The Bible (part 2 )

The King James Bible, as well as her many interpretations, exist in the world of religion as the foundational instruction book to so many . . . she has brought life, guidance and freedom to so many . . .  she is the source for deeper meaning in this chaotic world to so many, that my goal here is not to expose her as a skeptic, but to reveal her poetic beauty, wisdom, and understanding to anybody willing to drop the scorn associated with her followers and open their minds to the magic of the book itself.  

You can read a complete treatise of the Bible here . . . https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bible  

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Forty five years ago, after years in hippiedom searching for a deeper meaning to life, I picked up the Holy Bible and decided to be a Christian.

Straight away I was told I needed interpretation by one of God’s chosen ministers in order to understand it. Considering myself illiterate, I freely gave up my intuitive mind to the well meaning, but many times misleading, ministers and teachers of the Christian faith and soon found myself stuck in a quagmire of doctrines and dogmas coming from every direction on the spiritual compass.

WOW! . . . and I thought it would be easy to just pick up a bible, read it and . . . oh no! The further I looked into things the foggier they became. I learned there was a chain of command just as entrenched in the spiritual church as it was in the physical army I once served.

But, I accepted it all and became a full blown soldier in the army of God. The bible was my weapon, Satan was my enemy, and I . . . well, I pretended to be a born again soldier and all that, but I was really just another phony follower of a self professed prophet named Sam Fife. Through his ministry I learned what the bible said, I learned how to act, I learned to play the part I’d chosen in his ‘first fruits company’ and I became a full fledged member of the communal living ‘family of God’ with all the benefits and promises that choice implied.

I soon learned it was one thing to go to church a couple days a week, but quite another to live 24/7’s on one of Sams farms among a gaggle of other true believers, some wonderful, some not so wonderful, all trapped in the human condition (no matter how hard they tried to be spiritual, wonderful, and wise)

The bible was never far from anyone’s grasp. We studied it together, as well as separately addinfinausium, the entire time I lived on the farm. It was called the ‘Word’ . . . and, believe me, I knew the Word . . .  (at least I thought I did anyway)

That was a quick resume.

Question is: If I had never taken even one divinity course, how can I be so arrogant to write about this stuff in the first place? Well, that’s a good question, I’ll tell you why.

First, I have no desire to lift myself into any position other than the one I now possess . . . that being one of interest concerning the degradation of what I believe to be a really good HISTORICAL read. . . . probably one of the best peeks into the ancient history of the middle east there is.

When it comes to God and religion, the compilation of writings from so many that all seem to be pointing in the same direction should alone, cause one to sit up and take notice. Sure allegory abounds, but then so does historical fact. The story of the Middle East concerning the Arab and the Jew cannot be complete without it.

I don’t want to see all that knowledge and wisdom gained from it go to waste. People today are IMO even more in need of a spiritual anchor than they were back in the days of Moses and Jesus. The bible can help.

The church has obviously failed them by choking to death in its own bullshit, but the biblical roots are still there and if you dig a bit on your own you may just strike God . . . that’s where He is . . . in the minds of Moses, David, Isiah and the prophets, and New Testament apostles and all the rest who wrote their stories down on parchment and sought to know the unknowable.

There’s gold here, but you must dig for it with a free and open mind. You must read those empty spaces between the lines. They are filled with types and shadows, of metaphor and imagination, and lots and lots of wisdom if one knows how to find it. Today, although held captive to all sorts of religious nonsense, it still has the power and the wisdom of old Solomon. Be careful not to throw out the baby with the bath water.

 

    

The Bible

After many years of wandering in Eastern thought I have decided it is time to re-visit what I once feared to doubt or even to question . . . the Holy Bible.

I’ve been away long enough to no longer believe in the stuff of Christianity as taught by the self possessed, educated men and women of the cloth who have twisted and tainted all that which is freely open to all of us. Those who have instilled, instead of love, mercy, and grace . . . fear, hopelessness and Hell. Those who have used the bible as a battering ram to conformity and control rather than what it has always been . . . the writings of inspired and ancient men attempting to shed light upon the mysteries of God and this place we call home. 

Today, in the times of advanced technology, the bible is quickly growing out of favor because everything is changing to meet the times except it. That means that all that wisdom and understanding is lying dormant.

Read on if you dare. I am going to question a system that I believe to be in a rut millennia deep and if allowed to remain so, will one day cease to be relevant at all . . .  something it does not deserve.

I will share what I know, and what I have thought and experienced, but I gotta tell you I am just a self-taught slob who has never been to preacher school and hold no affiliation to any church or denomination. But I have studied, studied, and more studied the bible, and at one time practically knew the thing by heart.

After that just keep an open mind and read the bible and try to understand the hidden messages within it for yourself. Make this book your own, you’ll be glad one day that you did. There is a magic here like no other book, a freedom that even idiots like Kenneth Copeland and his ilk can’t destroy. . . . lets start with responsibility.

