The days are hot this summer and there is no rain. I water my lawn on occasion, and my neighbors water their lawns every day, and the only difference between our lawns are subtle shades of yellow and beige. Our yards are gone except for the weeds, which are flourishing, now that all of that annoying grass is no longer choking the life out of them. They are slivers of green isles in the midst of a grassy dead sea.
Today, in a heroic effort, I mowed my lawn and the clouds of dust rose, and my home became an Oklahoma farm in the midst of the Great Depression. The process of mowing the lawn accomplished nothing but it was full of rituals. The ritual of applying sunblock to myself and getting dressed in my yardwork clothes. The ritual of pulling the mower out of the garage and getting it ready to run. The ritual of saying hello to any neighbors and commenting on the heat. Surveying my lawn as if I have any idea what I am doing. Running the mower and cleaning the mower and putting the mower away. Undressing. Showering. Redressing. Dozens of things to do. Chained together, these rituals created an illusion of productivity and I am searching in desperation for a sense of productivity because it keeps the tedium at bay.
When I phone Harper and tell him about my experience he says my obsession with tedium is pathetic and he calls it a "first world problem", which is not a Harper phrase, but it is accurate phrase. Both of our houses are too hot to continue a phone debate so we agree to meet for an early dinner and talk in a dark, cool corner of our favorite restaurant.
I say, "Help me understand what is wrong with me."
"Okay..." Harper says, "What is wrong with you?"
"I don't know."
"Then...I know what is wrong with you."
"You do?"
"Yes," Harper says, "you are ignorant."
This is a typical Harper logical response. The argument is tied up in an elegant little bow that looks pretty and accomplishes nothing. I try my best to look very annoyed and Harper sees it.
"Of course," Harper says, "People don't want to be ignorant, they want to have opinions because no one wants to look stupid, although "stupid" is a word often substituted for "ignorant", which is not the same as "stupid". If you did not know this, you are not stupid, just ignorant. If you are insulted that I just called you ignorant, as people often are, go look up the definition of the word "ignorant", because, if you don't, and you continue to believe that I just insulted you by calling you ignorant, you are being stupid."
This is typical Harper emotional response. He probably isn't insulting me but I am never completely sure. I try my best to look more annoyed, simply because I don't know what else to do.
"The good news," Harper says, "is that we all can address ignorance by putting in time and effort, and utilizing the proper resources, to reach a well-informed opinion. Before doing that, however, we need to take the time to decide if we really are passionate about an idea. If we don't care about an idea, we don't have to have an opinion. I know it feels like we should have an opinion, but we really, really don't. We need to accept our ignorance and truthfully say that we really don't know."
"Harper?"
"Yes?"
"Can you help me or not?"
Harper thinks for a long time. He strokes his non-existent beard. He thumps his temples. He grimaces and shrugs and winces. All for my benefit.
Then he says, "You don't need help."
"Why not?"
"Because your problem is that you are human."
I say, "There's not a lot I can do about being a human."
"That's true," Harper says, "But you can stop looking at being human as a problem."
"What do you mean?"
Harper says, "Humans spend so much of their lives trying to understand all of the big questions. Sure, we spend plenty of time and effort worrying about what shirt to wear in the morning, or how our children are doing in school, or whether or not the current traffic will make us late for work, but we have also spent an inordinate amount of time and effort on philosophy, theology, and psychology as well. We worry about the absurdity of the human condition, the finality of death and dying, the existence of God, the essence of reality, the origins of the universe and time and matter and energy, to the detriment of living. Do you understand what I mean?"
"I'm not sure I do."
"Maybe we should break this down into specific pieces. What is bothering you right now?"
I say, "I guess I feel ambivalent."
"Could you possibly be any less specific?"
"I don't think so."
"Then you probably should be more specific."
"I don't think I can. Questions about my emotions are difficult to answer. Not that I have a problem with sharing how I feel...on the contrary, I am often too blunt...but I don't always know exactly what it is I am feeling."
"Then you are probably stuck in the middle of a dichotomy."
"What does that mean?"
Harper says, "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and that was the first dichotomy, and ever since then humans have been creating dichotomies of our own, an attempt to derive Order from Chaos, which is a significant part of being human. We created Good and Evil, and Happiness and Sadness, and Virtues and Vices, and we exercised Prudence in order to decide where it would be best to reside within the dichomtomy because the human condition does not live in either of the extremes, we exist in the blended grays in between, and when our dreams and fantasies gravitate towards one extreme we feel the pull of the other extreme because we need balance to keep us from flying off into a cold, chaotic void of space."
Then, he says, "There is another dichotomy between the extremes of Tedium and Adventure, of Boredom and Stress, of Contentment and Excitement, and it measures our movements along these other dichotomies, how fast, how often, how extreme, and you are static, at the extreme of Tedium, in the center of the human condition, at the crossroads of all of our dichotomies, like the spokes of a wheel with you in the center, in the calm dead silence of the eye of the storm, while all around you life rages on, and while you cannot feel life, you are aware that it is out there and this fills you with despair."
