Friday, April 28, 2006
Today, I had an actual job interview for an assistant librarian. I read a bio of the Dalai Lama in order to calm down beforehand. Turns out, he had to interview for his job before he got it. He had to prove (at age 3) that he could pick out the personal items of his previous incarnation. Damn, and I thought being asked "Why are you seeking a part time position?" a tough question! At least I didn't have to root through a box of oldcoffee mugs and Bic pens trying to pick out which ones were used by my previous incarnation. (And if I could, and the mug said "I'd Rather Be Golfing" would I admidt it? Would I need the job that bad?)
That being said, they still got the right man for the job. When a teenager in the Summer Palace, he sneaked driving a car (as teenagers, His Holiness or no) are geneticly programmed to do. He smashed a headlight but repaired it before anyone noticed! Screw walking on water--how many times you need that in your life? A spiritual leader who can do DIY--now THAT I sit up and pay attention to. Namaste
Sunday, April 23, 2006
So, since I have a new guru, I ask this question to myself all the time--
What Would Stephen King Do?
And remember always how to spell GURU (gee you are you--unfortunately, I have my arsonist ex to thank for pointing that out to me. AAARRGGHHH!)
Sunday, April 16, 2006
"There have been times when for me the act of writing has been a little act of faith, a spit in the eye of despair." --Stephen King, On Writing
Ah, my new guru, Stephen King. I just finished reading his best book ever, On Writing. The book is not so much of a how-to manual but a strong declairation of spirituality. There are loads of Golden Rules and Commandments like:
- "I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops" (p 125)
- "Plums diefy!" (p 121)
- "The dictum in writing classes used to be "write what you know." Which sounds good, but what if you want to write about...a man who murders his wife and then tries to dispose of her body in a wood-chipper?" (p 158)
Your spirituality is what makes you you. Being a writer is every bit as spiritual as a Buddhist monk. It's the core of you--what you think of yourself as.
Why should spirituality be limited to religion? There's no limits to the human spirit, so why limit spirituality?
I've always thought of myself as a writer. And, as you can probably predict, I don't have a damn thing published (as in for pay).Writing has become an act of worship for me.I know not why I do it, I just do it. It's elusive, mind-boggling and soul-shattering. And here I am with a blog, stumbling ever onwards.
I had an 800 page manuscript when I lived in England. I not only wrote it, I illustrated quite a bitof it with cutouts from magazines as well as my own drawings. There was only one copy. Since I lived as a hermit in the woods, it was kinda hard to plug a Xerox into a tree.
So my ex hired an arsonist to burn my home down, including the only copy of the manuscript. Not that anyone could prove it, although everyone in the area knew they did it. Not that I'm bitter...
ANYWAY I thought that'd be the last piece of writing from me. Why pour six years of yourself into a work of art only to have it turn to ash in fifteen minutes?But I still write. Why do I bother?
Because I am a writer, and like a martyr or Holy Grail Knight, you do it even though you fully well know it'll all be for nothing.
And you couldn't care less.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
"Form is emptiness; emptiness is form. Form is not other than emptiness; emptiness is not other than form."
Since nothing is permenant, it doesn'r really exist in The Grand Scheme Of Things. Everything relies on everything else. Everything is therefore in harmony, as forms are the mirror halves of emptiness.
So, even you are not real.
That being said, I think both Bud and the Dalai Lama would encourage all Americans to get their tax forms in by Monday to prove their financial emptiness. At least that's one thing I really really know!
Monday, April 10, 2006
I've been using this time of unemployment not only to look for a job (duh) but learn some html and look for a patron Diety. Here's the job listing (I guess it would be under Hot Jobs in Heaven):
Immediate full-time opening in Philly area woman.
Must have Own transportation.
Exp. helpful, but will train the right applicant
I'll let you know how it goes. So far, no applications have arrived yet.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
I wish I thought this bit up, but I haven't. Is there an original thought in my head? Well, that's another blog entry, I guess.
Anyway, in reading The Social Life of Dogs by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas,, her husband refers to their pooch Sundog as "the keeper of my soul".
The soulmate concept has been around since dirt. However, it usually involves half your soul being somehow inside your current beloved (who then often winds up being Satan, Jr). There's also a superstition that twins share one soul.
Why should only one person monopolize half of my soul? Perhaps there is only one soul. Then we all--planets, people or pets--need each other to find the other bits of ourselves. Might be the incentive the Satan, Jrs need to start acting at least as good as Sundog.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
One Sunday when I was in church
On a Sunday Mom made me go to church
The pastor said how wonderful heaven would be
And I cried and cried incessantly.
I drew praise for my tears
They said I had wisdom beyond my years
To be moved by the words the pastor said.
I just lowered my tear-drenched head
I let them thin what they wanted to
Even though their assumptions were untrue.
It wasn't for God's glory that I cried--
I was thinking about all my cats that died.
Who cares if people's souls go up there-
They all can hate, their deaths were all fair.
But all my cats never talked back
Despite who you were, they'd sit on your lap.
Isn't heaven supposed to be reserved for the good,
The truthtellers, the serene, the misunderstood?
If heaven turns out to be a wonderful fact
There God would leave me alone to take care of my cats.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Pony Trekker is my pride & and joy. She's the most beautiful dog in the universe. So imagine my horror when, during our walk this morning, she managed to get a chicken bone caught in her throat.
Here, we backtrack. I was raised a Born-Again Protestant Christian. I gave it up about 1988 and have been a solitary seeker on the spiritual path ever since. Before Pony was even conceived, I asked the Goddess Hecate to find the perfect dog for me. Hecate is The Distant One Who, I'm convinced, wears a T-shirt that says, "Love me, Love my dog." Pony is consecrated to her Patroness.
Now, I've tried to be as grateful to Hecate as I can. I've tried to be a good little Seeker, being open minded to all faces of Diety.
But guess what I thought when Pony started to choke?
Yup, that's right--"Oh, God, help my puppy!"
Pony managed to dislodge the bone and is none the worse for wear.
That being said, I'm not taking any chances. I'm saying prayers of thanks to Hecate, Jesus, Allah, St Francis, Raven, Ra, Ghandi, the local faeries , the constellation Sirius, EVERYBODY.
Pony, in contrast, is currently ripping up a tennis ball.
Same thing, I guess.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Now, I don't exactly retch with loathing whenever I have contact with my fellow wo/man,but I just cannot envision telling the guy who burnt my home down "Have a nice day." Quite frankly, I want him and the guy who hired him to be flayed alive. I know Jesus said "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do" but wasn't He in the eensy-beensiest thinking, "Ooo--just wait 'til I resurrect..." (Come to think of it, maybe He did. It would explain a lot.)
But I'm not Jesus. I know if I ever hear that the arsonist and/or his boss get dragged by a train I'll dance the home I'm currently in down. In fact, I admidt that I rehearse this dance. I know I'm supposed to forgive and forget, but you might as well tell a rock not to be a rock. Not gonna happen.
Perhaps that's why God made people--to figure out how to forgive. You never know, maybe Allah never returned Jehovah's lawnmower. They're still not talking to Each other over it. Archangel Gabriel's been trying to get the Pair to BBQ's, bar mitzvahs and whatnot, but Neither of Them will have it.
- Gabe: But it's just a lawnmower
- J : But it's MY lawnmower!
- Gabe: Someday, you'll look back on this and laugh.
- J : Lawnmower first! Laughing...maybe