God and the Devil

If God exists as an all powerful being that is the source of creation, then how could the Devil possibly come into existence? 

Let's be logical, folks. If God didn't create the Devil, then "He" is not all powerful because a force exists outside of "Him" that works against "His" will.

If "He" is indeed the force supreme, then it is downright rude of "Him" to mold a larger-than-life evildoer that will "git us if we don't watch out," to echo a ditty of decades past.

It also seems impossible for any singular being - powerful prophet though he or she might be - to "die for our sins," although one could certainly be crucified by others because their sinful thoughts and deeds. As far as I know, people must pay for their own karma. In this day and age, if someone else is capable of taking on our karma and sinking their existence, that would be called co-dependence.

I will admit that reading the Bible has been a far too arduous experience to endure, even if Donald Trump claims it is akin to watching a great movie over and over again. However, if any Bible  devotees can offer a good answer to my logical questions, the floor is open.

The Prodigal Cat

In the genealogy of my household felines, the last in a long and illustrious line was April, a petite short-haired cat of black attire with a white star on her chest. Tracing her history through the matrilineal lineage, she was birthed by Sparkle, who begat three offspring: Lucky, the eldest male, a second Tiger cat who did not survive birth, and the delicate and skitterish April.

Alas, April lost her mother at an early age due to the vicissitudes of life as a cat in the Santa Monica Mountains - an environment seething with natural predators. Henceforth, our little Miss was the Cinderella of the household, "dissed" by her sibling and an uncle named Sugar, a fat cat who rarely vacated the prime spot on the master's bed and guarded it with a vengence.

The lonely and defiant April thus took to the outdoors for a good part of her adult life, showing up on the doorstep only several days out of every month or when a rain storm was imminent. For the next 19 years, her pattern remained consistent, and members of the human household engaged in hot debate as to whether she had another family or was a superb survivor of the wilds.

Although her whereabouts remained the object of speculation, a pet psychic did relay the following message from the wanderlust kitty when she was approximately 8 years old:

"My roaming is nothing personal. It's about me, not you. I appreciate that I'm always welcome at your house. I really enjoy visiting. Maybe someday, when I'm old and need a soft bed and easy food, I'll stay with you. I have lived the best life for me."

April, a few hours before transitioning

Our beautiful kitty passed away in the early morning hours of August 21, 2015, on the prime spot of her mistress's bed, surrounded by soft pillows and Love.

Born to Die

"Born to die" is not only an oxymoron but the most basic fact of living. As a teenager, an idea rolled around in my brain like a tumbleweed in a dust storm: all the effort we put into our physical, mental and emotional life seems to evaporate at the "end," a thought that caused me to lament a la Peggy Lee,"Is that all there is?"

The first inhale enters the body at the moment of birth and the final exhale marks the precise moment of death. This means that we have a precise, finite number of breaths before the Grim Reaper takes us on a joy ride.

What if there is a "breath counter" in the clouds who has a clicker and marks off each inbreath and outbreath until he says, "Time's up." Knowing thus, if we were informed ahead of time as to exact amount of breaths we had in a lifetime, how would we use them? 

When people say, "Don't waste your breath," maybe they are onto something. And when the teacher in your anger management class tells you to slow down your breath and inhale deeply, maybe that person realizes a thing or two about prolonging your preordained, allotted number of ins and outs!

If any of you want to live a little longer, then slow down, take deep, sweet inbreaths, then slowly let the air spill out into the deep blue sky and relax.

Real Political Correctness

After a month of silence, this blogger is galvanized to make an obvious point that Donald Trump seems to miss when he eschews "political correctness."

A phrase that has become the target of sardonic comments, "political correctness" originally meant that spewing vitriol against a rainbow of minority groups was not acceptable. "Politically correct" really means "public respect."

The frustration of certain American citizens has caused them to take on the role of cheerleader to Trump's low-brow mentality. However, his extemporaneous comments serve as a major distraction to the issues at hand. His frequent use of the word "loser" and other adolescence slurs have diverted attention to the very issues he claims to address.

If Trump were truly politically correct, he would focus on important issues instead of acting like a school-yard bully.

