Ra Christ!
Easter Monday 0:23 a.m.
I was brought up with Christ as the son of God, or God, part of the Trinity. This is an idea to exclude you. You are not the son of God, or God. The boy was something special in his divinity.
I think this might have been a decision of the Nicene Council, maybe about three hundred years after the death of Christ. It's almost like where the jews met the Romans and blew it. It's definitely got a touch of Olympus about it. It seems as if they said that Christ was the son of God but nobody else was. One son, definitely no daughters.
Then you might read the Koran and it says Christ isn't God and you think spot on. Then they tell you that Mohammed was God's last word. After speaking through Mohammed, there's nothing left to be said.
Both these positions, at least as I've characterised them, are stupid.
The buddhisty boys had a meeting about three hundred years after the death of the Buddha and the number one question on the agenda was: What is Reality? More like the thing.
Of course, I'm a Christian. My Christ was some kind of buddhist, a yogi. He's got a photie, or a negative of a photie. It's on the Turin Shroud. It really might be a thirteenth century Frankish boy, but it's a good enough photie of Christ for me.
When I started going to the hatha yoga classes about eighteen years ago, I remember thinking that Jesus Christ was just a guy like me. Guys like me can walk on water. This is an entirely liberating thought. All you need after having this thought is how? How do you do it? Got to be application and technique.
I read once that Milarepa, the great Tibetan saint, told folk he wasn't an incarnation of a god or whatnot. He had to make the effort. It was hard work.
There are two kinds of cosmic revelation. One is unitive, involving a loss of self and a merging with everything: the one big thing thing. The other is seeing God as being out there ... maybe up there on a throne surrounded by angels and whatnot. I used to disparage these visions, but I'd like to have one now. Be brilliant! The Book of Revelation is like one long description of this. Timeless as well. Cellini, the renaissance man, describes a brilliant instance of this when he was kept in a dungeon, and, I assume, was under pressure.
St Teresa says look within. God is within. Interesting this. You get into yourself and get the tranquility and peace of the seventh mansion of the Interior Castle. She also had lots of the other stuff, the God being out there on a throne stuff. I think of that as being like the movies. The hard work is in the thinking and focusing on what thinking is, etc. This seeing God with the angels, trumpets, etc., is more like the acid stuff. It happens. The other stuff is surely from effort. Maybe so could be the Cecil B. De Mille, but it just probably happens ... like with Cellini when he was under a bit of pressure.
I think I maybe know something about this juju. That means I have to make the effort. Sometimes I wish I was a flatheid, but only the kind with rich parents who come from California about 1970. The trouble with flatheids is that they are so unhappy.
Two ways of looking at life: One way is moment by moment. Flatheids are sad basturns on this indicator. Buffeted in the wind! Then there is the shape of your life. Are flatheids happier over the long haul? Dearie me! Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life.
Didn't work out that I was on holiday till too late. I don't want to ever go to work. Ever. Going to work is for poor people or folk with compensation life styles. Maybe I go to work because I'm too scared to do anything else! Still a HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss.
10:05 a.m.
The morning meditations have been going well! It looks like a beautiful day outside and it's all mine. Going to the allotment. Going to meditate my socks off, dig and plant, then come back here to write my book. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!
8 p.m.
The allotment is half dug and planted. What progress! How much easier it is without having to weed it first. Anyway, the grass is growing and everything is bursting out now. What a difference a week makes! Only downside is that I didn't see any wrens hopping about inside the hut, so I don't know if they'll be nesting there this year.
Brian Wilson told me a friend of his son has downloaded one of the books from my site and says he's liking it. I wonder which one. Fifty fifty to you, kid, till you make your first million. Re-write it if you want. Sell it a sheet at a time. Do what you like. You is your chance to be filthy rich by the time you're eighteen and will maybe save me from having to sell body parts to cannibals!
I think I've really really started the re-write now and it's going very well!
I was brought up with Christ as the son of God, or God, part of the Trinity. This is an idea to exclude you. You are not the son of God, or God. The boy was something special in his divinity.
