Happy days

Recently a stray Muslim ventured onto a Forum that I frequent. There are only a few weirdo's like myself on the Forum, but the guy (I presume "guy" - although that I think covers all genders nowadays - I can' really keep up with it) He is basically posting spam, seeking to engage with those with the temerity to question the proclamation of any particular Islamic Imam, both of today or of the past. A quite pointless pursuit on this particular Forum, no one actually giving a hoot. This guy's posts have been called spam (remember the fine old Monty Python song, the lyrics of which go something like this:-

"Spam, spam, spam, spam

Spam, spam, spam, spam")

Take your pick

Catch the video on Youtube if you like, the entire sketch is quite funny, even if the words of the song are a bit repetitive.

But this poster is not to be deterred. He continues to argue Islamic dogmatics, each point supported by videos.

Well, I waffle, but I have tried to engage with this guy....a sample below (after a few words from Seneca):-

Hello again *******, is there actually a human being there? Can you respond, inter-act, with others? Are you human flesh and blood?

Me, I'm in McDonald's now, fortified with caffeine, and ready to go again.

I'm not totally against pouring over ancient books, looking for guidance and inspiration. Maybe once I looked for "truth" there, but "truth" is a nebulous thing, always on the move, and ultimately not found in letters. Jesus was once asked:- "What is truth" and gave no answer. In fact, he did, in as much as the truth is a human being, and a human being was standing there in the dock - sadly, where most human beings stand, fearing and waiting for the judgement of their peers, the theologians, and anyone else who wants to hurl the first stone.

Jesus with the adulteress - What was written?

But, whatever, no, not totally against "searching the scriptures daily" for just maybe life can be found in them. I love Jewish history, and the various stories of the rabbis, who would often, in the ghettos and hiding from persecution, would dispute joyously with each other over the words of the Law, which they loved. Throwing verses at each other, rejoicing at what they found revealed to them, there, then, in ancient words. They did this in Warsaw, before the Nazi's came and destroyed their lives and culture, before being hauled off to be turned into soap or pillow stuffing by the Master Race, the  Ubermensch of Nietzsche. But I think, back then, among themselves, rejoicing in the Law, the word became Word. In human hearts.

Children's art from a Jewish ghetto, pre WW2 - where did the children go?

But the Word is always on the move. Sorry, people like yourself, in effect turn the words to stone, then use the stones to throw at others who just might understand them in some other way.

An alternative to stones

Doesn't every Surah in the Quran begin with "Allah, the all merciful"? Can't you just leave it there and stop all the nonsense? Just understand those simple words? Why does anyone really want a commentary? But whatever, good luck with your own "deeds", hope your "reward" is to your satisfaction, that the decision goes in your favour.

Well, I ramble. I waffle. Maybe a bit of William Blake, who spoke to angels. From "The Everlasting Gospel":-

The Vision of Christ that thou dost see

Is my Visions Greatest Enemy

Thine has a great hook nose like thine

Mine has a snub nose like to mine 

Thine is the Friend of All Mankind

Mine speaks in parables to the Blind

Thine loves the same world that mine hates

Thy Heaven doors are my Hell Gates

 

And:-

What was it that he brought to Light

That Plato & Cicero did not write 

The Heathen Deities wrote them all

These Moral Virtues great & small

What is the Accusation of Sin

But Moral Virtues deadly Gin

The Moral Virtues in their Pride 

 Did over the World triumphant ride

In Wars & Sacrifice for Sin

And Souls to Hell ran trooping in

The Accuser Holy God of All

This Pharisaic Worldly Ball 

 Amidst them in his Glory Beams

Upon the Rivers & the Streams

Then Jesus rose & said to me

Thy Sins are all forgiven thee

William Blake - who spoke with Angels

Well, there you go. Stick with that Pharisaic Worldly Ball if you so wish, keep pouring over the words, seeking to prove yourself "right", win a few arguments, feel satisfied that you are in the camp of the "right-thinkers". 

Must go.