Conservatives were duped twice by Bush Jr. aka King George. (Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice shame on me.) Luckily, Donald Trump has offended the religious right so no worries that they will float him into office. Once Trump went after Fox News, he lost that dame/game.

The news has turned into a Facebook-like nightmare and the American people will be the ultimate victims if Donald Trump's case of turrets remains front and center. Worse yet, the circus that is called pre-election campaigning portends a sad state for the prospect of decent leadership.

The Giant Awakened

While ISIS and other Islamic terrorist groups pique fear and loathing in the collective western mindset, in fact they are a diversion from the real threat - China. Just as the world ignored or rationalized Hitler's military buildup pre-WWII, China's massive buildup of all manner of weaponry has gone unreported by the mainstream media.

With China's oceanic brain pool of computer-savvy, government-trained computer hackers, the United States looks more like a sitting duck in the cross hairs of a hunter than a mighty world power.

The denial or inability of the U.S. government to function rationally in assessing its needs will lead us into a dysfunctional society. We don't need more nukes but there is a brain drain at the most basic levels, where education of our young is relegated to third class status in terms of state and government expenditures.

This short-sightedness not only cripples the country in terms of training our young for high-tech jobs and occupations requiring rigorous training; programs promoting the arts, music, and other community building skills have fallen by the wayside, victims of Congressional cuts to the budget in favor of military spending for wars in Middle Eastern deserts.

Rome rose and fell, as have many other mighty empires. If the citizens of our country continue to stock Congress with right-wing demigods, we will look like a Third World country within a few generations...and will have no one to thank but our own short-sightedness.

Denial is dangerous. Clear vision can save the day. Everyone has the responsibility to start where they are and act accordingly to create a smarter, more compassionate society.

The Elephant In the Room

Today's blog is borrowed from blogger Zachary Stockill, whose expression says it all. The below text contains excerpts from his newly released e-book entitled "Everyday Joy." 

The Elephant in the Room

Many people choose to either ignore, or vilify death. Our primary cultural signifier of death is that of the shadowy grim reaper, wearing a skeletal face and black robes, anticipating our demise with glee. The topic of death is brought up at a dinner party, and guests shy away and try to change the topic to something more “upbeat,” and less “depressing.”

An elderly family member dies and the funeral home director spends hours applying makeup and pressing an old suit; doing everything in his power to spare us—the living—from witnessing the reality of post-mortem decay.

Most people spend their lives trying to ignore the spectre of death like some beggar in the street, pretending not to notice, pretending not to hear the steady rhythm of death’s footsteps following their own. I have never understood why.

There is no other thought that inspires, excites, and motivates me like the thought of my own death. No other idea that pushes me to achieve, and achieve now. Nothing motivates me to party like the image of death I see in my head, watching my body burn on the funeral pyre; decaying with a peaceful grin on my face, saddened that one party is ending, but at the same time curious about the next.

We all grow up knowing one thing, and one thing only: we are born, and one day we will die. That’s it. That is the only bonafide, 100-proof, absolute certainty about life and living that we have access to. This is the only thing we know for sure. It is ironic, then, that we spend most of our lives trying to forget it.Do You Really Want to Live Forever, Forever… and Ever?

I know some people who express a desire to live forever. But people who think they want to live forever rarely ask themselves an important question: do I even want to? Immortality would be pure hell. Do you want to go around and around and around on the same Ferris wheel for all time? Think about it.

Spinning around on this rock in the same form for all eternity would become painfully dull after a century or two. What makes our time on Earth so exciting is that it is a limited time offer. At a certain point, we all have to step off to make room for whoever is coming up behind us. This is what makes the ride so exciting, and entertaining any thoughts to the contrary spoils it for ourselves, and for all of the other passengers onboard.  

Befriending the Reaper

It’s useful to think long and hard about your death if you want to live, and I don’t mean the funeral arrangements. I mean your actual death, not the after-party.

When the hour of your death draws near, how do you think you’ll feel? How do you want to feel? What thoughts are you going to hold close as you slip away? We all die alone, but do you want a stranger or loved ones to witness your departure? In your final moments will you choose to stay present, or speculate about what will come next?

