Maybe we plot out our lives from birth before we get here. Maybe we’re behind the green curtain — players, either enthusiastic or bored, in a game which consciousness invented for itself to grow food and flowers and weeds in.
Talkin bout souls, metaphorically. Or personalities. Individual consciousnesses. Whatever inhabits our meat-sacks when we take our first breath, and goes somewhere else when we die.
Maybe we write out our life script, get born, and then GAME OVER — look at the scoreboard, see how we did, discuss strategy with others who’ve also recently finished the game. Or maybe we just get shunted straight into a different world / existence to do it all over again, or to embark on a different journey of our choosing.
Or for those who don’t care, there’s the option to just give their tokens to someone else and fade away into the sweet by-and-by.
Maybe we never, ever get to see who made the game.
Maybe we never get to know everything, because if we did, we’d break the game somehow, for good. But one only advances to the next level by surpassing obstacles and limits, not by standing there while the avatar’s legs move in place.
Those who have the most fun are the ones who try to see backstage; who lead the charge and storm the gates and try to figure out how it all gets put together. Or WHO puts it all together.
There are ten hundred ways to do this; a million honorable pastimes for humans to embroil themselves in. Thousands and millions of ways to waste time and hurt people, too … so the only satisfaction we ever get, every time we choose to play, is the satisfaction of a job well done. However we interpret it.
Do as thou wilt, and harm no-one. (Or, if you’re a Reptilian, see how much damage you can do.) Extra points for unconditional love and selfless service to humanity and/or creation. (Or mass murder and widespread human suffering.)
Not sure what the point is here, except for yeah. We only hope we’ve got a pocket full of tokens, because we’d like to be one of the return customers at the arcade.
Living is the equivalent of sitting down to analyze your favorite song. Meditation is the equivalent of getting up to zone out and dance to it.
We’re new at meditation, but are starting to get into it, at the behest of friends who are tired of our spazzy ways. And for our own well-being, of course.
When one meditates, one gets a glimpse behind that curtain. Some people are too scared of or unfamiliar with free-form meditation to think of nothing — just nothing. So they need an object or a God to focus on.
Some — most — people are born into families who teach them the Big Nothing has a name. But higher advances can be made in the game when you realize the patterns in the chaos, and that it’s all showbiz. One showbiz, under “God.”
To meditate is to purposefully sit still and think of nothing. To shut up the chatter and let the brain have a rest. We always feel a tingle in the middle of our head-meat on the left-hand side when we close our eyes and make the shift.
That’s the right-brain function revving up, wethinks. The right brain is where the more base / higher self lives — the unspeaking creature driving the vehicle. This badass motherfucker turns on and gets to work, washing your skull and your attitude and fixing your cells and kicking out junk.
But if you look at it, it freezes. When you look away, the tingle resumes, and you get younger and more centered. It’s complicated at first. Still new at this. But it feels good, and apparently studies have shown that blah blah blah.
Meditation can also come in the form of anything which causes you to zone out. For this writer, it’s sewing. Formulate a plan, cut and arrange materials, make a playlist, and then the hands just go and the mind wanders everywhere. Then, inspired, we get up to write and pace back and forth between the sewing table and the computer.
It’s a shame so many humans waste that area of their brain by ingesting television, the junk food of the soul. The drug of a nation.
Since we’re talking about enlightenment, we might as well quote Bill Hicks:
“Oh yeah, and keep drinking beer, you morons.”
(Make no mistake: We’re talking to ourselves on this one.)
Yes thank you we’d like to buy the ticket, take the ride, and stay at the carnival, tokens spilling out of pockets, jumping turnstiles and hanging limbs out the moving roll-cage as it rockets through space-time.
But anyway, life is beautiful, even when it sucks. And meditation is the new hot-shit drug, and it’s free of charge. Is the point.
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