Then, he says, "You are in that time between time, waiting for something to happen, and remembering something that has already happened."
"You mean the present."
"Yes, from the perspective of time it is the present, but it is only one kind of present. I mean, it is a present, but it is a destructive kind of present because, within the context of the mind, a present can be reality or it can be something else entirely."
"Some sort of tedium, something like limbo."
"In Dante's Inferno, the first circle of Hell was Limbo, a kind of catchall for people that he liked and respected who died in original sin, and it is very much like life on Earth. So, Limbo is Hell, but life is not Limbo, it's not a waiting room, waiting is a choice, something that we control. You need to understand that all of us have the power to stand up and leave, and that all we ever need to do is to do something else."
"And what is the 'something else'?"
"Presently, the 'something else' is picking up the check for a meal with a very dear friend who has imparted a tremendous amount of wisdom upon you and has, up to this point in time, asked for nothing in return. After that, you are on your own."
Confronted with Harper's infallible logic, there was but one choice. I paid for our meals and exited the restaurant. Then, I went back into the real world and started looking for something else to do.
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Harper on Phantom Wings
There are just the two of us, Harper and I, and we are talking in the dark corner of an all night diner where you can still find a waitress who wears too much perfume and calls everyone 'Honey'. I like to talk to Harper because he's the only person I know who is stranger than me. He also loves words and often mangles the English language in pursuit of that passion.
When two people are first falling in love and they form that little microcosm in which only they exist, Harper calls that the "hamster ball".
When a person discusses something passionately, flailing their arms around like Kermit the Frog on crack cocaine, Harper calls that going "Muppet Buck Wild".
When someone feels particularly emotional and is trying to explain how they feel, and their spoken words are coming out fast and twisted, Harper calls that either a "tangly ramble" or "rambly tangle" or "tangled rambly" or "rambled tangly" or a variety of other permutations. He says all these phrases are synonymous and interchangeable because the semantics are far more important than the syntax, and that, if a "ramble tangle" doesn't care about its order or grammar, then the phrase that describes it shouldn't care about its order or grammar either.
Tonight, we are discussing a phrase that he uses quite often and the phrase is "phantom wings".
Sometimes he says, "My phantom wings are killing me."
Sometimes he says, "Someone should check on her phantom wings."
Sometimes he says, "Stop crushing my phantom wings."
Every time he uses this phrase, as beautiful as it sounds, he confuses people, until he takes the time to explain that the phrase "phantom wings" refers to feeling stressed. This is a sufficient enough explanation for a majority of people. They hang the syntax in their memory banks and hook it up to the appropriate semantics and transparently translate the phrase the next time Harper mentions "phantom wings".
My memory banks don't work that way because my memory banks need concepts and stories to make connections. Besides, Americans have entirely too many unexplained colloquialisms in English as it is and, if Harper gets hit by a bus tomorrow -- which is not completely outside the realm of possibilities considering his inability to pay attention to the external world -- Americans will be stuck with one more.
So I say, "What are phantom wings?"
And he automatically says, "If I mention phantom wings, it means I am feeling stressed."
"Yes, I know that, but why?"
Harper sighs and says, "Takes too long to explain."
But I know Harper and when he says something takes too long to explain, it simply means I have to keep listening until he starts to talk again.
So, I listen, until he starts to talk again.
"In the beginning, there was God and God was the creator and the universe was his Magnum Opus and, when he finished, there the universe existed before time. It was good and the universe was a thing in and of itself, and its purpose was itself, but a work of art is not complete without an audience and the audience had to consist of sentient and rational creatures so that the universe would convey purpose beyond its mere existence. So God created angels as his audience for his work of art. But angels already had total knowledge of everything through their connection with God, so there was no mystery. God was not a Faith for the angels, he was a Fact. There was no conflict and, therefore, no drama, and, therefore, no context of conflict and drama in which a story could unfold through time and this make the universe static. There was only an infinity of praising and glorifying God until the fall of Lucifer and when Lucifer fell, he lost his wings."
"Sorry?" I said, "What version of the bible have you been reading?"
"What do you care? You're agnostic."
"Doesn't mean I don't respect a good book when I read it."
"I'm not being disrespectful. Every good reader who reads a good book sees their stories between the lines. I'm just telling you mine. You want to hear the rest of it or not?"
"Yes."
Harper stared at me, tilting his head.
"Yes!" I said, "I want to hear the rest...sorry..."
