On my Deafness

On My Deafness

 

Oh! The whole point I had in mind for remarking on my telling brother in law tom about the drama of insisting I am getting the Boy flute lessons is that Tom then insisted I listen to the Rolling Stone's "Ruby Tuesday" immediately. He has this feckless bratty sense of urgency sometimes and I was writing an email to you all yesterday but I wrapped it up and listened to Ruby Tuesday. Tom expressed disappointment that my phone had such poor speakers and lacked a phone jack to plug it into his master stereo speakers, which is quite amazing and gained racoon style from dumpster diving.

I will bring Nathan-gift my portable boom box to listen to this song with Tom when we put in the new alternator today. Tom wanted me to hear the flute part of Ruby Tuesday, and I was shocked because this is a popular well-known song I've heard many times my whole life, but I never really acknowledged the flute.

I have it LOUD and on repeat as I dance my chares, adoring Ama with my songs. I do hear the flute, yes, and I will share it with the Boy later, but I really hear ONLY the cello.

In the Name of Jillian who is God, so if the cello forever blessed in my ears.

And that's fine.

But I remember my grandpa, the one who loved me so closely because we both played guitar, and gave me Angela, my guitar, when he passed, said he went deaf in such a way that he could hear low tones fine but high tones irritated his ears. He was into old-school country music, which he told me was the ONLY real music. Rock and roll with drums and electric guitar was not music. I patiently and meekly listened and never disputed him. I adore my grandpa so much! So he favored Ernest Tub, an old school country singer with a deep booming bass voice.

Lately, I notice my music prefers the same: the bass. I thought it was Jillian who taught me to pick out the bass first. And maybe that is true. But I like music with thick drums and thrumming overwhelming bass. I guess I always did. They might be giants John Linnel has nazel nerd voice. But as for both "In the Meantime" by Spacehog, and "Possum Kingdom" by the Toadies, my highschool staples, these are songs built around and based on an ingenius bass lick. Muse too I think begins with the bass. How a song begins, its inception and conception, determine also its limit and extend.

The Beatles, Paul, said he wrote all songs on acoustic guitar first. Me too. I can't get electric. I LOVE the riffs of electric music. Always did. That killer little riff in Jethro Tull's Aqualung. So SMALL yet inexhaustible. An eternal MOTIV. The same is Beethoven's fifth tattoo, a symphony lending it quite well to heavy metal renditions.

I hear the bass now. I hear the tinkling less. The flutes less.

Now Mom and (biological) Dad are both nearly completely deaf. This is my blessing too. Like Beethoven and Milton and Homer, I get to lose the external form of the sense so as to internalize and intensify beyond all belief. I am very very VERY sensitive to rhythms and repetitions. To the point of EXTREME MIGRAINE if the rhythm is off. This pet peeve and hypersensitivity is also my superpower. What is evil but infant good? And the best editors of all time are the most irritable.

Old age is a GREAT dropping off of the sense to prepare to leave this limited husk. The slow decay of the body is beautiful. Death is beautiful. This is wonderful!

In Praise of Nero

In Praise of Nero

 

Okay, where are we. I am writing daily notes in non-ending ultra-productivity as is my wont. I send out quite a bit. I don't send out everything. Writing is my breathing — it is natural to me and it is a magic and miracle that cures my physical ills.

This second of notes I am preparing to write the epic Ezra I have intitled "In Praise of Nero: I come not to bury, to but Praise the man."

Why Nero? He is the Christian antichrist of course we despite what the crackpots say about the latest greatest meaning of 666 it spells out his name in Latin and we know this. There is no wisdom, no mystery to solve. Jesus came back physically and brought away his useless 144,000 virgins. The second coming already happened. Long ago. So long. And the antichrist was Nero. This is known.

