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Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:46 pm

Cosmic Wanderer Aug 19, 2019 Spit, hiss & Sputter-in-the-Dark

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), Cosmic Wanderer

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group

Cosmic Wanderer Aug 19,2019

Spit, hiss & sputter-in-the-Dark

For as long as I can remember, people who confidently claimed to ‘know’ God, and ‘know the will of God’, and who seemed to get that dangerous, fanatical glint in their eye, well, they made me nervous. It’s back to that matchstick-pondering-a-supernova problem. How the f**k can a match stick even BEGIN to comprehend the red Giant Betelgeuse going super nova? Let alone confidently describe the nuclear & sub atomic details? A MATCH stick? A spit-hiss-sputter in the Dark? Here-one-second and gone-the-next? And that big Betelgeuse basket has been around for MILLIONS of years? And that’s just ONE star? And there’s Billions of GALAXIES out there? And this cocky MATCH STICK is going to explain, in 30 minutes, neatly and succinctly, how it all works? ‘Cos he’s got a book?
Huh!?
How many times have I listened to some bombastic preacher, all a-hammering and a-thundering, building himself up into a right uptight tizzy, and had these sneaking questions nibbling at the back of my mind? I mostly kept them to myself. But then, the next week, or the next Bible study group, there he’d be off again, hammering at some verse or chapter, presenting himself as sitting at the right hand of God.
And, I confess, it would tick me off. So sometimes I’d start an argument. Just to try and wipe that smug, judgmental, superior smile off his face.

I sigh. Hell, the quarrels I got into. What was I driving at? I, the outcast, who shocked many a congregation?
I think it’s the sense that there is something around us, that is SO huge, SO massive, so jaw dropping, so breath taking, that it should move us to Quietness, not bombast. Move us to Silence, not Noise. Make us aware of our tiddley matchstick status, not fill us with hey-ho, I-know-God, and if you just all listen to ME, you TOO can sit on the right hand of God! (Below me, of course)

I keep thinking “we know nothing.” And that thought is an immediate causal factor that inevitably leads some religious Gigolo jumping up, waving the Bible at me, and yelling that HE knows it ALL, ‘cos HE’S GOT THE BOOK.

Dude. I’ve got the b*stard too. I’ve read it. many times. And I still think we know nothing.

On our tiny match-stick quest, we are entering a Great Hall. It is empty, and our foot steps echo eerily. The hall stretches for miles in all directions. Black-and-white square tiles. High ceilings.

Just the echo of our own small mind.

Pondering. Groping. Searching.

I shall not preach. I shall not shout. I shall not pretend I know something that you do not.

I shall be quiet.

And, breathlessly…

wonder.

Aug 19, 2019, 22:44

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:46 pm

http://www.writersharbor.org/work_view.php?work=772

Cosmic Wanderer August 8th, 2019 "The Sink"

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), Cosmic Wanderer

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group

Cosmic Wanderer August 8, 2019

The Sink

If you hunt around Gab, not even that hard, you can always find interesting-stimulating ‘thinks’, and even quite different ‘thunks’. Thus, this morning, I find my tiny mind playing fluff-ball, & toying with the whole concept of ‘alienation’ of people. Fill in the causes, of course. Better have a long piece of paper.
To me, and I of course am a nobody, the concept of ‘balance’ often trundles through the dark & murky swamp, what I cheerfully pass off as my ‘mind’. Not that anybody is fooled.
The world quite fascinates me. I’ve seen quite a bit of it. Heli-whopper flown over lots of it too. But it can be like a plug hole. If you stand over the sink, and watch that drain… and imagine yourself going down it… you can slowly really get in to the going-down-the-drain bit. The room around you steadily disappears. The kitchen… disappears. Just that…awful…drain. Gurgling. Sucking you down.
And now. It’s Dark.

Bleh. Same with life. Yes, some stupid muther-Fufufu- (people) are always saying and doing the dumbest sh*t. Truly, daft. Chucking young mothers and their children in front of oncoming trains. Politicians talking out of their…elbow. Demagogues stirring, pseudo-religious types bumping their gums, and lots of Allahu-Akbar and death to other Homo Sapiens. Shalom, Holohoax & Shekels.
A passing Space Traveler I’m sure would shake his head (or tentacles, whatever) and wonder what moronic race of sentient beings gets gifted such a NEAT planet, and promptly proceeds to make such a hulking big buldering MESS of it. Humans, eh!