In, but not of, the words

Anne Atik

 Strange today, getting on the bus into town and whipping out my Kindle. I'd recently cleared out the downloaded library and not much was left, the biography of Samuel Beckett, "Damned to Fame" and a history book, "Rubicon", on the downfall of the Roman Republic. 

My library defaulted to the Beckett biography, right to the beginning. The author, James Knowlson, quoted a portion of a poem by Anne Atik, someone I had never heard of. I must have read this before but more than likely skimmed through it, eager to get to the actual biography. I did vaguely remember but it had left no impression. This time the words gripped, caught my mind/heart, spoke deeply of words, life - and having now read the biography - very much now of Samuel Beckett himself, his flesh and blood.

Samuel Beckett

The  excerpt:-

A Bible-reading man, he came and left between two holy days he didn’t much observe: 

the Good Friday of his birth, near the Christmas of his death.

His life between, a pilgrim’s progress with a smile

 for what he saw along the way and wrote of,

 oversleeping, age and hope and sloth.

Then saw, and wrote of, wrenched along the way,

 age and hope and helpless weeping. But he would have, reading those two states, rejected both

 as most remotely holding but one part or more than minute dose

 of the inexpressible, whole truth of how it is, it was.

He showed the shortest way to get across a line like this: 

crossed out such words as these to get to

 speechlessness. 

He crossed out rivers to get to their stones.

To get to the bottom, when the crisis is reached and truth-telling begins.

Whatever he knew he knew to music.

He found the pace for misery, 

matched distress to syncope, and joke to a Beethoven stop at the punch line.

But thought that he’d failed to find failure’s pulse.

What that says about failure, music, and us.

Where is the "meaning" of such words? Surely in relationship, hovering in cyberspace, waiting for connection, waiting for a mind/heart to hear and thus know a more intimate reality, a movement toward Buddha. The present moment is the only moment, but..........

"To get to the bottom, when the crisis is reached and truth-telling begins."

 Where and how does the truth-telling begin? What is the "one way" to the hidden ground of love that "has no explanation" - and needs none? 

Beckett was a "bible reading man", but not of the self proclaimed devout kind that drips a nauseating piety, one that sets each word into a pre-ordained theology taught and learnt from birth - creating certitudes that are equated with the "guidance of the spirit", leaving only a mind/heart of judgement of anyone or anything that would challenge the "truth" as now witnessed to and affirmed.

Thomas Merton - Sombrero......or halo?

And how do we get to "speechlessness"? My mind wanders again to Chuang Tzu, as translated by Thomas Merton:-

The purpose of words is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped, the words are forgotten. Where can I find one who has forgotten words? That is the one I would like to talk to.

Certainly, in this time of so many words, with so many seeking to convince, to indoctrinate, to ensnare within their system, how refreshing it would be to hear the one who has forgotten words.

How would they tie their shoelaces?

 

Joseph and His Brothers

 I'm nearing the end of Thomas Mann's long book, "Joseph and His Brothers". Almost 1500 pages, in small type. As long as "War and Peace"? Not sure, but it has often seemed like it. 

Thomas Mann - like Joseph's coat

Way back I read a portion of the book but dropped it at the point where Joseph hit the fleshpots of Egypt. It was quite a labour then, the translation that I was reading turning Thomas Mann's German into some sort of King James Bible language. I assumed at the time that this was how Thomas Mann had originally written it in German, but apparently this was not so. Just a few years ago I read of a new translation that dispensed with such stilted diction (a diction maybe suitable for the Word of God, especially among the fundamentalist fraternity who perhaps equate it with depth and authenticity - but not for a novel such as this)

Everyman (for himself?)

Learning of such a new translation, my yearning to pick up where I had left off took roots. Let's face it, who can resist the lure of fleshpots, real or imagined? Anyway, I ordered a copy of this new translation, the Everyman Edition. When it arrived I found the small font size very daunting, but a strange determination to get the job done took hold, irrespective of my poor old eyes and the flickerings of blepharospasm. I decided to take the book with me for my stints on the till at Oxfam every tuesday, anticipating reading a small portion while listening to my favourite music. 

