Plague Journal, Heaven Or Hell
Today is Tuesday. Retired, reminding myself that today is Tuesday. Without the rhythm of a workplace one can become disoriented as to one’s placement in time. Let’s face it, life is often disorienting. Circumstances can change in a “New York minute.” I like that phrase. It captures the visible and palpable flux of street level of a great city.
My day begins with a bowl of cheerios and a banana. I take nourishment while reading the emails that arrived after hours. I received a reply from a friend describing collapse of what were tenuous ties within a family, a “total loss” if you will which entailed my friend finding alternate living quarters for himself. I wrote back to assure him that he took the only action that was reasonable under those circumstances. To sacrifice one’s self-regard, one’s integrity to the immaturity of others, is like rushing into an empty burning building.
I think that the world is burning. It is always burning somewhere, but not everywhere.
At last the efforts of many individuals, and a flotilla of tug boats have freed the Ever Given container ship that was cattywompus in the Suez Canal. Shipping traffic is backed up for days on both sides of the obstruction. This ship, jammed sideways into the shallow bank of the canal, is eight feet shy of a quarter mile long. I spent some days on a freighter once, making my way to Japan. This was before containers were the standard means of shipping freight. I was 20 at the time. I thought that ship was large. By comparison, it was not large.
I received another email from a friend offering a link to a website which offers a rationale for “conservative,” right-wing thinking. The link to the site is emblazoned by a small confederate flag logo. I will visit the website later today to refresh my understanding of how the descendants of the slave traders, of the old slave-holding Planters are thinking at this present moment in time. Can there possibly be any cogent argument for racism, for White superiority, for misogyny, for our heritage as a slave holding (human trafficking) nation? The question does not merit an answer.
My daughter is designing and constructing several trellis for placement around our home. This morning she brought my attention to a selection of clematis vines that are offered by a local nursery. She will select three of the plants which we hope will bloom in a magnificence of color from Midsummer until early Fall. Of course this depends upon the cooperation, the kindness of Nature — rainfall and sunlight in balanced proportion. Life depends upon kindness.
This tune is something we can hold onto for leverage, to get through this day. What kind of life is possible without music?
Hotel California
By The Eagles
On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell”
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here
Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget
So I called up the Captain
“Please bring me my wine.”
He said, “We haven’t had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine.”
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin’ it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis
Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said “We are all just prisoners here, of our own device”
And in the master’s chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can’t kill the beast
Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
“Relax,” said the night man
“We are programmed to receive
You can check-out any time you like
But you can never leave!”
4 thoughts on “Plague Journal, Heaven Or Hell”
“You can check-out any time you like,
but you can never leave!”
“Keep me free from birth” – George Harrison (I’ve forgotten the songs title)
The Buddhist goal of Nibbana: Liberation is freedom from rebirth. One of the few and not so subtle differences between Theravadan and Mahayanan Buddhism is that in the Mahayanan ‘school’ , one cannot achieve complete Liberation until all sentient beings have, while in the Theravadan view if one achieves Liberation than; “Receive it. Congratulations on a job well done !”
Another difference along those views is who the ‘historic Buddha ‘was: in the Theravadan view he was just another sentient being as you and I that achieved Liberation in his lifetime. In the Mahayanan view he had been the Buddha for a thousand lives and would remain so for another thousand.
As Buddhism spread out from it’s origins in northern India (Theravadan), it took on the flavor of the different cultures it arrived in. Accordingly, by the time it spread to Tibet and other areas, while remaining the same fundamentally, it ‘looked’ different.
An interesting aside to all this is one evening the Chair of Eastern Studies and Religion at Northwestern University came to the sangha I attended in Bartlett, that served the large Sri Lankan community there. After his discussion we spoke personally and somehow wound up at the topic of ‘the Bhagavad Gita’, which I suspect many here have read or have knowledge of. A passage in this work is what Dr. Oppenheimer referred to when his ‘gadget’ was exploded in the Nevadan desert. Recall that the passage referred to in the narrative is when Krishna revealed himself to Argen as the Buddha. His scholarly work is that it was written by Hindu priests to stem the rising tide of Buddhism in Hindu India; if there was no God (much less three of them) the priests would be out a job. No need to explain the difference between rebirth and reincarnation.
A lengthy comment so I will leave it to y’all to mull over.
Blessings
So no need of a “church” or of clergy….. Well then who is to be responsible for organizing the festivals, the practices which we like-minded find so meaningful? As social creatures we cannot preserve our humanity without coming together. Someone has to be the focus, to administer the detail of the events. Call those people what you will. Those responsibilities demand a professional level of excellence, and of pay. A philosophy or religion must be institutionalized if it is to be preserved. Believer-volunteers will not get the job done.
Indeed. Go stand outside your front door and shout out that you are throwing a party; sooner or later you’ll get takers.
In the later sixties I rode with a ‘fellowship of likeminded motorcycles enthusiasts’. We needed very little excuse for a party. Dang, back then I thought everyday a party, thus fulfilling my role in the Grand Going Away Party for the Piscine Age.
Blessings
If and when this COVID plague is behind us…. throwing a big party is exactly what I plan to do. Maybe roast a whole pig.