I, elsewhere, fulminate against it. I stand on my wobbly soapbox, and rabbit away with the best (or worst) of them. But my search for balance also (aha!) leads me to carefully back away from the stupid sink. Now I can see the kitchen. The house. The paintings on the walls. The poetry books on the shelves. The sun outside. My daft pooch, Madame Lucy, noisily trying to…. hump the driveway??

There’s just a whole ‘nother world. A quieter place. Full of amazing vistas. And before you say, with a sneer, that I’m talking ‘escapism’ and ‘Denial of Reality’ let me suggest that many who live online, become alienated, embittered, radicalized, despondent… are maybe in far greater danger of falling into ‘Escapism’. And denial of Truth.

The truth, I submit, is that we are small creatures. Very limited in our knowledge and understanding. Mathematics suggests there are eleven dimensions. We simple ones only have access to four.
Many have long since gravitated away from anything spiritual. They are not interested. If it can’t be bought, sold, invested in, eaten, devoured, drunk, f*cked, or abused… no interest.

Others are gravitating back towards the spiritual. Faster, and faster. And there are many more of us, than the Jews-stream Propaganda & Indoctrination/Exploitation channels would ever lead you to believe.

I love the quiet Puzzling. The Search.

Aug 08, 2019, 12:51

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:47 pm

Cosmic Wanderer August 6, 2019 The persistent Sense

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), Cosmic Wanderer

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group

Cosmic Wanderer August 6th, 2019 The persistent Sense

I just wrote, and posted, another Patriot’s Diary entry, entitled “Without the sword, what is the pen?” It was written with bitterness. An angry heart. Blazingly so.
But I know myself, at least a bit. I have wrestled with this hurricane for many a decade now. In a volcanic temper, you don’t know what he’d write. He’s faced down guns and knives, British QC’s, Judges and Freemasons, maintained a stubborn orbit under fire, and at his worst, is a dangerous motherf*cker. To others, and himself.
Luckily, he knows when to pull back, regroup, marshal his livid thoughts, and try and think it all through. Logically, or not, is for the kind (or not) reader to decide.

Is there a great Cosmic Kindness, that surrounds us little, struggling critters? Or are we on our own?

Amusingly, or ironically, I reflect on the fact that for many years, I mocked the concept. It seemed to me an absurdity. I saw Man as a lost creature, a frantically flopping fish. Out of luck, out of water, smacking fins feverishly off a hard, dry, lonely rock. Whizzing through infinite space. Trying to convince himself HE mattered, when he obviously didn’t.
So my lifestyle was hedonistic. Wild. I wished to taste it all. And I did. Accidentally pulling low, and enjoying one of the shortest canopy rides ever, I was more amused than shocked. Helluva ride, was my thinking. Lying comfortably on my back on the collapsed ParaCommander, dragging lazily on a cigarette. When I raced a Kawasaki 900 Z1B down a Dublin side street, at a rather ridiculous velocity, I lost control. Narrowly missing a red Post Office pillar box, a telegraph pole, and several trees, I eventually encountered a brick wall. The motorcycle dramatically buried itself there, and I flew o-v-e-r the wall. Rolling over in the dusty field, I brushed myself off nonchalantly. For many days, I joked about stabilizing out in free-fall, on my short, but stimulating ‘flight’.

The decades rolled by. One slowly matures. Kind of. As a dual rated commercial pilot, fixed wing and helicopters, with people’s lives entrusted to me, I was a different critter. I never scratched a helicopter, although I can’t say the same for one poor fixed wing, which I totally and spectacularly destroyed. Luckily I was alone.

And then… a softer melody. The sense that there was much, much more, that I, hedonistic fool, had been missing. I never had what others suspiciously (to me) claim: Jesus never appeared to me, or spoke audibly to me. One dubious Pastor I met, a former drug dealer and practitioner of Black Magic, told me Jesus appeared to him while he was taking a bath. It’s possible, but my cynicism says otherwise.

But for me, a different voice. The sense of Magnificence in what I clearly observed for myself in the Universe around me. The persistent sense of a hovering, Intelligent Designer. The sense of a Great Cosmic Compassion, and often, and very strangely, the sense of being, deeply, and inexplicably…

loved.

