This thread's recent posts have touched upon a very deep wisdom -- one that I appreciate as a most pleasing spiritual personality dynamic -- it's living one's life as if something sacred resides inside everyone/everything.
We know the story of the dead dog's white teeth. But, I have to confess. A living breathing human being with a two pound on-board computer brain that can resonate with the entire universe can be dismissed by me as worthless, stripped of any meaningful status, and completely discounted because of my indulgence in my own prejudices. And not just me, right? We all do it folks. But I forgive me-us. I mean, really. Judgmentalism has its place! Who can listen to Donald Trump talk about any subject with that hairstyle of his? I'd rather talk to Someone with a cobra draped around His neck. Really! If one has to be distracted during a conversation, geeze, at least let it be by IMPENDING DEATH and not an off-centered pelt that a good veterinarian could resuscitate. It's easy to see ourselves being parochial and having thoughts about others that are not sweet, not true, and not necessary for us to "abide with." We know the drill. But, we all know how we love to jam a projection of our personal dynamics into any summing up of another's "style." We all know how one can become so immediately convinced about one's superiority over another. Easy to disconnect. Yet, most of us believe that each spark of sentience -- even when but dimly seen in another person -- is divine. But if we purposely refuse to see the sacred when it's disguised in an unpleasant garb, it's hypocrisy -- plain and simple. But it can be so hard to have integrity and act upon one's philosophical morals -- who amongst us will toss a buck to "God" when he's disguised as a urine soaked bum on the street corner screaming at invisible entities? It's one thing to be a good Samaritan, but, hey, we all know that the typical bum on the street needs $25,000 in dental work alone, and it'll take at least 200 hours of Dr. Phil one-on-one-ing to even begin to fix the bum's messed up personality patterns, and probably there's a dozen outstanding felony warrants on the bum's sheet. Unless one is able to pay for a bum's entire refurbishing, well, it might make one feel better to -- instead -- shred-up the dollar and give it to a passing Norway wharf rat for nesting material. But, no, not that. Samaritanism is not the wisdom I've read here lately. It's not about whether Maharishi can resonate with the masses. It's about if one can actually revere each moment -- no matter if one is in a cave, conundrum or conniption. Or cult. I remember Be Here Now where there's this wonderful drawing of Christ on the cross watching the spike being hammered into His hands. Ram Dass notes the utter compassion Christ felt for the executioners' souls. Now that's clarity about another's viewpoint, eh? That's what I'm reading here recently. It's not about pity for the other guy's imprisonment within a personality's limitations. It's not about sighing deeply. It's about being thrilled with each and every person's viewpoint -- like it was a 40 caret diamond just found laying on the ground. It's about seeing how God solves each moment's needs -- mows into the angst. God takes on the impossible. For fun. Strike that. God TOKES on the impossible. For fun. That's what I've read here in the most recent posts of Turq and Curtis. It's about Buddha meeting Buddha. And so, is not Maharishi also to be included in this spiritual amnesty? Can't we toss a buck to him? Maybe Maharishi needs a lot of dental work before we'd invite him to one of our penthouse brunch soirees, but I for one am thrilled that he was able to put spirituality on the front burners of so many minds in the world. His mistakes are jarring, but no more jarring than when one looks in a mirror, right? I've certainly sinned far more egregiously than anything I've heard about Maharishi -- if not in degree, then most assuredly in kind. Of the millions upon millions who were moved just a titch forwards -- of the millions who entertained however briefly the concept of "spirit" -- how many of them moved on to commitments in other cults, philosophies, passions? How many of them, after starting the slide up the slippery sloping of Jacob's ladder, have found the very peace the TM literature speaks of? Let's see, that would be several million points scored by Maharishi, right? I'd sure be proud of myself if I had pulled that one off, in fact, I WAS proud of myself for initiating a mere smattering of people when Merv Griffin was herding them into our centers. It's one thing to stand on your feet all Saturday and initiate 30 people, and it's another to sit on your ass all day for A LIFETIME and talk about the pinky petals. A few rolls in the hay, shunting hundreds of millions of dollars into his family coffers, and having smarmy zombies as his movement henchmen -- these simply cannot be given much weight -- they cannot counterbalance the satva Maharishi's life has inspired others to manifest. He is what he is. Could have been worse. Could have been me in a dhoti with a rose -- could have been me that the Beatles listened to for a few seconds. Could have been me who'd have to find the wherewithal to inspire others to begin the final climb. Could have been me in bed with a devotee -- in about ten minutes flat. Maharishi may have driven across some lawns, but mostly he stayed on the road. So let's have the old man over to dinner, eh? And if he won't accept the invitation, well, we understand that, and no problem, because anyone, ANYONE ELSE WILL DO. Imagine a true warrior, you know -- scarred, muscles rippling, a belt of skulls, dented shield. Every bum I've ever met had the same warrior-accouterments. A lifetime of scarring, a wary mind tensing, a circlet of dead dreams, and a mangled defensive pride -- whew, let's have that guy to dinner, let's get him to trust us enough to tell his tales. Let's see if we could have lived his life -- stuck to it no matter what. See if we could, you know, speak endlessly about the same damn rose. Each of us are like Maharishi when he enters a lecture hall -- pulling ourselves forwards by grabbing one flower at a time. And sometimes, a thorn punctuates the story being told. Edg
