Tag Archives: Christianity

Agnosis…

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It’s not important to remember days, and wonder
why has our time become so slow;
it doesn’t matter anymore if there’s no thunder,
after the rain, before the bow…

It matters not why in our backyard’s desert,
there are no camels and the Bedouins have left;
what truly matters is a sense of water,
illusion wildly clenching to my chest…

Tired, alone and ravaged by disasters,
battled by winds having no taste of sea,
sold by myself to unforgiving masters,
too thin to die, too obvious to see…

In no-man’s land they’re selling cheap allotments,
graveyards to be, or not to be;
some weird biochemical arrangements,
for my abandoned christmas tree…

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5th of April 4th, 1984…

“what does the LORD require of you but to do justice…”

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One of the Bible’s (OT and/or NT) foremost statements, mentions God’s topmost requirements from mankind, which is “to love/do justice…”
Well, if mankind’s self-righteous, mostly fundamentalist “christian” crowd would heed this basic advice, they would have to stone their god and his accomplices, simply because these scriptural books are by far, whosoever’s most blatant record of injustice against mostly unsuspecting innocents.
My inner rage against this sadistic display of injustice is paired only by a cancerous pain and sorrow for the countless victims of this merciless religion, closely followed by it’s prequel, judaism, and it’s sequel, islam, all just patched-up versions of ancient, human sacrifices requesting religions.
Because it’s utterly hard for me to decide if child sacrifices to Moloch were more vicious than leaving an entire nation to centuries of Egyptian slavery, or the sacrifice of a god’s son for the “sins” of others, or the raising to power of a god’s inquisitorial vicars, or eventually the public maiming of petty thieves, or hanging of infidels…
To expect the love of justice from heirs of countless generations of victims of gross injustice, amounts to a sadism against which the Inquisition’s methods could be considered as mere colloquialism.
A “story” we were told by one of the most idiotic zealots to call himself a “pastor” I have ever encountered, story which regardless if true or purely fictional, would make nevertheless a good point to what this so called “justice” is all about.
The tale speaks about soviet psychopath Joseph Stalin, inviting a western official to a protocol visit to his Kremlin. After usualties, the guest(s) asks Stalin about how could such a system manage to keep such a large nation into what couldn’t be called as less than oppressed submission? Stalin asked one of his attendants to bring him in, a live chicken. To the obvious shock of his guest(s), Stalin proceeds to pluck all poor live chicken’s feathers off, causing visible and violent injuries, and wounds to the innocent bird. He then calmly throws a handful of breadcrumbs on his own booted feet, laying the scared animal nearby. After a few moments of confusion, and as if nothing seems to have happened, the bleeding, naked bird starts to obnoxiously pick up the crumbs, feeding from atop the boots still sustaining the hands which savagely tortured her.
“You see?”, asked Stalin of his quietly shocked guests, “you can do whatever you want to your people, as long as you remember to feed them…”
Doesn’t this tragically resemble to all bleeding and naked religious yard-birds, thankfully saying “grace” over the usually just-about sufficient meals “provided” by the same god who just some weeks or months or years ago have maybe killed their children, husbands or wives, parents or any other loved ones, silently allowed a few world wars, a few holocausts, scripturally condones slavery, genocide, infanticide, just to name a few of these “how can’t you see” ones?
Unfortunately though, not all naked and wounded human chicken of this world have access to the scarcely provided crumbs.
The poor majority linger in overcrowded social ghettoes, silently awaiting for their well-fed gods to remember them when the time for the next culling-war of the useless’ time has come…
Allow me please, to leave you with some food-for-thought.
About some more than a decade ago, I was part of christian prison ministry, which included the highest security prison of a central European country. Only life-terms, over twenty years imprisonment for multiple and/or aggravated murder and others as such were given the “privilege” to “live” there.
On one occasion, the team leading pastor drifted downstairs with a group of Q&A, leaving me behind, alone and scared with the rest of this “elite” crowd…
One particular individual stood my way towering over my own more than 6 feet with his  7 feet and over 150 kg, asking the following:
“Is it worth being faithful to god and his commandments?”
“Of course,” I replied, “because god is love, and he has the best plan for all of us, regardless of what we’ve done!”
To which he sternly replied:
“I wonder what Job may have had to say to that…”
I left in silence, as on those dim stairs, for this locked-up for life inmate, my god-defending theology would have proved as irrelevant and humiliating, as all other religions. Because only after I have lost – as an already devout trainee minister – my own first two precious children, I understood why I should never again mention that god gave back Job more riches and more children than before.
To this day, not even the daily sight of my other precious children can ease the tormenting pain caused by the loss of my first two…
Because only a mercantile bastard would expect to be worshipped for giving “other” children to someone whose children he assassinated in the first place.

