In my previous two posts (here and here), I discussed the meaning of life, the universe and everything as my awakening consciousness is beginning to see it. In this final installment, I intend to make it more personal. What is the meaning of my life? What is my purpose in this world? The really cool thing is that I get to have a purpose. But the even cooler thing is that I get to make it up. I can create a purpose for myself that can be absolutely anything I want, bounded only by the infinite complexity of my own imagination. And if I decide I don’t like my purpose, I can just make up a new one. Infinite times if I have to. There are no rules for it besides whatever rules I choose to create for myself. It’s a godlike freedom that I find exhilarating.
I just re-read my initial post about the meaning of life, the universe, and everything, and felt frustrated by how it struck me as just a tangle of words that didn’t really convey the reality I’ve been experiencing. No one could read those words and immediately experience the same feeling of awakening consciousness that I’ve been feeling. That’s frustrating to me, because I’ve always put a very high premium on words. But words, like everything else that tries to convey or capture reality, are only metaphors. And reality itself can only be experienced immediately, without metaphor. So now, instead of trying the impossible task of explaining what I’ve been feeling, I’ll undertake the more intuitive task of just telling my story of how I arrived at the place where I feel those things.
(which turns out to be a number after all, but not forty-two)
I’ve been pursuing my kundalini yoga consistently and intensely since the spring equinox this year, and I’ve lately reached the point where the kriyas I do every morning have aligned my energies all the way up to my crown. I can now feel the energy flowing up my spine and through my crown and sort of carrying me through the day. More to the point, when that energy reached my crown, it gave me a series of epiphanies, or eureka moments, which have helped me understand the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. It is, in fact, a number, which someone as far back as Pythagoras already knew. But sorry, Arthur Clarke, the number is not forty-two. 😉
*Warning: this story is politically charged and likely to be highly offensive to a great many people. If you’re a patriotic American with high blood pressure, please don’t read it. I’m serious. It’s also very very sad.
A story which could also be titled, “Why I No Longer Pledge Allegiance”.
The time is 2:27 in the afternoon. The location is some remote village in Afghanistan that has a name, but a name that would mean nothing to most American citizens. An unmanned aerial combat vehicle (drone) fires a missile. The missile strikes the largest building in the village, a three-storied rectangular concrete structure which happens to be used as a children’s hospital. Eighteen children immediately perish. A small bloody foot juts out from the smoldering wreckage and a man is running up to it, running, running and clutching his heart and the tears are running down his face and he lifts up his eyes to the sky and even though he can’t see through the tears he shakes his impotent fist at what he knows is up there and feels in his heart that he would rejoice to die if it would only harm the monsters who sent this unmanned killing machine into his village and killed his only son.
The world beyond was white and featureless. The vault is all there was, rising from the endless waste in stark contrast, black, angular, foreboding. Inside, on a network of computers, was the last bastion of human knowledge. He was there to protect it.
In our homeschooling this fall we’ve jumped into astronomy, so tonight I took the kids out with a star atlas and binoculars to scan the night skies.
Yesterday, after I had conquered an ugly migraine that wanted to keep me down, I followed Cerelys around for a little more of her hectic day to record another chapter of her story (I’ll proofread and post it later). She’s been getting into some dangerous places, deep in the sordid heart of the illegal story trade, as she runs around and works her magic for Mordrin, who’s frantically trying to keep the peace in Gadilia while he builds his network and prepares for the big vote. The autonomous regions are vital for his plan, but without the unifying presence of Gadilia, they’ll be far too splintered to offer any useful assistance. Peace-making is tricky work, but Cerelys is good at it. And of course the DUE-PIPs are still giving her headaches, but I think for the first time she’s starting to appreciate just a little of their perspective. Although she’s still as convinced as ever of the basic injustice of their prohibition of stories.