The world of Enid Blyton - no fleshpots here

So it has been. For two years or so I have taken the book with me and read about twenty pages or so each session. A labour of love, if often more labour than love. Much of the text is out of my league as far as the allusions and meanings and implications of Thomas Mann are concerned - maybe back to Enid Blyton next? The Secret Seven or the Faraway Tree?

Nevertheless the story is well known, at least to me, and the forward momentum of the narrative kept me going. A great story, even without the fleshpots!

 

Look for the fleshpots in vain

I must say though that the "forward momentum" did stumble just a bit when the wife of the Pharaoh began to fancy Joseph and she sought to manipulate a meeting of bodies, hers and his, this while retaining her righteousness and self-respect! The equivocation and prevarication went on and on for well over 100 pages, and there was I gagging for the juicy bits to begin. But then, really, seriously, what did I really expect but more of Thomas Mann's fine prose - Fifty Shades of Grey it is not! 

End of the road

But as I say, nearing the end now. A mere 100 or so pages to go. Even reading a few pages here in McDonald's, trying to get the job done and dusted. 

No need to issue a Spoiler Alert, as the story is well known. The final reconciliation of the brothers is still to come - and that I can understand. Reconciliation. Of all things......

 "And the fire and the rose are one"

I just love a happy ending. 

Note:-

Joseph's story is told in Genesis (37–50). Joseph, most beloved of Jacob's sons, is hated by his envious brothers. Angry and jealous of Jacob's gift to Joseph, a resplendent “coat of many colours,” the brothers seize him and sell him to a party of Ishmaelites, or Midianites, who carry him to Egypt.Thomas Mann, however, begins his book with the story of Joseph's father, Jacob, who steals the birthright of his older twin brother Esau from their father, Isaac. Mann ends it with the reconciliation of Joseph with his brothers, Joseph by then having risen to high rank in Egypt by interpreting Pharaoh's dreams.

If you google "Jacob and Essau" or "Joseph and his brothers" you will be offered various versions. You will also be offered various "meanings" of the stories, the "lessons to be learnt". Such can be taken or left. So it goes. 

Heading for 300 blogs

Heading for the light - or 300 Blogs

Just a poem for this blog. Losing my best mate this year, this just says it all. Feeling quite emotionally raw at the moment. Reading a biography of Samuel Beckett, "Damned to Fame", Beckett was quite affected by the words - his own life was nearing its end - and apparently his play "What Where" reflected this in part. He had lost many old friends in just a few short years. 

 Oft, in the Stilly Night (Scotch Air)

BY THOMAS MOORE

Oft, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,

Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me;

The smiles, the tears,

Of boyhood’s years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm’d and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber’s chain hath bound me,

Sad memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends, so link’d together,

I’ve seen around me fall,

Like leaves in wintry weather;

I feel like one

Who treads alone

Some banquet-hall deserted,

Whose lights are fled,

Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed!

Thus, in the stilly night,

Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,

Sad memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

Request

 

I find writing this Blog therapeutic. The words come out from me without trying to convince anyone of anything. I thrive on correspondences and associations of words, I love quotes. 

Please, to anyone reading this blog, could you perhaps think of a quote from anyone, or any source, that supplements any particular blog entry? It can be posted in the comments section quite easily. 

(This blog has now received over 18,000 hits spread over about 20 countries - it really would be nice to get a few responses. Thank you)

Goodbye to all that

 

Well, finally I am able to dip into the Christian New Testament without an undercurrent of memories and associations surfacing from days gone by, when I got involved with a fundamentalist sect of "One Way" born-againers. My involvement never lasted long - any mind/heart, truly open to the Spirit (as we all are), must surely see through the sheer travesty of the theology championed by such people.