-to be continued…-

4th of April 4th, 1984…

Self-Inflicted hope, against inflicted hopelessness…

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As previously mentioned, hopelessness must be deliberately inflicted -and to a certain extent accepted- in order to exist. Thus neither hopelessness nor hope should be considered as “normal”, simply because they can’t be; no one would ever need hope in a world where expectations would not arise from unmet needs and growing frustrations. And with hope useless, hopelessness would become obsolete, superfluous. Hopelessness therefore must be inflicted upon authority’s mostly unwilling subjects, through an intricately designed, perpetual scheme of vexatious sufferings, always paired with poverty or its threatening prospect. Hope, as its emotionally balancing counterpart, could exist only where hopelessness has been previously induced, maintained.
Hope is authority’s most cleaver device, offered freely as a substitute for everything and anything between lasting happiness and long life, there to soothe all pain, pacifier for authority’s -fooled into submission- subjects. But the matter’s sadistic twist resides in hope’s need to be self-inflicted, taken and swallowed upon offer, never to be pushed down anyone’s (un)suspecting throat.
Yes, hope must be self-inflicted in order to release its pseudo-rewarding, pseudo-hormones; after all, we were “created” with free will, which means inflicted hope would transform us into machines, isn’t it…?
Sancta semplicitas…
It is so hard to understand now, my own two decades of self-inflicted blind hope called “Christianity”… Hard and humiliating because I wholeheartedly believed it against all sane logic and reason, continuously living the guilt of blaming myself for any emotional failure to abide by its ideology, guilt commonly known as desperation. Because all it’s left for hope if not self-inflicted, falls into desperation’s ever changing maze, with minotaurs of doubt awaiting their prey at every – not prayed for – corner… Christianity’s madness has gone so far as of dumbing otherwise intelligent people into oftentimes praying for “nothing bad to happen” even if there isn’t any foreseeable reason for fear.
It seems as “I’ll be with you always” has its serious problems to be met only by “Ye shall hope I’ll be with your hopes, always…”

-to be continued …-

Photo: http://m.izleneo.com/nazim-hikmet-ran-siiri-hayati-iskalama-luksun-yok/

“Guard your heart, above all…”

or Orwell’s 1984, revisited…

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“Who controls the past, controls the future…
…who controls the present, controls the past.”
George Orwell

It’s never been easy to return… Anywhere…
Especially to places echoing unwanted memories, long gone past times stubbornly alive and well enough to torn -always nearly- healed wounds. Then comes the bleeding, the tears, and the eagerly seeking emotional “healers”, ready to open another “friendly wound” nearby, just to reassure themselves a higher place in some heavenly Disneyland…

Having -to some degree, and to the outspoken surprise of many- successfully baptised in two (1st, 2nd) former articles, Orwell’s “1984” onto a -never intended by the author- creationist pamphlet, I decided to return for a much needed revision of the past, motivated by my newly found liberty of thinking, in a honesty driven attempt to do some justice to both Orwell and myself.

To shortly summarise it, I don’t believe anymore in a biblical creationism which’s originator is supposed to be a deity not at all impressed by the worldwide daily torture and genocide of innocent humans, with a tragic emphasis on children -all for his glory-.
I never believed either, because there’s nothing neither rational nor logic to believe in, evolutionism, having settled myself into believing in mankind’s absolute depravity, in a world where the one thing worth living for, is the love of those who love you… And if no one loves you, read Philip Pullman’s “His Dark Materials” monumental Trilogy and you’ll see, you’re not alone!