But the more history I read, the ore I find out that Nero like me lead a writers group. He also had a mixed reputation. He was amazingly sensitive. I thought to myself, Why does the world hate Nero so much? Then I said, Christians gave him a bad name. Then I thought, He must be a hero and saint then. Whoever the Christians hate are good and great men by definition. They are worms and are afraid of power, beauty, innocence, and greatness.

Same as the Jews, incidentally. I was reading Moby Dick, and Melville's whaling ship captain, Ahab, was named after "an evil king." And I thought, the way the Jews hate on Ahab so much, he must be the real thing. He must be the good guy after all. I looked it up on Wikipedia to start and it referred me to a book, The Bible Unearthed written by the latest greatest very much Jewish and proud of it scholars and archeologists working in the middle east. They confirmed my hunch:

Not only was King Ahab also a very good king; he was also the best. David was an unknown in the pathetic lower kingdom that is basically the boondocks. It was King Ahab that made the kingdom of Israel, Northern kingdom, reach its greatest power, beauty, influence, and perfect. He is the best.

He had a policy like the United States: worship according to your conscience. If you love Yahweh alone, worship Yahweh alone. If you want to sacrifice at the altar of Baal, then do so. Go ahead and plant ashteroth poles on the high places, those symbols of the world tree who IS Ashteroth, Ishtar, Inanna. Follow your conscience in all things.

In this dipolomatic system of separation of religion and state, Israel thrived and the economy boomed. The people were happy. Temples got built. Everything was perfect.

The jealous and covetous priests of the "Yahweh-only" cult who wished to outlaw worship of Baal and Astheroth and MURDER all people who in good conscience worshipped those very much the original deities of the Jews wrote what got included in Jewish scripture. They FALSIFY everything. They turn history on its head. They LIE through their teeth claiming that Ahab and the other kings of open diplomacy brought the curses on the land, the invasion of foreign people. As the very scholarly and exact book, the Bible Unearthed, details, and yet, as Jews, they explain it away as no big deal, the Priests who wrote the book of kings LIED, LIED, LIED, slandering King Ahab falsely, and building up the NOTHING chieftain David, who mattered not at all as a historical reality, as if he were the greatest king to ever exist. The writers of the Bible Unearthed, two prominent Jews, top of the university of Aviv, I believe, and great archeologists, as Jews, argue that the Bible still is the greatest book ever written despite the fact that it lies historically and turns reality on its head.

Israel Finkelstein and Neil Asher Silberman, the authors of this book, look verse by verse at the Bible and all the archeological work, and show, straight forwardly, openly, and in clear candor, how the writers of Kings and other books knowingly and completely falsified history piece by piece. We have the evidence. We've spent our time in the dirt. We KNOW it. Yet Finkelstein PRAISES the biblical liars because they were lying in the right direction. They may have falsified history but they were opening the way for a new way of being.

Whatever. That aint at ALL scholarly integrity, but I will wrap up by saying this: David was a piece of shit nothing and we know it and the "evil" King Ahab was and is Israel's greatest king, and if the current state of Israel followed HIS diplomatic wisdom, they would not be genociding their enemies and keeping the middle east in a constant state of warfare. Constant.

But enough said.

Nero as hero?

He never wanted to emperor. At his birth, his ambitious mother, who was calculating, and despite politics being a man's art made her son as a work of art into her greatest ambition: leader of the entire world. An augur at his birth predicted that Nero was destined to rule the world but kill his mother. When she heard this, dauntless, the woman scoffed: Occidat dum imperet. Translated: Let him kill me but he will rule.

That was her ambition and her choice. Ruthless woman. I am just starting a book on him. As an AMA adherent, in which I say Woman is God, the idea of praising a matricide may seem strange. I am undecided about this case. Nero himself was a sensitive artist. A writer. Led a writers group. When he commit suicide, he is reported to have said, "What a great artist dies with me."

Where will my studies take me? I am open to hear. He was loved of the common man. He inspired the arts in all around him. The greatest writers of his day knew Nero personally. He edited their work. He helped improve them.