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What greater freedom in life could we have than to realize that we alone are responsible for ourselves? No magic, no tricks, no inside track to perfection . . . and no savior.

The latter is important because instead of understanding and utilizing the teachings of Christ we have chosen to avoid all that and just worship his name and rely upon his sacrifice to save us.

No doubt, it does feel good not to have to rely upon ourselves. . . granted, “believe in me and go to heaven” is far more palatable than ” I am responsible for my choices and according to those choices that I make I either receive a blessing . . . or I receive a cursing.”

There is a biblical law called ‘sowing and reaping’ (or karma) that follows every decision, every choice, and every thought we act upon. This life is governed in such a way that every person, regardless of religious affiliation, is absolutely, judgmentally, equal when it comes to living it.

 

Years ago I was a full bore Christian. As somewhat of a bad actor I was extremely joyful the day I brought Jesus Christ into my life. I was free from all my past sinning. I was free from Hell and on my way to Heaven. WHAT A RUSH! I had just received a get-out-of-prison card and now I could drop all the sinning and live a holy life for Jesus.

After about seven years of church, and even a couple living 24/7’s in a Christian commune I began to realize that although we all worshiped Jesus and promoted ourselves as being a ‘special’ called out people . . . we were in reality no different than those unbelievers I worked with who lived outside the gate, BUT those guys were not holy like me. They drank, cussed, smoked pot, and all that stuff, but when I overlooked the sins and took a look at the sinners, I found I had more in common with them than I did with the people I lived with.

It’s not that I didn’t like those people I lived with. I actually loved a few of them. I think because of doctrinal teachings and a strange code of conduct we just couldn’t be ourselves. There was always a phony pretentiousness that got in the way.

OK, I said all that to say this: One day I was walking alone in the hills surrounding the farm and I began to think religious thoughts like always, but this time it was different . . . I realized that for all that time in the Christian religion . . . I had been a phony . . . I said all the right things, read all the right books, studied the bible till my eyes bled, and spoke to the best of my ability, the language of a good Christian. BUT . . . I was phony clean through and I knew it.

That day was the beginning of the end to my tour upon this planet as a holier than thou born again Christian. I wanted to go back to the dark side and get drunk with my old army buddies, I heard the clarion call of my hippie girl friends . . . I wanted to get high and have fun once again like I used to.

It wasn’t too long after that, that I left the commune and all those, in spite of the religious nonsense, I loved dearly.

After seven years or so in the Christian community, all I took with me were only a few words: You want to be free?  . . . You must realize in a real way that YOU are responsible for your actions in this life. . . . period.

That all happened in the late sixties . . . and to this day some 40 years later those words are still guiding me through this life. Be kind . . . empathetic . . . give a blessing to everybody you come in contact with . . . forget about being perfect, you ain’t. Not even close. . . And above all else realize that you are responsible for your actions and you will suffer or enjoy the fruits of all of them.

My heaven is not out there somewhere after I’m dead . . . my heaven is HERE right now on this planet.

This is the gift God gave to all of us . . .  and this ecological nightmare is the thanks that He/She/It gets for creating it. I no longer have all the answers. I no longer quote scripture, or get caught up in the jargon of the religious. And when it comes to “Father forgive them, for they know what they do?” We DO know what we are doing . . . ..and are about to pay a karmic debt larger and more intense than we will be able to bear.

As designated stewards this planet was created to be our Heaven. We are instead creating our Heaven into our Hell.

Don’t believe it? Look around.

Everything Is Energy And We Control It With The Power Of Our Thoughts — Awaken

The Nobel Prize awardees in physics, beyond doubt, proved that the physical world is one big ocean of energy that materializes and dematerializes in a split second, over and over again… Nothing is solid. This is the world of quantum physics. They proved that thoughts are responsible for holding this ever changing energy field together…

via Everything Is Energy And We Control It With The Power Of Our Thoughts — Awaken

Memorial day Reality

A VA Day

I saw the brother in a wheel chair sitting in a corner of the room.
Missed him on first glance
Don’t know how I could have.
His eyes, locked in fight or flight, filled the room with their emptiness. (Does he ever blink?)

A sensitive soul perhaps
Unable to make the midnight blast from family farm to killing field.
Had not the bravado to shake hands with the dead
Nor shake the smell of napalm from his nose.

Taught the fight was amongst men
Hand to hand on the field of battle.
Glory…..Honor and Heroism.
No one mentioned the sight of children dying
And old women crying
And old men frying.

The brother in a wheel chair
Had a tale to tell
But it seemed that few could listen
As the truth is hard to hear.
No need.
His eyes, they told it for him.