Having said that, I shall proceed to using the introductory quote in a much more simple fashion than that of some fans, who like to over-complicate Orwell even when that hasn’t seem to have been intended by Orwell himself. Because it is as clear as an evening’s shadow, that Orwell’s statement is nothing more than a very logical statement of the obvious. Or, to have it a bit straightened, who controls the past, does that from the same present from where the future is highly influenceable too.
In my -actually our-, rather awkward case, the past starts exactly where any logical inquiry should start, at the unknown, precise moment of our collective origins, shrunk for practicality’s sake only to humankind’s.
To be frank, no one has the slightest, absolutely comprehensive idea of what and how it was, or about who has done it, I myself joining therefore the ever swelling number of the “ain’t got a clue” club, with its daily multiplying group, or individual branches, all based on fairly unclear preferences.

As the main reason of this “revisit” is an utmost determined attempt to change the present-influencing past, I have to humbly remind my reader that the “YouTube” called devilish invention (cursed be its name), stubbornly stores hours of my past, of which as much as I would dream about, I can’t dissociate myself. As a matter of fact, some of the issues discussed there still occupy the “convictions” shelves of my intellectual stand, those having to do with what Pullman called “experimental theology”, as they deal with both scientific and spiritual matters, an otherwise just fancy terminology for the seen and the unseen…
Unfortunately still, probably several thousands of gullible Christians are still being spoon-fed by interested groups and individuals with things I’ve honestly said in a recent past when I believed and vigorously defended every single thing I’ve said; nevertheless, that’s not the case anymore…
It was exactly the rigour of facts against make-beliefs which convinced me to take everything I’ve adhered to, down to those infrastructural basics where not even Paul the Apostate’s “hopeful belief” could paint over the plain, factual truth.

What can I do about it, now?

Well, exactly what you Dear Reader can see for yourself: writing out my heart, the one about I’ve so painstakingly learned it is not the root of all evil, but the one true fountain of anything left good in us, oftentimes so stained and tired that it does nothing but wrong, thus hopelessly crying out for help…

Do I control the past? Yes, by all means, if I am at any subsequent time able to take a stand against anything I’ve done in it, I am controlling it.
Can I repair the wrongs I’ve done in the past? Yes, by all means, if I am able to -at any possible level- address what I’ve done in it, I already started repairing the damage caused… All of it? Oh, come on!
We’ve got a problem, us humans, with this “all” concept of ours, which robs us of the so many, literally infinite satisfactions, sacrificed at the feet of our self-made gods of an inexistent “perfection”.
Nothing’s perfect, no, and sorry all you religious folks, your gods are no exception, otherwise how do you think we’ve gotten all this, historically proven c**p? Out of something “perfect”? Oh, please, would you grow up?
Any “all” has a start which none of us knows where and when it will end, bearing within like a seed’s germ, what’s going to grow of it.
There’s no wholeness, no perfection, just parts of an unknown infinite, where nothing has any meaning without it’s vicinity, where right and wrong have become mere points of view, and one’s life seems to always be, someone else’s death…
There is nevertheless a beautiful common sense of good, the one reflected back through the eyes of innocent little children!
They haven’t learned to lie yet…

Life sucks, my friends, or as the wise uncle Solomon has put it, “All is vanity.”
As a matter of fact, I should start a “new” religion based entirely on the biblical Book of Ecclesiastes…

Unfortunately for me, “There’s nothing new under the sun…”

“Northern Lights”, (“His Dark Materials”) by Philip Pullman – The Liberty of Thinking 2

2. On Mind Tricks, Lyra’s Oxford, Northern lights, Daemons and Dust

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“The trick […] is not minding that it hurts.” David Lean’s “Lawrence of Arabia”

I must confess I haven’t seen this movie, “Lawrence of Arabia”… The quote caught me from within Ridley Scott’s “Prometheus”, and wrote it down -as soon as I could- on one of Pullman’s Trilogy’s first cover pages, without knowing at that time the “rational” reason for doing so. It just felt right, as some sort of meta-communicative bridge between worlds hiding within their cores the same thought-old questioning of our own origins. And even if clarity/ transparency may lack from the wrapping crust of these worlds, or even if the movie quote may fail to show at first glance any bridge-likeness, the fact remains: mankind has become a conditioned mass of cyborg-like creatures, endlessly repeating irrelevant but more and more convincing mantras aimed at numbing the hurtful obsession about “why does it have to hurt”? Because you see, facts demand factual explanations, and since hurtful pain IS fact, it cannot be dealt away by tales made in the twilight shadowed rooms from above Vatican’s even darker archives…

