Tuesday, September 12, 2017
The danger of a single story , Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
i can tell you .. i cried for a moment.
so true..
ideology and illusion:body
the christian idea of body is an illusion.
it is the ideology of domination of the earth and with it the body as a servant combined with the history of guilt and shame and taboo. in other cultures there are other taboos, and all taboos fill social functions originating in the systems of control and domination.
when we lose taboos, we have to be careful not to despise mystery. mystery is not in the taboo, it is in life flowering and calling us.
certainly the body is not a servant but carries all mystery, information, music and resonance of the universe.
it is not a stupid worthless robot but carries the joy and the tears and the voice of wisdom and love.
for sure, 'it' can be helpless in many ways, pee, smell, shit-it still carries life and us and we should not treat 'it' but see and welcome 'it'=' us ' as companion and friend and doing this accept to be vulnerable and due to perish when death asks.
all ideology of body so far is either coming out of a class system, of stupid protest, blind experimenting, marketing and consumerism -and in the end we do the best of harm we manage to do.
be it to take up the sword and kill, be it to despise instead to be grateful for each day we can walk.
Mind and Heart , Charles Bukowski
Mind and Heart ,
Charles Bukowski unaccountably we are alone forever alone and it was meant to be that way, it was never meant to be any other way– and when the death struggle begins the last thing I wish to see is a ring of human faces hovering over me– better just my old friends, the walls of my self, let only them be there. I have been alone but seldom lonely. I have satisfied my thirst at the well of my self and that wine was good, the best I ever had, and tonight sitting staring into the dark I now finally understand the dark and the light and everything in between. peace of mind and heart arrives when we accept what is: having been born into this strange life we must accept the wasted gamble of our days and take some satisfaction in the pleasure of leaving it all behind. cry not for me. grieve not for me. read what I’ve written then forget it all. drink from the well of your self and begin again.
Charles Bukowski unaccountably we are alone forever alone and it was meant to be that way, it was never meant to be any other way– and when the death struggle begins the last thing I wish to see is a ring of human faces hovering over me– better just my old friends, the walls of my self, let only them be there. I have been alone but seldom lonely. I have satisfied my thirst at the well of my self and that wine was good, the best I ever had, and tonight sitting staring into the dark I now finally understand the dark and the light and everything in between. peace of mind and heart arrives when we accept what is: having been born into this strange life we must accept the wasted gamble of our days and take some satisfaction in the pleasure of leaving it all behind. cry not for me. grieve not for me. read what I’ve written then forget it all. drink from the well of your self and begin again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)