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:48 pm

Floater Me

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning

FLOATER ME

I used to get this dream.
I had it hundreds of times. It got to the stage where I know I would pretty well “groan in my dream”. A dreamed “Oh-no-not-this-dream-again” type groan. Frustrating.
It was always the same. I was in the middle of this hot, sun soaked, yellow desert, digging away with a ridiculously small spade. Not much bigger than a kid’s toy spade. Like you’d expect Johnny to have down at the beach.

Frantically. I was trying to find water.
Not just any water. It was some kind of special water.
The desert reminded me of the dead lands of Saudi Arabia. And there I was, digging away, sweating it. Really trying hard. To find…water. The sand was so fine, it would trickle right back into the hole I was trying to shape out. It was maddening. And I needed to find water…!
And of course I never did. It never quite got to be a nightmare, but it was a very tiresome, frustrating dream. There was me, perspiration pouring down my face, trying so hard… kind of panicking. I needed that water to drink…

And then, woven through this dream, entwined in the way only dreams can do, ran another theme. In that strand, there I was, looking DOWN at me, from a height of maybe three or four hundred feet. I would watch myself digging. And in my dream I KNEW that it was me watching myself dig. However, the ME that was digging couldn’t see what the ME that was watching could see…

A massive lake of fresh, pure, living water, out of sight just over the dunes. If only the digger ME would look up, turn ninety degrees right, and walk just a little ways, then digger ME would find that massive fresh water lake. Cool, clean, sparkling in the sun. Airborne ME, or rather, FLOATER ME, could see it perfectly clearly.

But of course digger ME never looked up, or around, or walked just a little ways. So digger ME never found what he was looking for.

Very frustrating…

Now you may think I’m making this up.
Honestly, I’m not. I never did figure it out though.
But I’ll hazard a guess…

Digger ME is the stubborn part of me that keeps me going. Who tries to learn from past mistakes. Digger Me is the part that works hard, is detail conscious, and worries a lot. Digger ME is well meaning. A little clumsy, not real smart, and prone to tunnel vision.

You might think Floater ME is the pilot. I don’t think so. The aviator is mostly digger ME. The me that tries so hard to be a good, safe pilot. Who meticulously pre-flights his aircraft, and checks the weather carefully. That’s Digger ME. Not a saint, don’t get me wrong, but a well meaning, plodding, conscientious type.

Floater ME is harder to figure out.
Floater ME is partly a Dreamer. The amateur scribbler. A seeker of The Truth. A spirit. Searching for…God? The idealist, horribly impractical.

Now, ask me why this persistent dream came along and weaved all this together? So I spent years trying to decipher it…? Searching?

Maybe it was a lesson.

And I, a dull, slow learner.

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:49 pm

The Matchstick

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), My Search for God and Meaning

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group
@Ute

The Matchstick

You said: “I am bitter.”

The Quiet Spirit, wandering around the dark planet, encountered a fervent, passionate soul, and smiled softly.
“And what are you”, he asked the Match Stick.
The Match Stick drew himself proudly up to his full height. All one-and-a-half inches.
“I am a Match Stick”, he intoned, solemnly.
“I strike a sudden, brilliant light in the Darkness, so everyone can see”, he added, importantly.
“Wow”, said the Quiet Spirit, keeping his face straight. “I’m very impressed”, he added, politely.
The Match Stick, suitably mollified, offered a faint trace of humility.
“Of course”, he said, “there are certain things even I do not fully understand, you know.”
“Really”, said the Quiet Spirit. “Such as?”
“Well”, said the Match Stick. “At night, when look up into the dark sky, I see this one really bright light. It’s just a tiny pin prick, among all the other dots. But I would really love to know what it was….”
He sighed, softly, and the Quiet Spirit was pleased to see his earnest longing.
“If you wish, Match Stick, I could take you there.”
“Oh, would you? Really? How would we travel there?”
“You may tuck under my wings, and we will be there in a jiffy. But close your eyes, for otherwise the journey might scare you.”
“Huh!”, snorted the Match Stick. But he eagerly crept under a wing. Shutting his eyes, just as a precaution.
There was a whoosh of sorts, a great strangeness, and then the Quiet Spirit murmured quietly:
“You can open your eyes now, slowly. It’s going to be very bright…”
The Match Stick did as he was told, and, astonished, he was silent for many minutes. Beneath his gaze, glowing fire danced in insane rivers. Whirlpools of incandescent heat radiated pure energy. What looked like entire continents of molten magma were in violent motion, alternatively expanding and contracting, and sloshing around. There were bridges of fire, and portals of fire. There were explosions that fired vast globs of burning matter out into the Universe.
The Match Stick was spellbound.
“What… IS it?”, he asked, at last.
“That is the star Betelgeuse”, the Quiet Spirit answered. “It’s a very large star, a red Super Giant, much bigger than your Sun. In fact, its radius is a thousand times bigger, and it puts out one hundred thousand times more light. It will go supernova in a very short while, maybe in a million years or so. Then it will be seen from earth, as bright as the moon in the sky…”
“Wow”, said the Match stick. “I feel very small.”
He thought for a while, and then said, sadly:
“My light is… nothing compared with that. The Time I go by, is nothing compared with that. My knowledge….”
He sighed.
“I don’t really know much.”
There was a long silence.
“Hell, I know nothing.”
The Quiet Spirit smiled to himself. And, protectively, tucked the Match Stick in closer under his wing.