Lyra’s Oxford resembles way too much to the labyrinthical corridors of all earthly powers, where feverish minds decide what’s “heaven’s” best for us, somehow always forgetting to ever ask for some sort of delegation of interests and authority, from those in whose names they pretend to be acting.
Interesting enough, Lyra’s private “little” world seems to have stretched from grim sculls hiding catacombs, through servant swarming kitchens and robe hanging wardrobes, to her favourite heights, innocent little fiddler on the rooftops of unseen -soon to be cut open- new dimensions…

Northern lights have been my life-long favourites, being utterly convinced of their angelic origins. They were -all through the religiously devoted period of my life-, dimensions transcending robes of angels, standing guard at the gates of forbidden worlds. The more time went by, and the more I watched pictures and documentaries about them, the more my convictions became stronger, in spite of condescending looks from my rather scientifically trained friends and colleagues. Regardless of my own theological training, little have I known prior to reading Pullman’s trilogy, that in Lyra’s Oxford “experimental theology” is the equivalent of science, with a seemingly clearer understanding of the much more personal -than thought- forms and identities of the unseen…

It is truly relevant to notice that Pullman settles the first part of his Trilogy in a world he seems to be knowing more about than his/our own “scientific” one, shown throughout in the detailed understanding of the intimate relationship between men and their daemons, which must be stemming from depths where few have ventured, and even them, fringe-landers of a rather psychoanalytical sort…
Humans, witches and armoured bears, all have in common either their daemons, or as revealed about armoured bears, their longing for them…
Pullman’s lexical choice for naming the soul-entity of these characters, bears the true mark of any revolutionary with a cause-flag worth bringing its bearer right in the middle of ecclesiastical crossfires, because nothing rings a more unpleasant set of bells than the word “daemon”, archenemy of any New Testament heaven daydreamer, even though the original benevolent concept gained its ill famed “contemporary” meaning in the inquisitorial crucibles of Christianity…
The daemon is one’s very own, inner being, that part of all of us from where sometimes congruent, other times divergent thoughts emerge, usually our “opposite sex” side, with which we should learn to communicate in a much more intelligent manner than the occasional curses thrown following a missed hammer hit… Lyra’s horror reached its climax every time she saw a person without a daemon, exactly because of the tormenting thought about the loneliness awaiting anyone without this perfect, most intimate match for their souls, soul-mate(s) indeed…
Unfortunately, humans have forgotten to communicate with their own depths, arriving at the (painfully well-known for many) dead-ends of themselves, condemned to what some have called “cosmic loneliness”, desperate remoteness of psychotic existences, treasuring what’s left to them: scattered anti-depressants smelling of dirty sock and condoms used long ago, desperately stuck to bottoms of filthy drawers…
Pullman has done what not many dared before him (except for denominational protesters and others alike…), that is to free himself and all those ready to follow his heroic example, onto the liberty of thinking his own (not anyone else’s) thoughts about both his private and also his collective existence…
Lyra’s second name, Belacqua, regardless of any Dantesque echoes, means “beautiful water”, which makes an absolute portrait of not only Lyra’s translucent, “heart on sleeves” character, but also of its adaptability to extremes, impossibility of containment outside something truly suitable, with metaphoric hints at this beautiful water’s vital role, to become much clearer by the Trilogy’s end.
Having said these, I’ve arrived at this all important, yet utterly secretive meta-existent entity called Dust. I apologise for the rather more confusing than clarifying just-previous attempt to pre-define Dust, calling to my defence nevertheless, no other than the Trilogy’s author himself, who in a recent interview about an approximate date for the publishing of his next, final follow-up volume, confessed that in this volume everything concerning Dust, shall become clear…
And if the author’s own life-line thrown unto all who still struggle to understand this all-important entity/concept still lays half-length in his hands, I shall do no more than stating for now, that Dust is existence itself, both before and after it rose to different levels of consciousness, cause and effect shaper of everything seen and unseen.

