Quo Vadis, Boddhisattva?

There are yet those lucid moments of utter clarity and serenity with existence, that provide those memories of pure enlightenment and theological bliss that the belief in the existence of a deity afforded. The knowledge of being the one-ness with eternity. Of being, equivalent to all that is. That, which is, it. That was the best part of being a theist. One of the few, atleast. To realize the inexistence of god is an awakening, yet sometimes, one remembers and visualizes those dreams of serene slumber. Magnificent freedoms afforded by a fertile imaginations, that are oppressed, by the authority of the rigid dictatorship of reason and rationality. It ill affords those rights into the moral eminence of mind wrapped within the axiom that 'Imagined phenomena is always, ultimately, imagined. It could never assuredly be real, and existing, inspite of all the minute details and experience that you'ved derived from them.'. As a result, we are never in a state of complete freedom, regards our actual belief in the reality of our created and perceived thoughts. Cross one line, and like an unknown lone bureaucrat amidst an engorged uber massive Chinese Tang dynasty court blocking the passage of a law neatly, the axiom exists in the hidden background, invisible due to daily use, and yet have that nagging sensation of something being there, simultaneously.


That, is the key to enlightenment. The wisdom that while almost most all of the attributes that we give to god/s while under their spell are obviously false, to our risen mind of spartan rationality. It propels one to ascertain the validity of this belief. Couldn't that thought of believing in an abstract deity, beyond these 'ALMOST all attributes that have been given to them, but only of those that could be true, such as perhaps some manner of creature beyond the imaginable boundary of the universe that may have had a hand in, what should be understood as a wholly new form of the word 'created by', the universe. Some manner of uber-imaginable uber-existence. Why not? It's a fun theory to explore. It is that bliss of pre-existence and the serene burst of arrival that electroshocks your soul as the first perceived point of existence. An insensible under-being that might never have felt it, but which the body suddenly did get, from the rigors of sensory existence.

Boot Up. Therefore, let us also perceive, in a similar way, the idea and that unbelievable memory of a created universe as a return to that point of first experience. The meta event, as I shall call it. Would it not, truly, be the pursuit of bliss. First. Primary. The Event of Arrival. To recollect that memory would indeed be the moment of feeling one with the universe and its joyous sense of being a greater entity. So as not to appear egoistic fools, we call these minutes of one ness as 'being one with god' instead of 'being god'. Seriously, how fucked up of an egoist are you? No, the self righteous honorable man, irrespective of his current pride in ones ego, greater or lesser no matter. So we are not gods, we are joining them. An obvious misstep of the perception of the meta event, that causes us to attribute it to being or perhaps that first instance of experiencing one's moment of knowledge that one is a part of a greater life. The first realization, almost subconscious. A dream of the unborn baby, lying serenely in the womb. However, the rational guarantee of approval makes it clear that this is just a child's belief that there is a god. However, it is obviously pretty much false from the perspective of the spartan rationalist. There isn't any god because there is no evidence that the rationalist could believe as true of existence.
 