I'm not saying he is my next Emerson or a great man I will disciple under for twenty years. But Nero deserves better then what that piece of shit book the Revelation of John says about him. So, these notes, they are entitled, In Praise of Nero. For as a rule: whatever a Christian curses must be good and divine, on principle. They are the scum of the other, the resenters, the haters of the world. What they blame must always in principle be good. I will test this rule of thumb in studying Nero, son of Agrippina, Woman AS ambition who is willing to die, if need be, so long as her son is emperor of the world. I have a sense that I will find Nero to be kind of weak and fragile being raised by a woman like this, that she won't at all be the victim, but a powerful hero, and Nero unable to match the intensity of her vision.

Woman is God. That is all.

My Modesty

My Modesty

 

I will talk about Emerson for a moment, though Emerson would not approve. He preached "the infinitidue of the private man." He means we EACH are the infinite ALL. This modest man!

 

A farmers wife attended one of his lectures and later reported, "I did not understand almost anything the man said but I know in my heart he regards himself as no better than me."

 

That exactly is NOT modesty. Any Narcassistic can see the truth: Thou Art God. But are you the only one? Is your faith in yourself yet in the diseased infant form of arrogance such that you require the painful envy and grudging praise of others to keep your ego inflated? You are adolescent at best. Emerson amazingly seemed to bypass this adolescent form of the growth into full deity.

 

In the first book of his first series of lectures, entitled History, Emerson extolled the reader to read ALL books, all religion, all myth, all history, as mere commentary on the one true writing, the scripture that matters: your own living autobiography. Emerson makes no mention of himself. Unlike Jesus or Buddha he did not "speak with authority." He rebuked nobody. He cursed nobody whatsever.

 NON-Emersonian EVER to curse. He who curses remains accursed forever. To say it straightly, Emerson was and is better than Confucius, Jesus, Socrates, and Buddha, the cardinal teachers. He never let that FACT go to his head. How did the sage manage that?

 

Ivan teased me on account of my fourth wife, Susan. He asked about my seventy year old lover. A distant descendent of Louisa alcott. I corrected him. She is sixty. He lewdly accused her of being dried up but that has never been an issue, nor completing my love of her in great geysers of appreciation. I chided Ivan, alas, even Abraham when touring Egypt with his sixty year old wife Sarai managed to capture in a trap the eyes of lust of the Egyptian princes. They would do ANYTHING to have her. She at age 60. Ivan said, Must you compare your life to ancient people constantly? You are just an ordinary man living in an ordinary neighborhood. Having properly defeated my friend, I just said, "Heh."

 

Every day of my life is parable. Dad Dan said I have readers just because of the juicy gossip and family drama. How you underestimate me! It is ALL deliberate and involved and encoded four, sixteen, thirty-two layers down. I don't mind that you non readers don't get it. Almost ANYTHING I write. You get so little ... so infinitely little. Nobody ever invented has to be read between the lines more than me.

 

Of the Genius of Shakespeare The greateset writer of all time, Hands down? Harold Bloom said, There is no god but God, and his name is Shakespeare. Harold Bloom admits that Emerson properly acclaimed Shakpeare's literal divinity best, of all his readers. Because that's who Emerson was. The invisible eyeball. The ultimate Reader. But at the end of that essay in Representative Men, he takes account with Shakespeare. Our god lacked any faith. Any religion. He wrote only for sheer entertainment. Emerson prophesied that one greater than Shakespeare would one day come. Harold Bloom, for his part, rued this last remark as blasphemy.

 

The prophesy is fulfilled in me. The greatest writer of all time. Jillian DID say, "When you write you are great, yes, but when you edit you are GOD." I had shown her the deepest secrets of editing. But Ezra is my better as an editor. I am still bowing in discipleship to him. As for Reader, Emerson still has me beat. But as sheer WRITER, what Emerson called SCHOLAR, there is none of my compare at any time, at any place, at any where. And that's fine. Part of my art is that I require no secondary opinion to tell me this. I need no applause. I need no "proof," as if the self-evident could EVER be proved. When you true to prove the self-evident you just confuse yourself.