"Lucifer was delivered to the Lake of Fire, but hubris is the greatest of all sins, so Damnation was not sufficient punishment. So, God created phantom wings, a remembrance of was it was to be winged and knowledge of was it is to never being winged again and he cursed Lucifer with their bodily pain, carried just above his shoulder blades, as an added reminder of all that he had sacrificed. Lucifer's banishment created the dichotomy of Good and Evil and within those two extremes the angels saw that there existed many shades of gray and they asked God if they could enter into those shades and if they could praise and glorify him with their Faith and without their wings and God was pleased with their Faith so he created human beings as angelic avatars which allowed the angels to experience his universe in a uniquely human way. But, in order to turn God from Fact to Faith, the angels had to forget everything they knew and enter the human condition as a blank slate and God knew that this would cause despair so he gave each human a pair of phantom wings, a much milder form of Lucifer's punishment, to remind them of who they really were."
"And how did you find your phantom wings?" I asked.
"When I feel anxiety or sadness or despair, I dream, and when I dream, I have many symbols and settings and situations that recur in those dreams. Sometimes I think I have an unconscious treasure trove of stress in abstract forms buried somewhere in my mind because many of the dreams are the same. I am late for work, or I can't find my clothes, or I can't find my car, or I have a school assignment due even though I haven't been in school for years. In this dream, all other dreams coalesced, causing two knots of tension in my upper back. And though I don't remember all of the details of the dream, I do remember that it culminated in a scene in a large retail store where I was operating a cash register without any knowledge of how the machine worked and all around me were angry customers waiting for me to finish a complex and unsolvable business transaction. As the crowd threatened to crush me on all sides, the tension above my shoulder blades increased to an unbearable, pulsating pain and then two immense white wings burst through my flesh and muscle, unfurling and flapping with unprecedented power and the crowd was buffeted backwards by the force and I skyrocketed upwards through the ceiling and roof of the store and rose above a cloud cover in the sky until all below me was an endless floor of white mist and all around me was a glorious sunset of reds and oranges and pinks and purples and I felt an overwhelming, giddy joy, an ecstasy, that I knew only as a muted and filtered, human-sized portion of the infinite love of God."
After we finished our food and the table had been cleared and the waitress had brought us our check, I picked up the tab, with no argument from Harper, and I paid for both of our meals. It seemed a reasonable price for the discovery of the presence and purpose of my phantom wings.
When two people are first falling in love and they form that little microcosm in which only they exist, Harper calls that the "hamster ball".
When a person discusses something passionately, flailing their arms around like Kermit the Frog on crack cocaine, Harper calls that going "Muppet Buck Wild".
When someone feels particularly emotional and is trying to explain how they feel, and their spoken words are coming out fast and twisted, Harper calls that either a "tangly ramble" or "rambly tangle" or "tangled rambly" or "rambled tangly" or a variety of other permutations. He says all these phrases are synonymous and interchangeable because the semantics are far more important than the syntax, and that, if a "ramble tangle" doesn't care about its order or grammar, then the phrase that describes it shouldn't care about its order or grammar either.
Tonight, we are discussing a phrase that he uses quite often and the phrase is "phantom wings".
Sometimes he says, "My phantom wings are killing me."
Sometimes he says, "Someone should check on her phantom wings."
Sometimes he says, "Stop crushing my phantom wings."
Every time he uses this phrase, as beautiful as it sounds, he confuses people, until he takes the time to explain that the phrase "phantom wings" refers to feeling stressed. This is a sufficient enough explanation for a majority of people. They hang the syntax in their memory banks and hook it up to the appropriate semantics and transparently translate the phrase the next time Harper mentions "phantom wings".
My memory banks don't work that way because my memory banks need concepts and stories to make connections. Besides, Americans have entirely too many unexplained colloquialisms in English as it is and, if Harper gets hit by a bus tomorrow -- which is not completely outside the realm of possibilities considering his inability to pay attention to the external world -- Americans will be stuck with one more.
So I say, "What are phantom wings?"
And he automatically says, "If I mention phantom wings, it means I am feeling stressed."
"Yes, I know that, but why?"
Harper sighs and says, "Takes too long to explain."
But I know Harper and when he says something takes too long to explain, it simply means I have to keep listening until he starts to talk again.
So, I listen, until he starts to talk again.
"In the beginning, there was God and God was the creator and the universe was his Magnum Opus and, when he finished, there the universe existed before time. It was good and the universe was a thing in and of itself, and its purpose was itself, but a work of art is not complete without an audience and the audience had to consist of sentient and rational creatures so that the universe would convey purpose beyond its mere existence. So God created angels as his audience for his work of art. But angels already had total knowledge of everything through their connection with God, so there was no mystery. God was not a Faith for the angels, he was a Fact. There was no conflict and, therefore, no drama, and, therefore, no context of conflict and drama in which a story could unfold through time and this make the universe static. There was only an infinity of praising and glorifying God until the fall of Lucifer and when Lucifer fell, he lost his wings."
"Sorry?" I said, "What version of the bible have you been reading?"
"What do you care? You're agnostic."
"Doesn't mean I don't respect a good book when I read it."
"I'm not being disrespectful. Every good reader who reads a good book sees their stories between the lines. I'm just telling you mine. You want to hear the rest of it or not?"
"Yes."
Harper stared at me, tilting his head.
