We love noise and hate silence. That's what Prem Rawat said during one of his talks, along with loving war and hating peace. And it's so obviously true. We have what we love. We love upheaval not serenity, we love living on the edge, dicing with death, frenetic activity, and above all else, the false security of money. We do anything for money. We shit in our nest for money. We wallow in it, we eat it and smell it and clothe ourselves in it, all for money. If we can't have the money we'll support and admire others who do. How else would we allow the obscenities of Big Business to continue other than that they have the MoneyGiven, not GodGiven, right to do so.
Sometimes I get caught up in the blame game, the fear and anger and resentment. I have to turn it off. Which brings me back to the first sentence; loving noise and hating silence. In silence there is peace. The noise is reading Care2Causes and all the wrongs done in the world. The noise is signing petitions and wringing my hands. The noise is the radio, the television as well as the computer. The noise is all distraction and playing the Maya game. I can make my pulse race by thinking of the evils of the world. Isn't this why we choose this game of life? To pretend we are mortal and vulnerable and less than perfect so that we can scare ourselves silly? Why are horror movies and thrillers perennially popular? We love being frightened. Why do we ride rollercoasters and jump from planes? If that's all it is, just an illusion we create to make scaring ourselves real there's no reason to get upset. Is there?
Perhaps not but why trash the most exquisite set, the most perfect, complicated and wondrous life *movie* location to test the theory? Couldn't we find other ways to get an adrenaline rush other than pursuing war, pestilence and environmental destruction?
It's a mystery. I don't know the answer. I have to live as though it's real. Try and leave a small carbon footprint, sign those petitions, do the things I can but also, for the sake of my sanity, I have to turn it all off and sit in silence. My silence isn't very silent. My tiny little mind is brimming with slogans, commercials, snippets of songs, images, internal conversations, memories, remorse, plans, have to lists, details and physical sensations. It isn't very quiet in my mind. But I go there anyway. Sometimes the consciousness streams dwindle to one or two or three strands instead of a dozen. Even that is a relief. Because, finally, all that Noise is a Distraction from what Is. The noise is all about what Is Not.
Dreamed a dream straight from prime time television. Vince, no better name, held fifty people including myself, hostage at gun point. I knew Vince. We were driving in the parking lot of a shopping centre. Previous events contributed to the hotage taking but I don't remember them now. What I do remember is driving a car in which we were picking up people who were trying to get away from him only we didn't know it was Vince at the time. So, he was rescued as well. Richard was in another car behind ours. We ended up in a department store. Vince was distraught. We were frightened. Then I asked him why he hadn't sought help for his problems? Didn't he have anyone to talk to? Wasn't there someone somewhere in a position to help him? He pointed the gun straight at me but I kept talking (so cliched a screenplay I am almost embarrassed to record it. Couldn't my dreaming self come up with something more original?). Eventually he dashed down a long hallway. I tried to slam and lock the door behind him but it kept bouncing open. So we all dashed out the door on the opposite side of the building, ran down the mall screaming, Man! Gun! Hostages! Police! That's all I remember.
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