I think this might have been a decision of the Nicene Council, maybe about three hundred years after the death of Christ. It's almost like where the jews met the Romans and blew it. It's definitely got a touch of Olympus about it. It seems as if they said that Christ was the son of God but nobody else was. One son, definitely no daughters.
Then you might read the Koran and it says Christ isn't God and you think spot on. Then they tell you that Mohammed was God's last word. After speaking through Mohammed, there's nothing left to be said.
Both these positions, at least as I've characterised them, are stupid.
The buddhisty boys had a meeting about three hundred years after the death of the Buddha and the number one question on the agenda was: What is Reality? More like the thing.
Of course, I'm a Christian. My Christ was some kind of buddhist, a yogi. He's got a photie, or a negative of a photie. It's on the Turin Shroud. It really might be a thirteenth century Frankish boy, but it's a good enough photie of Christ for me.
When I started going to the hatha yoga classes about eighteen years ago, I remember thinking that Jesus Christ was just a guy like me. Guys like me can walk on water. This is an entirely liberating thought. All you need after having this thought is how? How do you do it? Got to be application and technique.
I read once that Milarepa, the great Tibetan saint, told folk he wasn't an incarnation of a god or whatnot. He had to make the effort. It was hard work.
There are two kinds of cosmic revelation. One is unitive, involving a loss of self and a merging with everything: the one big thing thing. The other is seeing God as being out there ... maybe up there on a throne surrounded by angels and whatnot. I used to disparage these visions, but I'd like to have one now. Be brilliant! The Book of Revelation is like one long description of this. Timeless as well. Cellini, the renaissance man, describes a brilliant instance of this when he was kept in a dungeon, and, I assume, was under pressure.
St Teresa says look within. God is within. Interesting this. You get into yourself and get the tranquility and peace of the seventh mansion of the Interior Castle. She also had lots of the other stuff, the God being out there on a throne stuff. I think of that as being like the movies. The hard work is in the thinking and focusing on what thinking is, etc. This seeing God with the angels, trumpets, etc., is more like the acid stuff. It happens. The other stuff is surely from effort. Maybe so could be the Cecil B. De Mille, but it just probably happens ... like with Cellini when he was under a bit of pressure.
I think I maybe know something about this juju. That means I have to make the effort. Sometimes I wish I was a flatheid, but only the kind with rich parents who come from California about 1970. The trouble with flatheids is that they are so unhappy.
Two ways of looking at life: One way is moment by moment. Flatheids are sad basturns on this indicator. Buffeted in the wind! Then there is the shape of your life. Are flatheids happier over the long haul? Dearie me! Grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life.
Didn't work out that I was on holiday till too late. I don't want to ever go to work. Ever. Going to work is for poor people or folk with compensation life styles. Maybe I go to work because I'm too scared to do anything else! Still a HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss.
10:05 a.m.
The morning meditations have been going well! It looks like a beautiful day outside and it's all mine. Going to the allotment. Going to meditate my socks off, dig and plant, then come back here to write my book. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!
8 p.m.
The allotment is half dug and planted. What progress! How much easier it is without having to weed it first. Anyway, the grass is growing and everything is bursting out now. What a difference a week makes! Only downside is that I didn't see any wrens hopping about inside the hut, so I don't know if they'll be nesting there this year.
Brian Wilson told me a friend of his son has downloaded one of the books from my site and says he's liking it. I wonder which one. Fifty fifty to you, kid, till you make your first million. Re-write it if you want. Sell it a sheet at a time. Do what you like. You is your chance to be filthy rich by the time you're eighteen and will maybe save me from having to sell body parts to cannibals!
I think I've really really started the re-write now and it's going very well!
posted by Hotboy at 12:26 AM
2 Comments:
Hotboy, I hope you had a nice long holiday.
It is beautiful weather over here, however, it seems as if we have skipped Spring and jumped right into Summer!
Neo, or should I say Brian? You can drop the act now, no-one could read those books. Except Trainspotting of course, and Alma Mater because of the main character, Andrew. Now I know why you've had no time to post in your usual blogs.
On second thoughts, I've read Inanity, Incarnate and is a good read, though it's suspiciously like a Queen's English hotboy. That would figure. Keep the agents guessing. My lips are sealed. Destroy this comment before it blows your cover.
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