 

So that's fine.

 

The greatest dictionary of all time is the Oxford English Dictionary. The English are so PROUD of the their language, that, faithless as it is, can brag and truly the greatest line of poets of any nation of any time:

 

Chaucer, Spenser, Marlowe, Shakespeare, Milton, The First Generation of Romantic Poets, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Blake, and then the second generation of Byron, Shelley, Keats, and the rest. 

I am speaking only of English poets. Not American. No nation comes close, nowhere CLOSE to boasting of a roster of poets this great. In no place ever.

 

Till me and those who follow.

 

And that's fine. The English language IS divine. It is the holy spirit. It is the FIRST and BEST form of Globalism ever to exist. These things don't happen by accident. They come from a sort of Destiny.

 

Exactly BECAUSE agnosticism and secularism are the guiding muses of most those poets, with a few exceptions, mostly eccentrics, like Milton, they have made a secular substrate which ALL religions may read, enjoy, love, and share in. The Holy Spirit, English, impregnates ALL languages EVERYWHERE the way Zeus through his LOGOS did. And that's fine. The Anglican church is completely beside the point. All gods can sit in the audience of Shakespeare, though, very very notably, our own American puritans, coming at last to what Shakespeare styled "the brave new world" for a time turned the theater down. American forebodings.

 

I don't really speak English. I speak Ameran. What mencken in his beat book called the American Language. It will be a long time before we collectively call it this. Today is not mine. I belong to the day after tomorrow. I plant the seed of the World Tree. I am the Same. You all may well forget my Name, for history never will and never can, and will scratch its head at the audacities I shouted loudly to all who would listen, each and every day, and people shrugged and looked away.

 

That's my sense of humor. I am the Grand Hilarity. The Divine Comedy. I am the Laughter of Ama divine.

The Oxford English Dictionary is undoubtedly the greatest dictionary of all time. The English honor their lexicograpers. The great book, Life of Johnson, boswell write to honor and praise his best friend, the lexicographer. So this is the tradition and the o.e.d. is a final fruit. No other dictionary comes close. Tolkien contributed. Whole generations made this volume. Like a 16 volume scripture. My parents bought be for my birthday a "shorter" version of it in two huge volumes. I bought the WHOLE oed with microprint for reading with magnifying glass in one volume, the entire English language in one huge unwiedly volume. Paid hundred for it. Mailed it to Jillian as a marriage gift for our eternal marriage. This blesses her shelf to this day. These things are not without their meaning. I bless you all, all 200 of you, as my Niviana. I sometimes despair how much, if any, the inner meanings get into any of you! Jillian reads them all. She once said, I've read everything you've ever written Daniel and I am proud of it. Later, she insisted I put her name on any and all books I had published through a professional publishing house. It annoys me how over the top my rhetoric has to get through to any if you. But truly, the beauty in these words can't be lost on you? Can't you see the BEAUTY of this thing?

So back to studies preparing for EZRA. A gift dedicated to Jillian. They all are and must be. She my Muse. I've dedicated volumes to my wife and kids and friends at times. Ezra will be for you.

Treacherous English

C.s. Lewis wrote the screw tape letters where he imagined based on projection how demons might speak. He falsely claimed that fallen human nature was closer to demons than angels and so humans could not write angelic dialogues. The treacherous anglish bastard had no clue that his compatriot and better Blake spoke with literal living angels in the regular!

The treacherous english could ventroloquize devils better than any other people. The u.s. defeated their treacherous king and the holiday for that is the fourth of july.

Tolkien wrote a religion for the english. Who had treachery killed off their own religion, by robbing it from the germans and norse, and tolkien wrote it while malingering in the world war, cowardly hiding from fighting the germans, lying that he was sick getting his wife pregnant, and they wrote their enlgidh religion the silmarrilian together.