The thought is a proles social toy. An enjoyment of existence, of the soul, that lies ensconsed behind the sensors of existential perception. This soul, such as what I'd call the spine of the mind, that ultimate event horizon where all of ones connections to existence meet. The singular point of being, from which emanates all these connections to existence. This soul which is the center of our bubbles within existence, that we call life, is what we are. The one point of being. It is what we are on the core essence. A life, like a firefly in some blindingly dark garden, floating within the turgid sea of inexistence. How lovely to meet up this realization with the realization of first knowing that we are part of some other creature. This meeting brings forth the false assumptions of religion as we usually have. Our religions are basically about humanized attributes meted out to god, making what is basically beyond our capability to imagine (which is in essence what the universe it). It is, very very literally, the farthest extent of our imagination. Being one with the universe, which may sometimes be considered similar to the feeling of being one with god, is actually a different thing altogether from feeling one with god. Being one with the universe is actually a very lame duck affair. Not at all the way described by the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Not something that makes you mad, but actually just sensing the edges of the boundaries of every form of existence, phenomenon, entity, perception, all that is. It is a border patrol. This boundary is so far that we can almost never sense it. But it is there. Somewhere out there. We are just busy with our chores at the beginning of universal existence and that state beyond time. Our job is to sense existence. Time is basically just a simple attribute of existence. Imagine all that is, and can be. The universe across all dimensions of space as well as time. Trust me, you aren't able to. Why? Because to most of our ideas about infinity, forget to consider time. We think of infinity as boundless. Why just boundless. That which has bounds, such as the present, wherein we realize certain physical lenghts and breadths of the patterns of existence that form the physical portion of what we perceive of existence. We also perceive the existence of being through time. We are not just the present, we are that thought bubble along a thread of inexistence (non time attribute applied, I admit). Along time as well as physical dimensions. Ergo, our every frame of existence from conception to death, is more than physical. It is across all time, experienced as a small fraction of it, via the bubble of existence. Which means, that life is basically, an uber existence, which is what the probably entity beyond our powers of imagination is. Which is what we call god. 

Or is it? I put in, a few lines back, the paths I have rationalized, leading me to calling the being forged of the collision of the two thoughts. The thought of the memory of first rational instance, and the thought of the memory of the first instance of recognizing being part of some uber being (the mother). This collision forges the idea that we have understood god. Or rather, that underneath the roof of this idea, lurk the subconscious inner realization of we have actually accepted this probable uber creature as indescribable, and then actually ended up describing it. For what else is religion, but just descriptions of gods. All that morality and theological nonsense that emanates is basically the result of evolving intelligence paths. That is the difference between existence and inexistence. The are all the same, but it is akin to a swamp. The mirk of it, is inexistence. Slightly above, we have amidst the poppies and buzzing dragonflies that lie above the mirk, yet underneath the greater trees, the concept of existing as the universe, leading on the tangible things such as stars, planets, stones, water, chemical compounds, valence bonds. These are all the tangible things. Then above it, the mighty trees are a hierarchy of intelligent chemical compounds. That is something made out of tangible objects (all that lies within the realm of existence) is what we are, except that we have grown another attribute. That of intelligence, which requires the sustenance of a life, from birth to death. We are therefore, basically the same parts of the following: All that is real. All that is unreal. All that can be imagined. All that cannot be imagined. All all of all alls. King of Kings. This upper point is existence. What we experience as life, is a minute portion of whatever exists beyond existence within the sensory universe. It's great of course, and I see no reason to die, so as to end what is basically a tiny portion of existence, wherein we have adopted the audacious claim to being able to describe the sense that we get, of the absolutely unimaginable. The God point, the center of being as I called it, is something that cannot be described. God as we know it, is describable. Describable under the incomplete rules of rational imagination that only utilizes attributes that can be imagined. Locked from being able co conceive of what lies beyond the attribute of imaginable. Religions and faith, and the concept of god, are all crippled by this. They can never claim to grant wisdom of being, because they are using a limited set of attributes. The unimaginable cannot be imagined. It is beyond existence, and every idea that we will ever have of it, will actually only be sensing that there is a border, a limit to the imagination, but i can only sense it in an ESP sense, but never experientially. By giving imaginable attributes to an unimaginable uber-entity beyond the limits of our uber-sensation of 'birht to death path of experiencing the attribute of time at the buffet table of experiences beyond time, which is inevitably crippled by it's pollution with the axiom that only the imaginable can be imagined. Religion as it exists today, therefore, is basically a misguided stamp laid upon existence, both imaginable and unimaginable. A false interpretation using limited attributes. An incomplete idea. True enlightenment. True moksha. The nirvanam that is so beautiful that it provides one joy of existence, beyond the concepts of imagined and unimagined, that is so much better than these minor experiences that we call lives from birth to death, and then squabble under, under non issues such as reincarnation, which is basically, 'our center point of being' will experience the attribute of time again and again, beyond time. 

