There is a school of thought, I believe it’s called Gnosticism, wherein the God of this decaying, dying material plane is seen as mad, and we, the individuated conscious monads are trapped, as it were, in his nightmare. The True God, being perfect, CANNOT have any intercession with the material plane, as that God is in a state of perfection beyond the material. Until we find the enlightenment of transcendent knowingness, we cannot, as it were, “Go Back to Godhead.” Until then, we continue, as Buddha said, “to reenter the womb,” to stay mired in physical reality, which is the stuff that, cyclically. always sickens, decays and dies. The world of Maya, the Illusion.
The dreams of the last few nights.
All I remember was moving into a dorm room at some Xtian college
with three rapacious girls.
They took down my Black Sun banner and image of Kali, which I had to hide.
Maybe they weren’t keen on sharing their dorm room with with a fashy Hindu fetishista
…. Anyway, we are all lying in bed (not the same one), and the room is getting progressively more crazily quilted with Xtian and girlie wall hangings spreading like undifferentiated tissue across the face of the sober, sundappled walls… Next, we are all in a bookstore at the mall together, and maybe this is 1997, and A and J are there. The Xtian girl has an ugly McGangbanger boyfriend, poisoned cornrows and a tattoo deftly and ugly sitting atop his brow, and I sit, we are all sitting in a line facing each other, and I try to palm read him. A, (with a disapproving face), gets up and walks away.
Next, riding in a van with J
And probably A too, and J is a brewer of microbeers. We are headed to a south Marion bar that is actually a dream college bar I have dreamed before.
We pass a business that says “Kim’s Oxycontin” on a billboard out front
and I laugh that they are allowed to advertise they sell Oxycontin. Once we get to the bar, the Xtian girls are there, walking around naked; no longer so Xtian.
They have enormous, tube-like cunts
as if someone has stuffed a vaccum cleaner attachment up there.
J is in another room, and I go ask him if he has a certain brew he can deliver.
He shakes his great hairy head
(The bar itself is a sort of weird, ramp-like affair, the bar wrapping around in a sort of square as it goes up to meet an upper level.)
The naked sluts are sitting next to some long-haired barbarian boy metalhead like a guy I use to work a shit job with as a fry cook, and I ask him if his tee shirt has a barbarian on it. He’s going to get the (huge, gaping) pussies, and me none of course, but I say
–You don’t want me, you want this guy.
Im a bookworm.
at the dorm putting posters or whatnot on the walls
and some hillbilly maintenance guy got blonde curly hair and a moustache is kneeling beside me examining the wall and he try to crack wise but I make fun of his stupid cracker accent and he get up all offended.
There is a story told of Lord Krishna. When he was a toddler at Brindavan, he liked to steal butter and cream. He was roundly scorned for this, and his mother told him he should take care never to do it again.
So, the next time the little Lord set about playing at the homes of his young friends, instead of making off with the butter, he grabbed a baby fistful of mud, ramming it into his mouth. His young friends, seeing what the baby had done, were offended, and went to tell his mother, Yashoda.
When he returned home, Lord Krishna’s mother said to him, “You awful, unthinking child! I will teach you never to put filthy mud into your mouth again!”
And she started to enact his punishment. Perhaps she was going to make him suck on a sour lemon, or even a cake of soap. We are not told. Whatever the case, though, when Lord Krishna opened his mouth, his mother was treated to an astounding sight:
She saw hills and valleys, trees and fields, rushing rivers, and vast craggy peaks. She saw mountainous rises and shallow dips, the twinkling, starlit array of diamonds in the black, vaulted firmament of heaven. She saw the planets, each with its own life, and the suns burning brightly in wonder, and the forgotten depths of the ocean floors, and even the raging waters of other worlds.
She, indeed, beheld the universe in the suckling infant’s mouth.
Lord Krishna’s mother fell to weeping, as she realized that Vishnu had come to earth in the form of her son.
(We imagine that, after that, he was treated to all the butter and cream he liked.)
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