days of being in the country I found myself wandering through a market with a water buffalo that, by the way, was indeed incredibly stubborn. It seemed singularly ungrateful to a guy who had just saved it from a heck of a thrashing.

I hadn't gotten far when the willowy old man approached. Seeing me struggle, he smilingly said, "You can do with that buffalo the same as so many problems in the life. Before you lose your good sense, my son, you can simply let it go." And that's exactly what I did.

dylan's speech.

j; dylan's nobel award acceptance speech, more performance art really, has made me even more of a devotee. it's incredible, eloquent beyond words, and completely puts to rest any possible argument against his receiving the nobel prize for literature. it puts that to rest by his reading, with the piano hypnotically playing in the background, and its content. you know what i specifically mean: the influence great literature has had on his lyrics. but more than that, this speech is a testament to his literary greatness in and of itself, a tremendous bit of literature that will almost certainly, like his songs, endure the test of time. he deserves the prize for this speech alone: absolutely brilliant! thanks for sending the link. i may post my review on my blog. n. ps; the fact that dylan waited to the last possible moment to submit his lecture, and then to perform THIS, was also a piece of high art...