"Yes!" I said, "I want to hear the rest...sorry..."
"Lucifer was delivered to the Lake of Fire, but hubris is the greatest of all sins, so Damnation was not sufficient punishment. So, God created phantom wings, a remembrance of was it was to be winged and knowledge of was it is to never being winged again and he cursed Lucifer with their bodily pain, carried just above his shoulder blades, as an added reminder of all that he had sacrificed. Lucifer's banishment created the dichotomy of Good and Evil and within those two extremes the angels saw that there existed many shades of gray and they asked God if they could enter into those shades and if they could praise and glorify him with their Faith and without their wings and God was pleased with their Faith so he created human beings as angelic avatars which allowed the angels to experience his universe in a uniquely human way. But, in order to turn God from Fact to Faith, the angels had to forget everything they knew and enter the human condition as a blank slate and God knew that this would cause despair so he gave each human a pair of phantom wings, a much milder form of Lucifer's punishment, to remind them of who they really were."
"And how did you find your phantom wings?" I asked.
"When I feel anxiety or sadness or despair, I dream, and when I dream, I have many symbols and settings and situations that recur in those dreams. Sometimes I think I have an unconscious treasure trove of stress in abstract forms buried somewhere in my mind because many of the dreams are the same. I am late for work, or I can't find my clothes, or I can't find my car, or I have a school assignment due even though I haven't been in school for years. In this dream, all other dreams coalesced, causing two knots of tension in my upper back. And though I don't remember all of the details of the dream, I do remember that it culminated in a scene in a large retail store where I was operating a cash register without any knowledge of how the machine worked and all around me were angry customers waiting for me to finish a complex and unsolvable business transaction. As the crowd threatened to crush me on all sides, the tension above my shoulder blades increased to an unbearable, pulsating pain and then two immense white wings burst through my flesh and muscle, unfurling and flapping with unprecedented power and the crowd was buffeted backwards by the force and I skyrocketed upwards through the ceiling and roof of the store and rose above a cloud cover in the sky until all below me was an endless floor of white mist and all around me was a glorious sunset of reds and oranges and pinks and purples and I felt an overwhelming, giddy joy, an ecstasy, that I knew only as a muted and filtered, human-sized portion of the infinite love of God."
After we finished our food and the table had been cleared and the waitress had brought us our check, I picked up the tab, with no argument from Harper, and I paid for both of our meals. It seemed a reasonable price for the discovery of the presence and purpose of my phantom wings.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Typical Morning Thoughts
The day starts like any other day and I am up when I am up and my mind reboots into reality and what a harsh reality it can be.
But today is the day and I am going to live in the moment and not let my past make me cringe in regret and I am not going to let my future loom before me in a messy mass of uncertainty and worry and fear.
I am not perfect, but I am going to be the best person I can be, the full package, not perfect, but not the worst, perhaps a bit quirky, I mean, it's not like I am crazy or dangerous or anything, although I do spend a lot of time talking to myself, but...
Today is my day, and today I am going to utilize my energy and time in positive ways, aside from the nine hours of work and the eight hours of sleep and the hour or two of commute time and...
Wait...what does that add up to?
Nine and eight and two and...did I include eating? I have to include eating, I'm not a machine, for crying out loud. I can't just go full throttle and not eat, I might pass out at work...
Gotta get to work...wait...what time it is?
Is that clock set to the correct time or is that the clock I set twenty minutes ahead to make sure that I am never late? Should I be recalculating the time like that? I shouldn't, right? That defeats the purpose of setting it forward.
Holy crap! Is that the TIME!?
Wait...no, that's the stove clock I forgot to set backwards for Daylight Savings Time. Almost gave myself a heart attack, which is probably not far off in my future at the rate I am going. I need to exercise more. I should eat better food.
Who ever sets the stove clock anyway? I guess it got set at some point. It doesn't blink 12:00 like the microwave.
Why does the microwave have so many buttons and features? Has anyone used the "soften" button in the history of microwaves with a "soften" button? Whatever happened to simple elegance in interface design?
The toilet. Simple design. One control. One result. Unless it gets plugged. Then, it has two possible results. I don't like the second result.
I should probably set the microwave clock.
How do I set the microwave clock?
I should probably set the stove clock.
How do I set the stove clock?
Why does my kitchen smell weird? Is it onions? Did I cook something with onions last night? Was it the night before?
Why do we even eat onions, they smell horrible! Whose responsible for eating the first onion? Who would want to do that? Did they just eat a raw onion like an apple and conclude, with that strong and harsh flavor, that onions weren't poisonous?
Is it rotten chicken? Did I cook chicken this week?
I should run the garbage disposal. I should squirt dish soap in first and then run the garbage disposal.
Is there anything in the garbage disposal that I can't see? Like a spoon? Will it break if I turn it on? How can I tell? Should I reach in?
