Vintersemestre

Not outside looking in, not objective viewpoint. Non-self. Not you. Not him, nor her, nor them. Nothing. Not. Your problems are not important, then again they are the most important thing in the world but are also neither and both. Void, empty, present, aware, ready to embrace death with loving arms; so obscenely powerful that it should be made illegal.

If you are someone who has failed to grasp my ponderous intellect or have previously dismissed me for the arrogant babbling douche that I very well may be, you should probably go check out another thread now; but I'd like you to give it another shot, especially if you're someone who is still struggling. Remember that you are reading the words of someone who has triumphed, or "been there and done that", as the saying goes; through the world's most unconventional, revolutionary and radical means, the Dharma.

I have only been a student of the Dharma for approximately a year and change but in that time I feel as though I have learned so much about the correct understanding of reality and about myself that even my massive head can barely contain all of the information.

What I'd like to do, as it pertains to the philosophy of Annata, is to put you in the shoes of someone else, through the vehicle of your own imagination.

Think of your home. Think of your car. Think of your mortgage, your family, your job, your clothes, your food, your water. Think of your past-times, hobbies and favourite song. Now think of your drug problem. Ponder all of this information for a moment and see: is this you? Look and see: is this what others view as "you"?

Now think of a nameless boy in a nameless world. He can't participate in this mental exercise. He cant think of his home, because he doesn't have one and never has. He can't think of a car because the only time he's ever seen one is when soldiers used it to run down and kill his mother and is deathly afraid of them. He can't think of a mortgage because the very concept has no meaning to him. He can't think of his family because they're all dead and the memory is too painful. He can't think of a job because even if he had the time to do one, there are none and he probably would be beaten and thrown out without a wage at the end of the day. The concept of clothing, as we view it, with a word - as intellectually enraging as it is in this context - fashion, again, has utterly no meaning to him and is an item of pure use-value.

Food. Water. These are his hobbies, past-times and favourite song. His hobby is digging through a garbage dump, scrounging for the scraps of refuse deemed unwanted from a bourgeoisie table. His favourite song was the sound of a running brook of fresh water before Chinamerican progress turned it dry.

He doesn't have a drug problem. As a matter of fact, if he could enjoy the comfort of North America in his nameless world at the cost of a drug problem, he would welcome it. Despite all of this, as he carries a nameless receptacle of water back from a nameless place to share with nameless friends, he has a smile on his face and happy thoughts in his mind. This nameless boy probably isn't older than ten, yet is more mature and more aware and closer to personal liberation than most of us will ever be or could even conceive of.

Knowing this person exists - there you sit. Enamoured in your nameless self.

This has been your Saturday Morning Perspective. All hail the enlightened one.