One life is more optimistic. It says that we'll immediately discover the truth that there is a better experience of existence, beyond the one provided by time under a life birth to death cycle/bubble. It is very very hopeful, and that is very sad. The truth is, we may very well be experiencing the state of existence meta-multiple times, or meta-one time and suddenly realize everything. The truth is, we may or may not. Depends upon the whims of the center point of being, across existence, inexistence, imaginable, and unimaginable, and whatever might be meta-beyond them. It is unknowable because we are within the time bubble of life birth to death which does not possess the unimaginable attribute. However, as I put it, this center point is exactly that. That which is. The point of existence is obviously not enjoyable to see and be. I mean, all the colors of the clever and exceedingly complex meaning of the term 'tat tvam asi' are leeched out by the time they meta-get to teh center point. What we are doing here in this life birth to death is an enjoyable meta-pursuit. A fun experience using just the baby step attribute of imaginable. We will truly rise, and achieve transience, when we realize that we are beyond the imaginable. That we are somewhere outside the boundaries of all existence, inexistence, and all within the unknowable boundaries of what we can imagine.We are beyond all that, and transience is essentially the feeling of being one with god, which unlike that of just being one with the universe as explained. It allows one to meta-sense the unimaginable, not just the imaginable. 

So thats it. The center point is the meaning of all. It's quite boring. The color is leeched. I am meta-between choosing between time and non time. Of course, that is also just yet a meta-minor conflict as compared to the greater one of imaginable and unimaginable. Boring as hell, but apparently the imaginable attribute of the unimaginable is very very dull. Nothing to see, but because you are meta-undecided, you are still using the incomplete tool of imaginable. The Buddha's greater enlightenment, was the realization that 'there is god', and 'there is no god', are essentially the same things, and that all that is, is. Not just what we know and imagine as is, is. But all that is, even that which is beyond our ability to tell if we don't know. The yes and no duality of Shankaracharya, and Taoism. Both got close. The dualists did. Impressive feats. They brought us to a crumbling edifice of some manner of understanding the lesser enlightenment that there is the imagined and that we are describing the unimaginable using the incomplete tools of imagined. By the years, teh core messages got corrupt and coated with vines and spiderwebs of ritual and useless rubbish. 

Seriously, the ultimate knowledge is far beyond that. We just know that there is a difference, in the lesser enlightenment. In the greater enlightenment, such as that of the Buddha, the lesser one had been crossed way before. What he had achieved at, included knowing that there is a difference, and knowing what exactly the difference is, and also including a blurry meta-sense of knowing that there is a meta something beyond the concepts of imagined and unimagined. It includes these paradoxes as one fo the steps taken to get to one of these enlightemnets, mostly lesser. Paradoxes allow us to sense in a vague way, that the way we perceive the unimaginable is limited by our concepts of imagination. That there may possibly be a whole new meta-meaning to the unimaginable that separates it from the imaginable. It seems simple enough, but it is atrociously hard to realize. The stage I am at, is that of knowing there is a difference and a vague meta sense of meta being meta between crossing over to the meta stage of reailzing and being all that is, rather than just a vague perception that there is something more to all that is, beyond what is imaginably all. A larger realm of what is unimagined all. Limited, though risen from an even lesser stage. One step. Probably one of the lowest, in achieving transcience AS the center point, instead of just perceiving that it is there somewhere beyond the imagined universe and the unimagined universe. Religion got us to one stage. Transcience gets us to the next. I'll never know it, as I am within the bubble of life based perception of time under the dictatorship of just the imaginable. 

I will simultaneously know it for I am, as the center point in essence, also at a point beyond time, beyond the universe across tangible diomensions and time from times birth to time death. For the definition of time is that which possesses a beginning and end. There is no endless time. Atleast, that is one of the perceptions of a perception of the center point that is basically unable to understand and comprehend even lame paradoxes, can never really comprehend the sense of there being something greater than the imagined definition of all that is. Once you get paradoxes, you cross a step to reach to being able to get to a lesser enlightenment, or perhaps you are already there.