As I move on from this earthly form I want to die having really lived; to have sucked as much bliss and joy and excitement out of my time on Earth as humanly possible. To die happy is to die knowing that I brought as much light, love and happiness to myself and the people around me as I was capable. To die wearing a wide smile on my face, with multiple wrinkles around my eyes revealing ten thousand afternoons spent laughing with friends, my voice hoarse following ten thousand wild nights and conversations, my limbs tired after a century of dance. I want to die in absolute peace so that my rest is eternal, and those witnesses to my death are inspired to keep living, and living well.

Death is exciting, and not because of some speculative and imaginary afterlife, but because it provides the ultimate excuse to live, and live now. To exercise every passion and exorcise every demon, to pursue each and every curious avenue, and dive into the ocean of joy that stands at your feet in every moment of every day.

We delude ourselves, and cheat ourselves and others out of joy when we live in deliberate ignorance of death. When we ignore death it draws nearer.  

So what is the solution?

Move deeply into death. Try to imagine the sights, sounds, and smells of the room where you will die. Imagine the thoughts you will have as the music fades and the lights grow dim. Picture your diminishing body, slowly voiding itself of life as death moves in. Picture the people around you (if there are any) as they watch. Imagine their faces, and try to listen to their voices, as you imagine your own. Will you speak? Will you smile? How do you want to die?

As you read these words and follow this narrative, you are nearer to death than when you began. What’s more, death may come at any moment. Each and every day many thousands of people around the world die long before they anticipated. Death is so near that you can actually hear it, if it’s quiet enough and your mind is still. In every moment, there is a very real chance that your time on Earth will end; death follows our every movement as human beings.

So make no mistake: your party will end. Your breath is not eternal. Your flesh will one day rot and decay so that your corpse will be unrecognizable to everyone you once cared about, and who once cared for you. If you choose to buried in a hole in the ground, your flesh will eventually return whence it came, the mould and the bugs and the worms and the bacteria consuming the physical evidence of your life so that their lives can go on. If you choose to be cremated, your body will turn to ash, with hot reams of fire igniting your hair and skin and bones so that you eventually fit into a neat metal box to be carried around and eventually disposed of by friends and family. You may end up in the Ganges, or Lake Minnetonka, but the end result is the same.

You will die. And not only will you die, but everyone you love and who loves you will also die. Furthermore, one day, whether it is in one hundred or one hundred thousand years, there will be no memory, trace, or evidence that you once lived. 

So what are you to do about it?  Live.

Live, and live now. Live powerfully, dramatically, absolutely now. Live with as much gusto and passion and strength as you can muster. And don’t stop until you are so absolutely satisfied with living that death seems a curious, even welcome, transition.

Live fully now because you will never get another opportunity.

Excerpted from Everyday Joy

http://www.highexistence.com/think-long-hard-death-want-live/

Ever-changing Constancy

One year ago, I was on overdrive planning the memorial that would be held on July 5th for my beautiful husband. A continuation of non-stop focus that had begun with his terminal diagnosis a few months prior, the memorial would be the last event (other than legal paper-pushing and family gatherings) to commemorate his passing.

This year, the months of May and June seemed like a nightmarish replay of last year's hyper-vigilance. However, one year later the house is eerily silent and no actions other than mundane daily life care require attention.

Within this deafening silence, a great irony plays out. Life has continued on without my husband by my side, very much unchanged minus the gaping chasm of his physical presence. Even the ancient black cat who adored Michael is still here, only now clinging to me, the last Mohegan, for solace.

It seems unfair that all he built in his life-time - the knowledge accumulated, the films he did, the books he wrote, the children he sired - are not his to enjoy anymore. If there is such a thing as life after death, his life is nothing now but a memory, never to be recreated as it was.

Musing thus, one's ego takes quite a bruising; in clinging to an identity, to possessions, to people, a grand illusion that it is "ours" plays out. In fact, we take nothing with us but a distilled consciousness and the unrealized hopes and fears of our life in the physical.

This understanding presents a double-edged sword, causing either deep agony or ebullient freedom. Someday I wish to fully incorporate the latter.