What if I was reaching into the garbage disposal and the power surged in some weird way and the garbage disposal turned on and chopped up my hand? What would I do? Is that normal to think about having my hand chopped up in the garbage disposal? Do other people think about losing their hand in a garbage disposal or am I just weird?
No, I'm not weird. I'm...actually...I'm lucky...I should feel lucky. I have a good job and both of my hands and I am fairly healthy and I'm not dead, yet. That's pretty good. Especially the death part.
Assuming that death is worse than existence, that is. Which it might not be. I mean, it's either pure love or non-existence or reincarnation...or Hell, but, come on, that seems a bit pessimistic, even for me, so it's probably reincarnation because that's the most difficult one to deal with once you throw Hell out of the mix.
That would just figure, right? Billions of years...over and over...of...this...
Plus, who knows? Why should I even be reincarnated as a human? Why should it even be on Earth? Maybe I will end up as a pile of intelligent orange goo on some distant planet in some distant galaxy. There's an awful lot of space in space. I could be anything, anywhere, at any time. Would the quality of my life be better or worse?
Quality of life is important. I have a good quality of life. I'm lucky, really.
My quality of life would definitely be worse if I chopped off my hand. I will just run the garbage disposal without checking.
Smells better. Must have been rotten chicken in the garbage disposal.
I should try to find the manual for the stove clock.
It's getting late, I have to get going. I have to get to work. That was a waste of time. Completely unproductive. Maybe I can make up the time on my lunch break.
Where's my lunch?
My coffee? My keys? My wallet? My shaver? My jacket? My book? My snack? My water?
Where's that thing that I am going to forget until I start driving for about five minutes?
Got 'em.
Gotta get going. Gotta go. Gotta get through this day. Gotta make it count.
Life...it's still there.
But today is the day and I am going to live in the moment and not let my past make me cringe in regret and I am not going to let my future loom before me in a messy mass of uncertainty and worry and fear.
I am not perfect, but I am going to be the best person I can be, the full package, not perfect, but not the worst, perhaps a bit quirky, I mean, it's not like I am crazy or dangerous or anything, although I do spend a lot of time talking to myself, but...
Today is my day, and today I am going to utilize my energy and time in positive ways, aside from the nine hours of work and the eight hours of sleep and the hour or two of commute time and...
Wait...what does that add up to?
Nine and eight and two and...did I include eating? I have to include eating, I'm not a machine, for crying out loud. I can't just go full throttle and not eat, I might pass out at work...
Gotta get to work...wait...what time it is?
Is that clock set to the correct time or is that the clock I set twenty minutes ahead to make sure that I am never late? Should I be recalculating the time like that? I shouldn't, right? That defeats the purpose of setting it forward.
Holy crap! Is that the TIME!?
Wait...no, that's the stove clock I forgot to set backwards for Daylight Savings Time. Almost gave myself a heart attack, which is probably not far off in my future at the rate I am going. I need to exercise more. I should eat better food.
Who ever sets the stove clock anyway? I guess it got set at some point. It doesn't blink 12:00 like the microwave.
Why does the microwave have so many buttons and features? Has anyone used the "soften" button in the history of microwaves with a "soften" button? Whatever happened to simple elegance in interface design?
The toilet. Simple design. One control. One result. Unless it gets plugged. Then, it has two possible results. I don't like the second result.
I should probably set the microwave clock.
How do I set the microwave clock?
I should probably set the stove clock.
How do I set the stove clock?
Why does my kitchen smell weird? Is it onions? Did I cook something with onions last night? Was it the night before?
Why do we even eat onions, they smell horrible! Whose responsible for eating the first onion? Who would want to do that? Did they just eat a raw onion like an apple and conclude, with that strong and harsh flavor, that onions weren't poisonous?
Is it rotten chicken? Did I cook chicken this week?
I should run the garbage disposal. I should squirt dish soap in first and then run the garbage disposal.
Is there anything in the garbage disposal that I can't see? Like a spoon? Will it break if I turn it on? How can I tell? Should I reach in?
What if I was reaching into the garbage disposal and the power surged in some weird way and the garbage disposal turned on and chopped up my hand? What would I do? Is that normal to think about having my hand chopped up in the garbage disposal? Do other people think about losing their hand in a garbage disposal or am I just weird?
No, I'm not weird. I'm...actually...I'm lucky...I should feel lucky. I have a good job and both of my hands and I am fairly healthy and I'm not dead, yet. That's pretty good. Especially the death part.
Assuming that death is worse than existence, that is. Which it might not be. I mean, it's either pure love or non-existence or reincarnation...or Hell, but, come on, that seems a bit pessimistic, even for me, so it's probably reincarnation because that's the most difficult one to deal with once you throw Hell out of the mix.
That would just figure, right? Billions of years...over and over...of...this...
Plus, who knows? Why should I even be reincarnated as a human? Why should it even be on Earth? Maybe I will end up as a pile of intelligent orange goo on some distant planet in some distant galaxy. There's an awful lot of space in space. I could be anything, anywhere, at any time. Would the quality of my life be better or worse?