For He, very simply.

Loved that little fellow.

Aug 02, 2019, 21:36

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 1:31 pm

On getting Angry

September 19, 2019 in Short Story (spiritual quest)

'Hypocrite'

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group
Cosmic Wanderer August 1, 2019 04.00am

On getting Angry

I find it so dissatisfying to get angry. To feel myself getting my Irish fighting blood up. But when, predictably, retard Africans throw small children and their mothers in front of trains, and when, predictably, the great Liberal Thinkers, cocooned in their magnificence, merely yawn, coldly file their nails, (or instantly push out a dismissive “Sh*t happens, move on” propaganda line), I find it hard to think clearly. It's like I'm thinking through a film of red. Wanting to clutch my CNC, computer-mill home built AR-10, break out the ammo, and charge them all. Screaming. The keyboard clacks busily, and I fire off hot, angry, even bitter retorts.

But always, after a while, I sigh. Enough for now. Oh, we shall return to the fray. That war is coming to Europe, I am sure. It's already there. We just haven't seen the shrieking, machete wielding, mass bloody pogroms against White Christians. Yet.

But there is a time to be angry. To prepare. To Fight. There is also a time to wander the Cosmos. Quietly. Marveling. In silent awe. Like a Cosmic Helicopter Pilot, plying my old trade, but this time passing through portals. Visiting strange places, in lonely isolation. Admiring the human cell, a work house factory, busy, frenetic, at a microscopic level, beautifully orchestrated. Amazingly arranged. And all that brilliance… by chance? By happy accident? By the random workings of Time, and the chemical soup? That… is the predominant view. The official line, taught as gospel in schools. I, a renegade, always, with the scars to prove it…. don't buy it. It's too beautiful. To amazing. Irreducibly complex. You have to have it all working together, at the same time. The hurricane, that blows through the scrapyard, and perfectly assembles a Boeing 777…?

I plod my beating rotor blades past the mammoth star Betelgeuse, and I am in awe of this monster. The energy defies my limp verbiage. I wander a field, my hands touching grain, and wild flowers. A humming bird comes to my feeder. Clouds drift slowly by, overhead.

And I marvel. This… was all an accident?

A tiny voice, barely discernible, seems to whisper to me. Above the soft breeze, and past the myriads of confusions. Down the halls of Time, and in and out of dusty windows. Like petals falling, or dandelion seeds scattered by a small child. I see old vistas, and I hear an old melody. The wonder has never left me.

Is kindness only within? Does it reside only in our tired minds? A brief, fleeting, evolutionary oddity? An incentive to care for offspring? And the clan? To survive? And no more?

Or does it lie without? Is there a great well somewhere out there? A spring of Life? The source of wonders? Do my tiny steps, echoing down those halls of Time, matter?

Does anybody… care?

I feel suffocated. I walk outside. Pondering. The cold, iron bars of my cell, hemming me in, are still there.

But so. Are the stars…

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:50 pm

Question: "Is Kindness only within the mind?"

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest)

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group

Question: Is 'Kindness' only within the mind?

Or an external Presence, in the Cosmos? A benevolent Presence, that surrounds us. Or a figment of our imagination. Is it the unconscious cry for help, from a small, drowning, timid creature stuck on a rock , in the middle of the dark, cold, uncaring Universe?