"One Way". Their way! In subsequent discussions with such, on various forums, I have often tried to argue that the "One Way" can never be some theological formula or creed, can not even be encapsulated into words at all. And in a way, they have often agreed, speaking of the necessity of a personal relationship with Jesus. But sadly, they cannot see the implications of this. If this "relationship" is not compatible with a whole string of Bible verses - not compatible in fact with their very own life experience - it is denounced and rejected.

Thomas Merton:- 

But the magicians keep turning the Cross to their own purpose. Yes, it is for them too a sign of contradiction: the awful blasphemy of the religious magician who makes the Cross contradict mercy. This of course is the ultimate temptation of Christianity. To say that Christ has locked all doors, has given one answer, settled everything and departed, leaving all life enclosed in the frightful consistency of a system outside of which there is seriousness and damnation, inside of which there is the intolerable flippancy of the saved - while nowhere is there any place left for the mystery of the freedom of divine mercy which alone is truly serious, and worthy of being taken seriously.

Flippancy

Once or twice I have quoted bits and pieces of Merton to the ardent fundamentalists and he has been  dismissed as "facile" and of no consequence, one person even insisting that he should have been thrown out of his monastery because of certain improprieties! Talk about mercy! 

In the beginning

But whatever, I could drone on, but I do finally think/find that the "flippancy" of the self-proclaimed "saved" has been washed out of my system. I can read the prologue to St John's Gospel and hear the echoes of so many words and thoughts and beliefs of so many of our world's great faith traditions. There is a Living Truth beyond the words, yet always, paradoxically, found in them. 

Looking for the deed?

What exactly the Living Truth is awaits the next moment, the next relationship, the next exchange of words with others, our next activity in this world, where nirvana and samsara are "one" (not two!)

In the beginning was the Word, or as Goethe has said:-

In the beginning was the deed.

Deed and word as "one".

Related Quotes:-

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him. Without him was not anything made that has been made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness hasn’t overcome it.

(St John's Gospel)

It is my belief that we should not be too sure of having found Christ in ourselves until we have found him also in the part of humanity that is most remote from our own........God speaks, and God is to be heard, not only on Sinai, not only in my own heart, by in the voice of the stranger.

(Thomas Merton, from "Emblems of a Season of Fury")

At the dentists

 In the waiting room at the dentists at the moment. Not the best place to be but it does beat waiting at bus stops - at least here a dentist will (I hope) eventually turn up, call my name and get out his drill. Then again, plenty now who are unable to access any dentist at all - all part of post-brexit "Global Britain" with the pot-holes, constant border delays, long National Health waiting lists and much else, where those responsible for the debacle, the lies and the misery, can look forward to appearances on "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here" for a payment of £350,000. Nice reward for causing the deaths of thousands in the UK's Care Homes during Covid. No shame! And dear old Liz Truss, who trashed the UK economy in a mere 45 days before being thrown out, now publishing a book "Ten Years to Save the West". Unbelievable, truly unbelievable. Save the West? 

Beware the Deep State!

Then we have dear old Donald Trump. To open his mouth is to lie. On trial now for some fraud  perpetrated back in 2016, widely tipped to become President once more of the "Leaders of the Free World", just so long as he can avoid the shackles of the "deep state" - the new bogey words for anything at all that thwarts pure ego-mania (I think Liz Truss uses the term) Standing in his way of course is Joe Biden, into his eighties. Is he capable of another 4 years before finally keeling over for good, once and for all? Can a once great nation produce nothing better than these two options. So much for the American Dream, where a farm boy can rise to the top by effort and a handful of dreams. 

Well, I am ranting. And while at it, this blog has now had over 18,000 hits, spread over many many countries. I do love to just waffle on while in McDonald's and in many ways it is simply therapeutic, irrespective of any response. But sometimes I just wish someone, somewhere, would make a comment. The option is available. I did ask at one point for any reader to offer some related quote of their own - I feed upon correspondences and associations. Simple enough to do. No one has to agree with me on anything.

But whatever, I will plough on, casting my words into the wind, into cyberspace. 

All the best to all my readers.

Thank you