The idea

Every thought, every emotion, every sentiment, is a culmination of thousands of intricate subconscious events, vying to form a large scale memetic popular fashion, that becomes in its turn, the final thought, that arises from our subconscious, to our conscious, and is interpreted in its way, by our actions. Behind every thought is a prosperous and happy Victorian era London. Gathering from across myriad sources, a smorgasbord of ideas and opinions, all seemingly new. The self respecting high society begins to gossip about this strange new set of ideas that the proles are suddenly taken away by. In hushed whispers, these rumors begin to abound within the continuous interchange of a lot of irrelevant messages, that we call parties, takes place. As things add up in this ear, and that one, the dominant idea becomes the fashionable taboo, that all must aspire to. It takes place in an opposite direction. Fashions always travel from the upper echelons to the lower, and then pass away in the passage of contemporality. But the dark and the disturbing can always travel from a trodden vox populi to the diplomacy of the risen. At a point, this idea, having travelled across myriad paths, and multitudinous directions, to its apotheosis, is at the end of eternity. It becomes our thought. Prior to action, as we see fit. The mind, is, like Borges's Library of Babel, and endless series of units. His, are libraries. Mine, are cities of a passed age.

Good wine

I think I finally do see a vague version of myself. A wisp of an idea about who I am, from an external locus. Ah, I exist only here on the internet. As if my metaphysical sense, or soul such as it is, has transferred itself here. A change of capital cities from one to another somewhat removed. I am always on guard in the outer world. Always within a role, to portray as a vague husk of sentimental decline. A poor role such as it is, but better than one with no signs of emotional content. But it is here, than I feel a sense of a wall collapsing. Waves washing away to silent golden sunlight. Okay, that may be exaggerated. And oh, that was my paranoia that just struck in the previous sentence. Like a sudden sound of a returning wave on that newly silent beach. The problem always was, that as I wielded this role as some armor, instead of something intrinsic, I could not see it. Like how Gordon Freeman can never see what the fuck he is wearing, in Half Life. But, to identify a metaphysical transfer, allows me to gain some perspective on what I appear, as mentioned before, to the outer world. It is vague, because of the obvious problems related with wondering what the fuck is your consciousness when when your metaphysical soul seems distanced. The two are different? Is there a state of being beyond consciousness? I am not concerning myself with these issues of interest, until the situation with my state of being, is resolved.

See, this is the great joy of solipsism. It affords me the liberation from that standard and dull interpretation of existence. Every newfangled retard idea becomes a beautiful Weltanschauung every bit as intricate as a spider web. Then, as I discard it when I tire of it, I acquire new tastes. Just as some of the best wines, always carry that subtly bitter aftertaste, akin to silken thunder. This, seems to me, the greatest state of hedonism. Beyond the crude, and into the divine.

Ah, this wine tastes good. But I shall move on to new unopened classics, of names, I do not yet know.

And with all this, my faithful outer role. It stays the same. Conserved. Like ancient armor, weathered and cracked, but yet unbroken.

Auspices

Auspices


It was the day of the test. As the dawn sun rose, thousands of alarms rang across thousands of domiciles in the city of Tadh. People awoke to great expectations and a thrilling evocation to superiority. Families rose excitedly, and gathered around the radio to get their latest updates on the Machine. Children gleefully giggled and stomped their energy upon ritual carpets as they swerved in joy. The elderly lightly reprimanded their hopeless progeny, with their inability to be timely about an early homily for this great occasion. In the prayer rooms, the incenses had been lit, their unsubtle aromas danced to the melodious winds of this auspicious day.

For it was an important day, an awaited day. Fifty years ago, the venerable saint Tarapati had announced the initiation of a great and terrible project. A way to reach the gods, and force their attentions upon a mature humanity. He proposed what was, to put it crudely, a bright electric bulb for the gods. It would light up and shine like a blazing coterie of stars and blind the divines with its promises of human-god association. After centuries of silence, the gods would be compelled to take form within humanity again.

