Evil Words

I think I broke something
Something fragile and precious
That existed between us

I felt that we were drifting apart
But perhaps that was just me
Sinking back into myself

I saw signs of your cruelty
And carelessness everywhere
Or was that just my narcissistic paranoia?

And all may well have been alright
May have turned out alright
If I’d kept my mouth shut

But I let evil into the world
Fearfully, carelessly, selfishly
Again

And we can never be
Innocently trusting
Again

arundhati

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Creative Living – Beyond Self Consumption

workbuyconsumedie

I have a friend who is always animatedly disgusted about some aspect of life. Well when he is in a huff he calls it life. But really he is usually disgusted by other people’s behavior. But this seems more like righteous indignation rather than any useful, creative interaction with the world.

I love paradox. I eat that shit for breakfast. But I won’t be self righteous about the wrongness of being self righteous. Or be judgmental about people who are judgmental. In fact I’ve found a profoundly humbling little motto. “Yes, it is all about me.”

Before you run screaming for the hills let me try to explain. I believe that we are all tripping. Every single one of us. Some of us are tripping on drugs, some on power, some on Jesus – the list is endless. But it’s sure as nuts not reality. It’s just the story we assemble, sometimes meticulously other times on the fly, to make sense of the chemicals flowing through our brain.

The problem is not with reality – reality is pretty cool – the problem is with our uncreative, limited or negative narratives. That’s what I mean by it’s all about me. Mahatma Gandhi said it better – “Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Here’s another quote by a less famous but even more brilliant Indian –

To be creative, which is to have real initiative, there must be freedom; and for freedom there must be intelligence. So you have to inquire and find out what is preventing intelligence. You have to investigate life, you have to question social values, everything, and not accept anything because you are frightened.

http://www.jiddu-krishnamurti.net/en/flight-of-the-eagle/1969-05-11-jiddu-krishnamurti-flight-of-the-eagle-6-the-wholeness-of-life

All this and curry 🙂

So this is an ideal. To be aware, fearless, intelligent. And loving of course. That’s the trip I want to be on. Not just when I take designer drugs but all the time. And this brings me to an interesting aspect of Consumerism. I think many of us know that the game on this planet, the one sanctioned by the military industrial media Macdonalds complex, is conspicuous consumption of product. The fact that this obsession enslaves us not just economically but psychologically and spiritually too is taken either as an inescapable fact of life or as a condemnation of some or other political system. It’s not. Those are just stories. In reality we just suffer from a lack of imagination. And compassion.

If people who say they love their children meant it, would there be war? And would there be division of nationalities – would there be these separations?

Krishnamurti again.

Forget the blerry rug rats. If we loved ourselves and each-other would we settle for this or transcend it. Nationalism, racism, capitalism, cannibalism – the whole Pandora’s box of Ism. And the first step is to realize that we have commodified ourselves. We choose lifestyles and narratives off the shelf. Some of us. Oh fuck alright you got me – I do. Or did.

I’ve beaten myself up because I bought the idea of material success, cars, houses, wives, kids. A whole package of ideas and requirements. Then hated myself for not being able to deliver. Consumed myself trying to become the right kind of product. Forgot that It was I that owned the means of production. I was just trying to manufacture a lifestyle that was odds with my soul.

Next Time

unravel

I think my main mistake was I tried to force.
Everything.
It was fucking exhausting.

And to try to squeeze you into a box.
Cut off your arms and legs and put you in a block of cement
Which I called love.

And throw the block of cement into the dark cold ocean of my soul.
As if that would turn an underwater wasteland
into a flowery meadow of love and joy and pizza.

So next time
I may just let things
Unfold and not unravel