When I was at boarding school, two of our teachers ran a debating society. With 3-man teams competing against one another. We would debate a motion. For, or against. I excelled at debate. The audience of peers and teachers would vote. I don't recall my team losing. A few days later, we would SWAP roles. Where I had been passionately arguing against, I now, with a perfectly straight face, 'sincerely' argued FOR. Often enough, not always, we won again.

The curiosity always stayed with me. I'm really curious to see your point of view, intelligently expressed. I'll even help you argue it out, because at some stage in the past, I was playing 'debating team', and arguing your case anyway.

I wonder if that's why I often seem to get along better with Atheists and Agnostics, than I do with many 'Christians'. I'm wide open to seeing somebody else's point of view. Curious, eager to, in fact. I'm put off by the dogmatic, unflinching, Bible bashing types that seem to puff themselves up, any chance they get. And it's off to the races. Or the sermon-lecture. It's all black and white. They are saved, and I am not. Or maybe, if I listen to them very meekly, they might help me to become saved. Huh?

I am a Christian. I think. But there are those who have indignantly said otherwise. Which leads me to ponder, often, what the difference is between little diffident moi, and those exalted, cocksure, super saved ones. I do so usually quite gently. No ax to grind, no sermon to bash, no hidden agenda to promote. Hell, no financial contributions asked for, either.

In the coming posts, I suspect, I shall gently bump my gums about the rocky road. The twists, turns, stumbles, and the drop-offs. Especially, the drop-offs. Traversing an abyss or two, one sure gets to peek down. Half way across. Holy Moly. It's dark down there.

Question: Is 'Kindness' only within the mind? Or an external Presence, in the Cosmos? A benevolent Presence, that surrounds us. Or a figment of our imagination. Is it the unconscious cry for help, from a small, drowning creature stuck on a rock , in the middle of the dark, cold, uncaring Universe?

I submit it surrounds us. That's my humble conclusion. That, and a dollar, will get you a lukewarm coffee somewhere.

I like to scribble, 'cos it helps me work things out. Doubtless, far greater minds on Gab will consider occasionally handing me down a sliver of their resounding brilliance.

I welcome that.

Jul 30, 2019, 13:14 ·

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:51 pm

On GAB, and 'diddley squat'

September 19, 2019 in Auto-biographical (spiritual quest), HolocaustGAB

Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group
Cosmic Wanderer July 30, 2019 03.15 am Insomnia…

On Gab, and 'diddley squat'

I have written six books, including two long novels.
That is not a boast, and hopefully, has not swollen my little Irish head. I am careful to remind myself it means diddley squat. A quiet morning in a public library always cures me of excess pride. As I wander, in a reverie, past thousands of books, and hidden writers' lives, that I cannot hope to all do justice to. Their thoughts, hopes, and dreams. Their struggles, pondering, and meticulous research. Who, indeed, am I? Save just another, tiny, curious, inquisitive mind? Peeking, like a little church mouse, out at the Universe? Exploring the Cosmos? Hoping, against the proven odds, to find Kindness?
Gab, despite its reputation as a haven of undesirables, has actually been a rich resource of interesting insights. Poignant truths. And unutterably sad revelations into the human condition. I studied one just now. And left a tiny comment. It leaves me weary, and depressed.
https://gab.com/TruthWillOut/posts/102523895054914513
The truth, you see, and I respectfully submit, is very different from the Jews-stream Hollywood version. And damning, too.

Gab's 3,000 character limit is a mere 500 words. A challenge to punch hard, yet briefly, at puzzles that have occupied my tiny mind, all my little, roaming, restless life. I shall continue the wander. And hopefully, meet kind souls, who will furnish an anecdote here, a reference there, here-a-hint, and there-an-insight. I doubt if I will particularly advertise or promote this group. It will more likely be a memory dump, a passing soul sigh, with a hint of the ephemeral.