Nietzsche terms the english a nation of shopkeepers. Caesar, who had the pleasure of kicking their literal teeth out their cowardly lips called them a diminutive race. Treacherous as worms....

C.s. once called pride the worst of all sins, but said the english are hardly temped. He bragged that the english would sooner be known as cowards then proud. This in his book mere christianity. Lewis admitted this infamous shame as if "proud" of his cowardly countrymen.

The english coined the term agnostic. They know nothing. It takes courage to know, courage to touch, courage to experience. Hobbits in their wholes the treacherous cowards wrote fantasy novels where the true heros lack All powess.. where the worms in the ground ... the Hobbits... defeat all lords.

Everybody else in tolkiens fighting unit died fighting the Germans. He survived and made a name for himself for stealing the German religion and corrupting it with cowardly english inflections.

You english are your own reward.

"Yogic Molting" a poem

Yogic Molting

 

This house is freezing

A home needs

Less your selfishly favored cold

You need a Tighter hold.

I grasp you with a thousand

Hindu arms

My Tender.

I Will do you no harm

But you a million times

Belong to me

And I will never

Let you go.

 

Long time molting.

Midlife crisis.

Age forty-four

Gut rot for weeks

Finally done.

I have used

Spiritual tongue

Up my nose

To clean my brain

Or bended beckwards

Up my own asshole

Yogic stretches.

 

I feel a moment of crisis

I could jump out of my skin

This home is so cold

If I had your hold now

You could spare me this

Entire crisis

But icicles

On my nose

I suppose

'Cause here we go.

 

This dad bod

Maya-fit

Infinite containing

Every nation

Every babe

Every animal, everything atom

A cell in my tissues

Tissues in my organs

Hello good morning

Bedtime

Bathroom

Eat, sleep

Laugh weep.

Work rest

Test

Test?

Good.

 

I castrated him

My Ama-appointed devil

Manticore who chortles

Layers of teeth

Nine scorpion tales.

He missed his mark.

You call this torture, Iago?

I take the cat-o-nine-tails

And masturbate myself with

Violence

Use your scratch of hell

Ultimate potency

Of molten flame

And scathe my own flesh.

You torture like somebody's grandmother

Let this MONSTER show you

How tis done

I pick away the mortal parts

Let the flames of hell

Eat all that can be eaten

Us gods feel love in hell

It is our traveling

Our holiday

Our hottub

Our sacred springs

I settle in

The place acclimates to me.

The pressure is gone.

 

I stretch

Endless yogic stretches

Impossible leaps

Like Uroburus

Eating himself

All the way down

And all the way down

And all the way down again

Till Asymptotically

He splits infinity.

So, I split and spend

My splendid flesh

Godflesh

Resurrected

Eternal.

"Destroyer"

As Niviana called him

My godcock

Rises in pride now

I think of my wife

Filling her utterly up

And find bliss almost

Immediately.

Wait till I get to you

Mrs. June!

But my flesh needs

More convalescence yet

Before my pride over my pride

This blond beast over his own pride

Family June

Reminds you

How utterly he owns you.

Sherry, I fully own you

For the bliss of my will.

 

I bought you at a price.

I paid for you with my life

I went to utter hell for thee

And utter hell

Forever shall remain

A part of me

Because of you.

What can you do?

Tis hopeless, I think

Let that sink in my love

Hold is your hold

Happiness is in your arms

I will do you no harm

The Two become One

As before

When our love

Made children in our very image

We made love and

The love walked and breathed

Like Sarah, you will find

Further motherhood

In your womb from me

In your older years too

Spiritual children

Divine things

Anon.

This is my Love Song

Sherry,

And I sing it for thee.

 

88

My latest Skirmishes with the gods

My latest Skirmishes with the gods

 

"Antiochus IV (Epiphanes), the king of Syria, captured Jerusalem in 167 BC and desecrated the Temple by offering the sacrifice of a pig on an altar to Zeus (the Abomination of Desolation)."