Quality of life is important. I have a good quality of life. I'm lucky, really.
My quality of life would definitely be worse if I chopped off my hand. I will just run the garbage disposal without checking.
Smells better. Must have been rotten chicken in the garbage disposal.
I should try to find the manual for the stove clock.
It's getting late, I have to get going. I have to get to work. That was a waste of time. Completely unproductive. Maybe I can make up the time on my lunch break.
Where's my lunch?
My coffee? My keys? My wallet? My shaver? My jacket? My book? My snack? My water?
Where's that thing that I am going to forget until I start driving for about five minutes?
Got 'em.
Gotta get going. Gotta go. Gotta get through this day. Gotta make it count.
Life...it's still there.
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Show Compassion
In a time before now...
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
SHOW COMPASSION
Warrior sage Master Chen was lecturing to his apprentice Foo on the virtues
of compassion when Foo interupted him.
"Master," said Foo, "I do not understand compassion."
"Foo, you do not understand anything," said Master Chen, "But you understand
that you do not understand, so ask your questions."
"Master," said Foo, "you say that we must have compassion for all living things."
"That is correct," said Master Chen.
"Plants and animals are living things," said Foo.
"That is also correct," said Master Chen.
"If I show compassion to all living things," said Foo, "I cannot harm or kill
any plants or animals. But then I will have nothing to eat. So what do I do?"
"Foo," said Master Chen, "are you asking me if you should starve yourself to
death in order to be compassionate?"
"Yes," said Foo, "I am."
"Yes, Foo," said Master Chen, "You should starve yourself to death."
Foo sat in stunned silence as the Master continued.
"Also, let poisonous snakes bite you, let wild animals eat you alive, let greedy
people take everything you have, and let one or more psychotic killers stab you
in the face multiple times."
And Foo was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
"Foo," said Master Chen, "You have that stupid enlightenment expression
on your stupid face again. You aren't enlightened, stupid, so just stop being
stupid...stupid!"
"But Master," said Foo, "Are you not teaching me that my questions are
foolish, and that every virtue must be judged and balanced by wisdom?"
"No," said Master Chen, "I literally just want you to die and leave me in
peace. If I had my sword with me I would...CUT OFF YOUR HEAD!...but I left my
sword at home...and I am feeling a bit bloated and gassy...not really in a
head-chopping mood...so, today, you must kill YOURSELF with compassion."
"Oh, master," said Foo, "I love you, too."
"That's it," said Master Chen, rising to his feet, "I'm getting my sword."
So ends the lesson of SHOW COMPASSION.
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
SHOW COMPASSION
Warrior sage Master Chen was lecturing to his apprentice Foo on the virtues
of compassion when Foo interupted him.
"Master," said Foo, "I do not understand compassion."
"Foo, you do not understand anything," said Master Chen, "But you understand
that you do not understand, so ask your questions."
"Master," said Foo, "you say that we must have compassion for all living things."
"That is correct," said Master Chen.
"Plants and animals are living things," said Foo.
"That is also correct," said Master Chen.
"If I show compassion to all living things," said Foo, "I cannot harm or kill
any plants or animals. But then I will have nothing to eat. So what do I do?"
"Foo," said Master Chen, "are you asking me if you should starve yourself to
death in order to be compassionate?"
"Yes," said Foo, "I am."
"Yes, Foo," said Master Chen, "You should starve yourself to death."
Foo sat in stunned silence as the Master continued.
"Also, let poisonous snakes bite you, let wild animals eat you alive, let greedy
people take everything you have, and let one or more psychotic killers stab you
in the face multiple times."
And Foo was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
"Foo," said Master Chen, "You have that stupid enlightenment expression
on your stupid face again. You aren't enlightened, stupid, so just stop being
stupid...stupid!"
"But Master," said Foo, "Are you not teaching me that my questions are
foolish, and that every virtue must be judged and balanced by wisdom?"
"No," said Master Chen, "I literally just want you to die and leave me in
peace. If I had my sword with me I would...CUT OFF YOUR HEAD!...but I left my
sword at home...and I am feeling a bit bloated and gassy...not really in a
head-chopping mood...so, today, you must kill YOURSELF with compassion."
"Oh, master," said Foo, "I love you, too."
"That's it," said Master Chen, rising to his feet, "I'm getting my sword."
So ends the lesson of SHOW COMPASSION.
Friday, October 17, 2014
The contemplation of douchebags
In a time before now...
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
CONTEMPLATE DOUCHEBAGS
Warrior sage Master Chen was walking in his gardens when his apprentice, Foo, ran up to him and exclaimed, "Master! One of the other apprentices just called me a douchebag!"
"Foo," said Master Chen, "You are lazy, dull, annoying, stupid, smelly, and, most recently, a big, fat tattletale...but you are definitely NOT a douchebag."
"Master," said Foo, "What is a douchebag?"