(to be continued…)

Philip Pullman, “His Dark Materials”, “The Golden Compass” – The Liberty of Thinking 1

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1. Introduction

his Dark Materials”, would have been my original title’s twist on Pullman’s own naming for this centuries changing, monumental trilogy.
It’s always rather complicated to explain emotionally driven decisions in a world where “law” has become a pathetic replacement of politically correct mathematics, yet the twist is something imposed by our deliberate reduction to a child’s limitations; but by who?
Milton’s famous line bears the mark of a both personal and -for that time- social respect for a divinity inherited far and remote from any “sacred” text, agnostically unknown therefore, feared and revered not for anything “he” has provenly ever done, but for something “he” could supposedly do if hurt in his quest for his own “glory”, built all over nearly any earthly religion upon the blood, sweat, agony and death of infants, children and adults, high on monstrous pedestals of an ever unmerited, torturous attitude, called “god’s love”; and as for such, I decided to refrain my majuscules respect within the use of “his…”.
Hoping by now to have been forgiven by my reader for the rather lengthy preamble, I shall disclose the dichotomy forcing me to write what I hope to progress into a longer series eventually leading to a book, about what I -again- hope to become a -as much as possible- comprehensive attempt to make Pullman’s trilogy clearly understandable even to those who by the nature of their own allegiance to systems of thought uprooted by, would hopefully be drawn to reading it (or about it, as it often happens first…), and thus be given the chance to exercise their true, liberty of thinking…
This dichotomy of mine stems from my own, former theological training combined with two decades of (hyper)active Christian faith, shattered to painfully sharp slabs of hurting memories; all these and my newly discovered liberty of thought…
“The Golden Compass” (originally published in the UK as “Northern Lights”), is not a compass at all, to begin with…
Lyra’s “instrument” is truly less than a north-pointing compass, yet so much more; it is as it’s Greek borrowed name reveals, a measurer of truth.
Yes, I know, have mercy on me by forcing me not to derail into the age-old dilemma of what exactly is “truth”, because I don’t want to end-up establishing the hot-bed of some new religion of “love”, providing incentives of fertility for the always ready seekers of holy reasons to behead, chop, cut ‘n further punish “heretics”…
The alethiometer is a worlds transcending pointer into the true content of anything asked about, regardless of who the inquirer, and who or what the object of the inquiry, is.
Made by “people”, incapable of choosing between inquirers, allowing access to otherwise hidden truths to either the skilled by “nature” or to those by “trade”, this strange tool isn’t at all the central theme of the trilogy’s first book, as suggested for some by its title.
The alethiometer is nevertheless a first clue into what the book is all about, namely the standard for truth. Pullman’n genius resides in a rare capacity of transforming stereotypes into the measurable reason for acting them, as brilliantly shown later in the trilogy by Lyra’s astonishing reassurance at finding out through her velvet wrapped “toy”, that Will is a “murderer”, judging as all should do, with a child’s remnants of innocence, that this truth combined with her own heart’s analysis of Will’s “that something” about him, means she should trust him in spite of all circumstantial facts and appearances.
For those of you who hopefully haven’t have had the chance of seeing the movie before reading the book(s), please refrain from doing so -in spite of its awesome cast, play & all-, because unknown to many, the producers, probably driven by some unusual religious tolerance, decided to emasculate the movie of the novel’s clear and healthy anti-Christianity message, reducing thus the whole, to a eunuch’s attempt to join a male choir’s baritone stand, before he’d open his mouth… The trilogy’s clear message is exactly this: that men are nothing less than victims of an ongoing, cosmic conflagration, where the parts fiercely compete over exclusive ownership rights of a species wrongly thought of as slaves, having no other inter-dimensional rights and duties besides the glorification of the one(s) to be found at the end of the boot(s), eternally smashing the broken teeth from behind their bleeding, boot(s) kissing lips; and where Christianity’s magisterio-inquisitorial boards are supposed to be the agencies translating all these as “god’s love”, ultimately leading to a redemption of which everyone knows everything, yet actually nothing…
Having -quite lengthily- said all these, let me remind my honourable readers, that even though my writing might resemble a rather academic book revue, it’s never been my true intention to write any such, regardless of how much -given it’s nature- should it look like one.
What you are about to read, is actually a manifesto calling for a new, well deserved liberty of thinking, based upon the very first literature wrapped philosophic attempt to provide humans from all existence’s dimensions with the field guide to regain a dignity so deeply lost at the bottom of their lives’ depths, that nothing else less than the utmost desperate attempt to destroy the “authority” usurping their throne within, would be just the pathetic carrying out of a death sentence involuntarily signed with the blood spilled from the severed ends of their own, umbilical cords…

(to be continued…)