Scientists had been gathered from every nation on Earth. The Zhongguo had provided the material gurus to build this bulb, the Yavanas had aided with the algorithms, the Caliphate with their resources, but the citizens of Bharata, they had assembled the results and given them life and purpose.

The Tadhi were struck by a great, infinite happiness when their town in the Thar desert was chosen as the site of the machine, now called the Machine. Over the next decades, Tadh transformed into a glorious center of human civilization, a cultural crafter of temporary renaissances, a wielder of political attractions and risks, and a de facto capital of the planet. The Ayobahu Square was tasseled with slogans and prophecies of crowds flew in the zephyr around the seating arrangements and stands. On Sangama Road, that magnet of guild centers and merchants, bands had gathered to perform the sacrificial greeting ritual to this new day. They roared in chants that surfed across a quarter of the city. The immense statue of Emperor Matithasena was bedecked up to its ankles in flowers and offerings. The Vedic University was coated with announcements and final warnings about this grand event, to an infuriatingly ever indifference of the youth.

As the sun climbed further, the radio announced the arrangements at the site of the Machine. Nuanced ambassadors, crafty diplomats, acrimonious generals, necessary socialites, all the gangs, the lottery winners, the obscenely wealthy, and the connected, had already arrived. The priests had gathered in the central dome in droves, thieving each other of blessings in a Machiavellian dance of well intentioned prayers. There was even the stipulated Most Sacred Cow. The Caliphate citizens resented the animal placed above their station most, but they forgot this injustice in the collective emotional prurience that the day of the test produced.

The core scientific group was now smaller by two-thirds from Tarapati’s team in the beginning. Many had fallen to death, others to madness, and one particularly stressed Magadhi from the top of the massive Vaishnavite temple during a romantic entanglement. The commentators on the radio advertised the wares of dozens of marketing plans for illiterate objects and services. The Ta Jatayu Organization for instance, were excited about the latest iteration of their mini zeppelin line coming in winter of that year. Zhou Patel Food Products were delirious about their raspberry puranpolis (limited edition) out now for only a handful of rupees. There were many sculptor ads. Their business had boomed in the last few years.

The time crawled closer and closer and the marketing was ceased. Insecure speakers announced minor events with great clarity. The organizers had thankfully held the political speeches yesterday, so that they wouldn’t distract from the first test of the Machine. The sacrifice to Ganesha had finished, and it was time for the activation.

Across the world, minds being crushed by sex, hunger, thirst, and sleep, paid attention closely on the next words.

Activation in five, four, three, two, one…yes.

To the billions listening in, there was maybe a slight shiver in the quality of the incoming sound. An almost silent sigh of satisfaction, as noise. Nothing too tangible, that couldn’t be mistaken for imagination. To the Tadhi so close to it, there was a tremor in their domiciles. The very air seemed to stretch upon invisible grindstones. Dogs howled. Water stirred. Birds paused.

Shocked and stunned, they wondered about the changes closer to the Machine.

And the overwhelmed fortunates of luck near the Machine were unable to respond. Their nerves seemed to have been consumed by sorcerous angst. Vision curiously remained stable. Unnatural winds cooled nervous, sweating necks. A groaning sound came as if from everywhere and a mellifluous whistle blew from the Machine.

Within the span of a minute, an eternity died living a life of sin. An insanely priced ad spot blared like a banshee upon the silence of a world held breathless.

And now the wait.

The fabric of space shimmered almost invisibly. A low moan licked the air. In a depressingly dark moment, every living being within a circle of a thousand kilometers, lost something intrinsic. Almost intangible, but not intangibly.

And a man appeared in front of the Machine.

He wore golden armor and jewels. He looked at the dignitaries sitting upon the most raised dais. They looked at him with a look of wonder. He thrust a furious fear into their souls with a look of murder.

Then the slaughter began.