"Traditionally," said Master Chen, "It is a feminine hygiene product for when women aren't feeling so fresh. But it is also a slang term for a person who is very much unenlightened."
"But master," said Foo, "How can a feminine hygiene product be the same as an unenlightened soul? Is it a paradox?"
"No," said Master Chen, "It is just a very poorly chosen word, most likely invented by a douchebag. Unfortunately, we haven't come up with anything better."
"I understand, master," said Foo.
"Now, Foo," said Master Chen, "It is time for you to learn the four noble truths of douchebags..."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER ONE! All of life is suffering and all of suffering comes from dealing with douchebags."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER TWO! Some douchebags are born and some are made, some are young and some are old, some are men and some are women, and, at all times, all the world is filled with douchebags."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER THREE! The best way to deal with douchebags is to...CUT OFF THEIR HEADS!"
"But master," Foo said, "Surely there is a better way to deal with douchebags besides cutting off their heads."
"No, Foo, there is not." said Master Chen, "Let me tell you a story."
"I once had an apprentice who was a big douchebag but, still, I taught him."
"I taught him to be kind and loving, so that he would receive kindness and love in return."
"I taught him to be patient, so that he would never again be a victim of his self-destructive anger."
"I taught him to be humble, so that he could appreciate what he had and so he would never suffer from humiliation."
"And the apprentice understood and was enlightened, so I...CUT OFF HIS HEAD!"
"But Master," said Foo, "If the apprentice was enlightened, why did you cut off his head?"
"Because of NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER FOUR! The only thing worse than a douchebag is an enlightened douchebag."
And Foo, who was not a douchebag, was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
So ends the lesson of CONTEMPLATE DOUCHEBAGS.
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
CONTEMPLATE DOUCHEBAGS
Warrior sage Master Chen was walking in his gardens when his apprentice, Foo, ran up to him and exclaimed, "Master! One of the other apprentices just called me a douchebag!"
"Foo," said Master Chen, "You are lazy, dull, annoying, stupid, smelly, and, most recently, a big, fat tattletale...but you are definitely NOT a douchebag."
"Master," said Foo, "What is a douchebag?"
"Traditionally," said Master Chen, "It is a feminine hygiene product for when women aren't feeling so fresh. But it is also a slang term for a person who is very much unenlightened."
"But master," said Foo, "How can a feminine hygiene product be the same as an unenlightened soul? Is it a paradox?"
"No," said Master Chen, "It is just a very poorly chosen word, most likely invented by a douchebag. Unfortunately, we haven't come up with anything better."
"I understand, master," said Foo.
"Now, Foo," said Master Chen, "It is time for you to learn the four noble truths of douchebags..."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER ONE! All of life is suffering and all of suffering comes from dealing with douchebags."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER TWO! Some douchebags are born and some are made, some are young and some are old, some are men and some are women, and, at all times, all the world is filled with douchebags."
"NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER THREE! The best way to deal with douchebags is to...CUT OFF THEIR HEADS!"
"But master," Foo said, "Surely there is a better way to deal with douchebags besides cutting off their heads."
"No, Foo, there is not." said Master Chen, "Let me tell you a story."
"I once had an apprentice who was a big douchebag but, still, I taught him."
"I taught him to be kind and loving, so that he would receive kindness and love in return."
"I taught him to be patient, so that he would never again be a victim of his self-destructive anger."
"I taught him to be humble, so that he could appreciate what he had and so he would never suffer from humiliation."
"And the apprentice understood and was enlightened, so I...CUT OFF HIS HEAD!"
"But Master," said Foo, "If the apprentice was enlightened, why did you cut off his head?"
"Because of NOBLE TRUTH NUMBER FOUR! The only thing worse than a douchebag is an enlightened douchebag."
And Foo, who was not a douchebag, was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
So ends the lesson of CONTEMPLATE DOUCHEBAGS.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Pour tea
My friend Phil and I are working on a new set of pieces for the Phizzy Essence YouTube site called "Master Chen and Foo". They use a traditional Master and Apprentice trope for the story format.
Since I haven't figured out how to do the animation yet, I thought I would at least post the written parts here every once in a while in case I never finish them.
In a time before now...
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
POUR TEA
Warrior sage Master Chen was drinking his tea when his Apprentice, Foo, appeared before him.
"Master," said Foo, "Do you mind if I have some tea?"
"No," said Master Chen.
"Then I cannot have some tea?" asked Foo.
"You may have some tea," said Master Chen.
"Master, I am confused," said Foo.
"Foo, you are always confused," said Master Chen, "You asked if I minded you having tea and I said that I do not mind you having tea, so you may have some tea."
Foo poured himself some tea, sat across from Master Chen, and laughed heartily.
"Master, you do not understand what I mean," said Foo, "You are the one who is confused."
Master Chen took the scalding hot teapot from the fire and held it before Foo.
"Foo, do you mind if I pour tea on your crotch?"
"No!!"
Master Chen poured tea on Foo's crotch.