I will always remember the years spent drifting around the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And the many thousands of nights, alone, lying on the helideck, gazing up at the stars. I describe the reverie in a humble story on my website (“Starry, starry night”), which has no literary merit. But does tap, like a persistent woodpecker, on a soft spot, in the bark of the tree of Life.
There is great, great, haunting, splendid Beauty out there. And the sense of the Presence of a Wonderful, Patient Creator. But here again, this mouse falters. For although he senses a Cosmic Kindness, a rational, sensitive, source of much Good, he knows that all too often, he has fled the company of strident, marching, l-o-u-d Christians. And even found greater kinship with intelligent, soft spoken Atheists and Agnostics.
Permit me, a lightweight mouse, not terribly bright, to wander & question. To prod & poke. Do chuck me the occasional morsel. A suggestion, or an anecdote.
And together, you and me, maybe we can sense the rocking of the ship, the soft breeze, the calls of sea birds, confused by the resting ship's lights.
The sleeping ship's generators intrude on the silence. Below decks, the crew, asleep in their bunks. But up here, on the helideck, stretched out along the float, a supine figure. Gazing up.
His tiny mind. Restlessly.
Whirring.

Jul 30, 2019, 04:11 · Web · 11 · 34[/font]

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 3:51 pm

Greetings, Pilgrim!

September 19, 2019 in Short Story (spiritual quest)

'SmileyCam'

(Posted in The Great Cosmic Kindness – Group)

Greetings, Pilgrim!

GAB seems to be gravitating from 'Topics' to 'Groups'. The advantages of 'groups' for sure are Mod ability to delete spam, porn, abuse, etc. The 'group' also implies people working together, problem solving, issue pondering, etc. That second aspect should be very much encouraged, I'm thinking.
So for a number of these reasons, and others, I'm going to set up a GROUP called “The Great Cosmic Kindness”. I'm guessing the TOPIC can stay as a collection of more serious, thought out, longer articles? And GROUP can be more ideas-spouting, off-the-cuff, hey-ho-Silver and here we go…?
We'll see how it goes. Anything to stir the thunking process.
+++++
A fellow Gabber has pointed out to me something that resonates: people are often just not that really interested in…. what some of us are quite fascinated by. I know that can apply to a host of subjects, from the mating habits of the common earth worm, to the chemical composition of the blue glaze commonly found on fourteenth century Ming Dynasty porcelain. So, in trying to be just a tad more specific, let me suggest for your quiet deliberation this troublesome critter:
The Great Cosmic Kindness
And I sense the 'hidden eye' of many glazing over. Interest vam-mooshing. Oh, Lordie, he's a…. (fill in the label).
And that exactly is what kinda bugs me. There is a terrible tendency to want to stick labels on anything and everything and everybody. You can almost sense the clacking of the traditional mental mechanical typewriter… the label…. then the stuffing-into-a-dusty-drawer process. And…
BAM!
The drawer slides shut. Amen. Onward to the next…
Label.
Yo! That's not thinking, brother! That's just taking the easy waltz around the ballroom. It's much more fun to stretch the emotional-spiritual elastic bands, twang 'em, let go, and see if you can bull's eye day-dreaming Theresa smack on the cheek. (and then run like heck).
So what is the Great Cosmic Kindness? I'm glad you asked. I dunno. Got some ideas. Which gives us a discussion maybe. And it's perfectly reasonable to propose that there is no such thing. Which is what I will do, mischievously, some of the time. Whilst at other times, volubly pointing out that not only does it exist, it's a really cool area for thunking.
People have often observed of my rambling verbal doodles, that they are infused with this-that-and-the-other. Yep, you guessed it: more labels.
Bleh.
I'm leery of labels. When people come marching along with “Laws”, I get a bit antzy. Learned, well studied, sincere folk have invested vast amounts of energy in an attempt to bring the esoteric down to simple laws for the ragged, unwashed plebs. Here's an example:

Law #18: The Law of Intention
When we hold our intentions in the mind and our physical actions do not follow false impressions are created. By carrying out acts of kindness we are allowing ourselves to grow. Good intentions make a difference.

Sigh. You know, whole books have been written along these lines, whole schools have been set up, and whole legions of wonderfully sincere people have wonderfully followed in the steps of wonderful masters.
I'm… not one of them. Duh.
I'm the nut who spent night after night, for months (years) on end, lying on his back on the rubber float of his helicopter, just gazing up at the stars.
In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, far away from industrial and urban light pollution, the stars are beautiful. And our folly as men, and the scars we carry, is judged and condemned with a silent, unspoken, sad head shake, from a million tiny points of light.

Last edited by Francis Meyrick on November 15, 2019, 1:29 pm