As I passed him in the lobby
And he sat there all alone
It took me less that a minute to think this thought.
The brother in a wheel chair appeared to have been
Locked in the same thought for the last forty years.

The Projects

As a kid I was quiet, withdrawn, and mostly an observer not particularly liking what I saw taking place in my immediate family. Actually, life with mom, pop and my nasty sister was a totally dysfunctional mess. For all intent and purposes I feel I could have been raised by wolves.

I like to say that when I was grown high enough to reach the door knob of our small apartment I was out and gone, escaping into the magical kingdom of the projects, and that is pretty much what happened. 

The Mellet Homes housing project was built smack dab in the middle of Ozzie and Harriet’s middle class America by the U.S. government to house the influx of workers needed to man the local factories and steel mills gone full bore into the war effort. Each barracks type building, containing six small apartments, was packed closely together onto a thirty five or so acre tract of land.

It was a noisy place full of clothes lines, screaming kids, crying babies, and cars. A distinct perimeter existed between ‘us’ poor folks and ‘them’ rich folks. We even had our own school for awhile cause they wanted to keep us riff-raff segregated from Harriet’s little darlings.

I can only imagine how happy she was to see a slum arising in the midst of her beloved neighborhood, but what the hell, the war was on and everybody had to sacrifice a bit for the cause. Ozzie went off to kill Germans while Harriet stayed home and tended her victory garden. And when the vegetables were ripe, project kids stole and ate them.

The project was a great place to grow up. We played Cowboys and Indians with enough kids to field two armies. We played War and Kick the Can well into the night without the thought of perverts or gun slingers. We played football, baseball, basketball. We fought bare knuckled when we were mad, boxed with the gloves on when we weren’t. We wrestled in the mud in the rain. We played doctor with the girls in the woods by day and used their cover by night as a staging area for vandal raids onto Ozzie and Harriet’s turf.

We lived under a pecking order where everybody knew their place. If we messed with the older kids we got beat up. All the adults looked out for us and didn’t mind giving us a slap when we deserved it either.

There were no knives, guns, drugs or any of that stuff. The men would occasionally get drunk and get into fist fights, but no one ever got killed. The women would get into shouting matches sometimes, but all that noise just added a minor chord that made the melody all the more interesting.

Nobody got much for Christmas in the projects, so we would get up Christmas morning, see what we got and go around to all our friends places to barter and exchange until we ended up with something we wanted. ( I’m sure Tommy always kept his pair of socks) Man, we had it all and were living the dream. We were happy cause nobody ever told us how poor we were.

The projects was always a bee hive of activity. I remember when the ice man would deliver large blocks of ice by hand to feed our refrigerator.

I remember the rag man with his cart walking down the street yelling, “Rag man!…….Rag man!” and people would come to buy a clean one or drop their dirty rags in his cart.

I remember when the milk man would come and deliver milk. Us kids would steal orange drink out of the ice bin in the back of his truck while he did it. We’d also ride our bikes alongside a pop truck and help ourselves to a Coke when ever we saw it coming. He’d stop and yell, but he could never catch us.

Nobody had a TV in those days so we used to listen to movies on the radio. Amos and Andy was my favorite, and who could forget The Shadow. When TV came out there was only one family in the whole projects who could afford one. Us kids would gather quietly around their living room window after dark while old man Bear and his wife sat on the couch on the inside, and watch our favorite show Lights Out with them. Wonder if they knew we were even there? Can you imagine that happening today? We would have set off an alarm the minute we bent a blade of his fake grass in today’s world.

I think I was about nine when mom finally bought me a TV. I still remember coming home one evening from the YMCA (where I practically lived) and seeing Sgt. Preston of the Royal Canadian Police playing in my living room . . . WOW one of the happiest days in my life to that point.

In the projects the walls were so thin that if the guy next door sneezed you could hear it. We had these medicine cabinets in the bath room with a slot in them where you dropped razor blades after they were used up. Well, if you looked into the slot and the person in the other apartment had their cabinet door open you could see into their bathroom. Robyn, my girl friend, would accidentally on purpose leave her door open when she took a bath. I would turn out the light on my side and open the door to watch her. Really exciting voyeurism for a guy my age. Ha! I still remember that stuff . . .Robyn I still love you, wherever you are!

I moved from the projects one cold, windy day in the winter of 1957 with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was forced to leave Berry Davis, the love of my life, and my many friends. I was a very unhappy camper when my mom got remarried and forced me to move. The one place where I could feel at home in those days was in the projects among my friends.

The projects were in existence until 1965 or so when they were torn down to make room for a shopping center and a parking lot. The new Walmart now sits directly on top of the spot where I once lived, kinda poetic justice I suppose since I had practically made a career out of stealing from those kind of stores. In the end we all lose. I lost big time the day my mom made me leave the projects and move onto Ozzie and Harriet’s turf.