"Auughhh! Master! Why did you pour tea on my crotch?"
"Because you do not understand what I mean."
Master Chen paused a moment, then said, "Foo, do you mind if I pour tea on your crotch?"
"Nah...uh...yes! Yes!"
Master Chen poured tea on Foo's crotch.
"Auuugh! Master, why did you pour more tea on my crotch?"
"Because you do not understand what I mean."
And Foo was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
Master Chen poured more tea on Foo's crotch.
"NyuuuuAAAuuugh! Master, why do you keep pouring tea on my crotch?"
"Because I do not like you...and I do not like your crotch."
So ends the lesson of POUR TEA.
Since I haven't figured out how to do the animation yet, I thought I would at least post the written parts here every once in a while in case I never finish them.
In a time before now...
In a place not here...
Master Chen and Foo...
POUR TEA
Warrior sage Master Chen was drinking his tea when his Apprentice, Foo, appeared before him.
"Master," said Foo, "Do you mind if I have some tea?"
"No," said Master Chen.
"Then I cannot have some tea?" asked Foo.
"You may have some tea," said Master Chen.
"Master, I am confused," said Foo.
"Foo, you are always confused," said Master Chen, "You asked if I minded you having tea and I said that I do not mind you having tea, so you may have some tea."
Foo poured himself some tea, sat across from Master Chen, and laughed heartily.
"Master, you do not understand what I mean," said Foo, "You are the one who is confused."
Master Chen took the scalding hot teapot from the fire and held it before Foo.
"Foo, do you mind if I pour tea on your crotch?"
"No!!"
Master Chen poured tea on Foo's crotch.
"Auughhh! Master! Why did you pour tea on my crotch?"
"Because you do not understand what I mean."
Master Chen paused a moment, then said, "Foo, do you mind if I pour tea on your crotch?"
"Nah...uh...yes! Yes!"
Master Chen poured tea on Foo's crotch.
"Auuugh! Master, why did you pour more tea on my crotch?"
"Because you do not understand what I mean."
And Foo was enlightened slightly more than he was before.
Master Chen poured more tea on Foo's crotch.
"NyuuuuAAAuuugh! Master, why do you keep pouring tea on my crotch?"
"Because I do not like you...and I do not like your crotch."
So ends the lesson of POUR TEA.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Where is my mind?
I have absolutely no idea how to use Blogger so these entries will have nothing extra on them for now. They will all be first drafts as well.
This approach is appropriate given that I have been spending a lot of time with Ernest Hemingway and he would appreciate the stark simplicity of a default template, although he would not agree to using first drafts. He would say to start all writing with one true sentence.
I don't know where this writing comes from or where it will go.
It originates in my mind but I don't know where my mind lives. Not just in a profound or philosophical sense but from a practical sense as well. I have emotions and inspirations and dreams that do not appear to have an origin in my conscious mind.
In dreams, we create stories with characters and plots and settings. The stories must either be created in full before we experience them or improvised as we experience them. Either way, the storyteller of our minds must be separate from the audience of our minds, or we would already know the entire story the moment the dream begins. We could not be surprised when the evil man who is hiding in the dark cellar of our nightmares springs out and chases us.
The storyteller and the audience come from the same single mind but one does not know about the other. This is strange.
We create labels for this mystery because we are human beings and we need a semblance of control over the mysteries. You probably already have your own label for this idea. You might call it neurophysiology or the Freudian id or universal consciousness or the divine will of God, and your labels will stick as long as you slap them on hard enough.
Labels are only words. They are inert placeholders until we come up with better inert placeholders. We don't really need these labels if we can learn to face the mysteries of existence and accept them as they are. And this is a difficult thing to do.
This approach is appropriate given that I have been spending a lot of time with Ernest Hemingway and he would appreciate the stark simplicity of a default template, although he would not agree to using first drafts. He would say to start all writing with one true sentence.
I don't know where this writing comes from or where it will go.
It originates in my mind but I don't know where my mind lives. Not just in a profound or philosophical sense but from a practical sense as well. I have emotions and inspirations and dreams that do not appear to have an origin in my conscious mind.
In dreams, we create stories with characters and plots and settings. The stories must either be created in full before we experience them or improvised as we experience them. Either way, the storyteller of our minds must be separate from the audience of our minds, or we would already know the entire story the moment the dream begins. We could not be surprised when the evil man who is hiding in the dark cellar of our nightmares springs out and chases us.
The storyteller and the audience come from the same single mind but one does not know about the other. This is strange.
We create labels for this mystery because we are human beings and we need a semblance of control over the mysteries. You probably already have your own label for this idea. You might call it neurophysiology or the Freudian id or universal consciousness or the divine will of God, and your labels will stick as long as you slap them on hard enough.
Labels are only words. They are inert placeholders until we come up with better inert placeholders. We don't really need these labels if we can learn to face the mysteries of existence and accept them as they are. And this is a difficult thing to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)