I called this moment Zeus raping Yahweh. And so it was. At first. That Yahweh very much WARMED UP to Zeus, and what began as abuse began one of the secret marriages of the gods I don't want to gossip about for long. They both make me sick. Zeus and Yahweh both. I've had enough. I'm focusing on Odin for a while, and Krishna, Jillian's particular patron deity. All these father gods are sons to me. And so I learn from my sons. I would cast them asunder in the flames at times, to tame and blame their brazen designs, but they are all after my image and look up to me and in the pits of hell call out to me and pray my name. I can't stay angry for ever.

Yahweh fell pregnant at the Abomination of Desolation with THE LOGOS of Zeus, as I said, later to be called Joshua, or Yeshua, named after the genocidal overlord over the Moses book by that name. That amounts to what he resorts to in the final book of the Christian Bible, the revelation of John. Jesus on his horse descends to earth and murders a bunch of humans. I am reminded of the terrible neighbor brat going out in the rain to stomp on the worms. Something completely UNWHOLESOME in that gesture, even if he is just a brat.

So, with the arrival of the brat, the temple is soon smashed again and taken away. Mother and I say you are abusing this toy. You don't deserve this power until you grow into it.

Bereft of temple, the Jews COVET AND IMITATE the disciples of Plato who read the Dialogues religiously. The STOICS AND EPICURIANS invented theology so as to be able to read Homeric myth with logical minds. Do the Christians do it? Do the Jews? A Greek did it first. Write that down as a rule.

So, Yahweh warmed up to Zeus. That's cool. By Roman times they shared the same name, Jove, which in Latin is pronounced Yahweh. Such is their love. Brothers. Best friends. I get it. Like Loki and Odin, opposites can attract and repulse in turns.

Homer's two epics are THE SCRIPTURES of the Greeks, and Hermes, NOT JESUS is "the logos" of course. Of course. But Yahweh forgot his place. Started writing in Greek. Not too well. He is lovelorn. Wants to impress Zeus. Zeussy approves. But that shitshow the last book of the poorly written Greek Bible is just HORRIBLE. I mean, one really has to HATE the world in the most profound way to find ANY joy in THAT disgusting book.

That the red letter sayings of Jesus are based OBVIOUSLY AND CONSISTENTLY on Diogenes the Cynic, and that the "theology" of Paul, that sprawling rhetorical en-vapitutde is only and always second rate Platonism and Neoplatonism … what was it Nietzsche called Chrisitanity? "Platonism for the masses."

My disgust in it all is as blatant as day. The Jews themselves got sick of it. When they envied the Christians their ripped off holiday, Christmas, based on MITHRAS birth, and Mithras the state religion before Christiainity became the state religion and sabatoged the state, well, the Jews chose Hannukkah. The holiday is about when the ancient Greeks loved hellenisms superior culture more and more and more, and then their jealous God had a characteristic violent fit and Jew-on-Jew murder and warfare ensued. That's Chanakah. The Jealous God punishing HIMSELF for coveting.

I'm so SICK of Zeus and Yahweh. They are SOOO overrated. I need more time with Odin and Krishna next. ARYAN gods. And actual heroes. Taking human for or as Odin the only FULL God who is also FULL hero … the other CHEAT and rely on their omnipotence. They take no real risks. They enjoy no real gains. Odin is different. The God of my blood.

As for Krishna and the Gita, sorry Jillian but I really hate him. I will explain why later. How long shall I strive with you mere gods? Vishnu … as in Rama? I HATE Rama too. Hate. He is such a goody goody and a FAKE do-gooder. God, I truly hate you two gods. Agni I like. Just covered Ganges in his sacred Jism to make her eternally sacred. I always had a lot of Enki in me.

