Cook something, let's eat
We've been wasting our time
In listening to the Story of Buddha as told by Sadguru, the title of this particular post comes, “Cook something, let’s eat - we’ve been wasting our time.”
It is encourged you listen to this video, it has important messages. Watch or listen. Does not matter which.
Anyway, it felt poignant at this time as geopolitics continues to get interesting in this lifetime and as a being on, and in, and of this planet who believes (often) that i am on some sort of mission.
What is important to know or not know? What is important to keep track of? Where shall I place my daily concern?
The answer that keeps coming back in response to this question is “enlightenment”. Work on the self to truly recognize, finally, “the Self” and that term Paramahansa Yogananda named his organization after, “Self-Realization”. Not as a glimpse but as a sustained state of being. This “State” as the only “state” worth truly keeping up with.
The middle path became Shakyamuni’s teaching (who most know as “The Buddha”). Yes, Life and thus spiritual trekking require balance, so it seems. If you listen to the video linked above, you too will hear how Buddha grew up in one extreme and went to the next only to discover he was taking it all way too seriously.
Partying is a celebration, a celebration is living, and living requires eating. “Cook something, let’s eat - we’ve been wasting our time”.
Enlightenment does not require sitting and being still. Although it is helpful to figure out how to do that, the reasons why to be included in a, or many, future post(s).
Self-realization can also happen while dancing. So why not dance like a Dakini while meditating on Catilin Johnstone’s newest poem? Women, we have eggs. Program them, planting them on the drops of the music to your dance.
Planting Angel Eggs On A Dying World
Planting angel eggs on a dying world,
at the feet of billboards,
in the clearcut wastelands,
by the rivers of tears from Yemeni mothers,
under highway overpasses where defective gear-turners sleep,
shambling from crater to crater on tree stump legs
wailing whale songs and praying to unprofitable gods,
planting them in the ashes whispering
“May there be kindness,
may there be seeing,
may there be artist lovers who are each other’s muse.”
Dancing a doomed dance,
a dance of holy futility,
the dance of madmen,
the dance of heretics,
the dance of censored saints,
of banished buddhas,
singing a song of hopeless hope,
irrational hope,
unscientific hope,
the hope of lovers and lunatics,
a lunatic’s song sung to the moon.
Dance with us, gentle stranger,
through this world of Disney deforestation and unexplored abysses
with unauthorized choreography and wondermented eyes.
Let us hold the line against the empire of Earth eaters
for no other reason than that we’re the only ones left
who are crazy enough to try.
There may be a hatching yet, gentle stranger.
Humanity is not broken
anymore than an egg
is a broken bird.