Oh. The "gospel" as "the greatest story ever told." That lie gives me a headache. Four propaganda monsters full of endless moral pretense with a godling who is the most overrated man in history. Pure inflation. Usury Incarnate. The stories are horrible. The Greek is middling. NOT great. Compared in terms of literature alone, by which I mean, the infinite dimensions of beauty, the Homeric Epics compared to the Greek gospels? There … there can be no comparison. It's a joke. You, you are a joke for wasting my time with this bullshit PRETENSE. Now, I'm in a bad mood again. Work was hard today. This is making it worse. I have work again in the a.m. I want to read something more beautiful than me, or at least beautiful in ways I may never personally achieve, as we each are giving to our range of beauties of which none other can compete.

Dante's Comedy as "third testament" is BETTER written then the new testament. I mean, this isn't even a provocation. It is an objective fact. But Dante is a loser. No hero. He goes to heaven as a voyeur at no personal risk. I visit the hells, the intestines of Yahweh, sundry others, to TAKE OWNERSHIP and CHANGE THE CLIMATE.

Also, Beatrice is an arse wipe.

Suffering Is Investment

Suffering Is Investment

 

Nietzsche wrote:

 

To those human beings who are of any concern to me I wish suffering, desolation, sickness, ill-treatment, indignities — I wish that they should not remain unfamiliar with profound self-contempt, the torture of self-mistrust, the wretchedness of the vanquished: I have no pity for them, because I wish them the only thing that can prove today whether one is worth anything or not — that one endures.

 

Wholesome hopes for those his own.

 

Recall Allfather Odin, hung on the World Tree, become a willing fruit of the Eternal She so he too could full ripe as a World Tree, a Kosmos:

 

He hung upside down, pierced with his own spear of resistless piercing in the gut, face down and blood to the head for nine days shieking into death so he could see PAST maya and mother speech into the RUNES of his ruin: the magic of violence: for violence is writing.

 

"But I … umm… didn't I hang from a tree first." Who said it? I thought I heard a ghost. Oh, the whore-suckling lips of this gutless christling, bastard of the Jew God. Didn't you beg like a babe NOTE to hang on that tree, but NOT according to your own will, but according to HIS? Get this: Willfull suffering is investment, is gain. Unwilling suffering is slavery and rape. Get lost.

 

"Don't pick on my buddy!" Who said it? The loser Buddha? So awakened? Insomniac? Blood shot eyes. Afraid of your own mother, maya, of falling asleep again? You are so afraid of suffering you would rather not exist. So do that. Don't exist. Trifle me no more.

 

Odin hung from the world tree, a sacrifice unto himself, god to god. Inanna too. She went to hell, disrobing at each the seven gates till she was in the center of hell, naked, and she commanded her sister, the queen of hell, to abandon the throne. Her sister did. And in the process got with child from Inanna. Barren hell made fruitful at last.

 

The umpires of the game, the judges, called foul. Inanna can't be queen of heaven AND mistress of earth AND Lord of Hell. They gave her the glare of reproach unto death which she learned just before they turned her into a corpse and hung her on a hook. Well, Enki, Lord of Kindness, brought her back to live, turning her into he water of life, the fruit of life, the tree of life, reaching from the center of hell to the Ashtaroth poles on the highest mountains. Innana the world tree. And her son is named Shara.

 

Suffering is investment. Dolors are dollars. No Pain no Gain.

 

The Shamans literally hung from literal trees and stuck literal poles in their literal guts. They chose to endure savage castration, self-rape, ever self-degradation. And they gained ALL the powers of the gods that way.

 

The Hindus KNOW FULLY that askesis can raise a man's power greater than any and all the gods. A mortal man. Askesis. Deliberate meaningful suffering.

 

"Life is Suffering"? No. Life is so much MORE than suffering. And suffering is just one more thin that makes life WORTH living, now and forever, AMEN.

 

Just read The Laughter Blake's poems, "The Mental Traveler" and Ginsburgh's "love poem" for sandburg, describing the HELL they endure together, and the love is exactly that: They endure it TOGETHER.

 

The deeper the suffering the higher the bliss.