Mr. Spock Rocks . . .

It isn’t any surprise that Mr. Spock was an influence in my life, just look at the URL for my blog. I was barely 6 years old when Leonard Nimoy first went on TV with the flat hair cut and pointed ears. The fact that my dad liked the show made it an early influence in my view of being a geek or a nerd. There was always Mr. Spock to look to.

Mr. Spock didn’t fit in with his childhood peers, either. Being only half-Vulcan in a society that rigidly viewed all other races and cultures as inferior, he found it necessary to step out of the boundaries of his society to blaze his own trail. Even in the marriage his parents arranged for him, his betrothed rejected him both because of his mixed heritage and the high degree of notoriety he held. The only place he ever felt completely free to be himself was on the Enterprise.

Except for the fact that I never have found my “Enterprise”, I can fully relate. My mother was such a staunch Democrat that she even at one point was the Committee Chairperson for her county. My dad, on the other hand, is a devout Republican who is the current NRA Election Volunteer Coordinator for SE Kansas. You can’t be more opposite. Both think that their views are the only ones that are right – and the only thing they agree on is that I’m somehow wrong for rejecting Christianity.

Mr. Spock always seemed to have an answer for everything – but often his answer was “We don’t have enough data to support that conclusion.” In other words, “I don’t know.” He was honest, always did everything he could, and was brilliant. With an IQ of 149, I didn’t fit in with my peers either – and my parent’s civil war was even more well known in our small Kansas town than it was within our home – so my peers already had reason to set me apart.

I spent a lot of my childhood reading books in the backyard – alone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to make friends – it was that I didn’t want the pain of trying to make a new friend and ending up being their punching bag after a week or two. I was reading Agatha Christie in 3rd & 4th grade; Conan-Doyle in 4th grade; Asimov & Clarke by 5th grade. There were many other authors along the way – I went through at least 100 novels every summer.

Reading wasn’t the only area I had advanced abilities in, either. In 2nd grade, while the class was working to understand 2 column addition and subtraction, my father was taking a college math class. He had a classmate he got together with once a week to do homework and study with, and due to lack of babysitting he took me and my brothers along. We were expected to play with his classmate’s kids in a bedroom while they studied at the kitchen table. One night I overheard the most fascinating conversation – about an alternate system of measurements and how to convert from our system to it. It was the Metric System. The next day in school, I asked my teacher about the things I had learned by listening to that conversation. I went up to the board and wrote out what I remembered. It took exactly 2 minutes to realize I knew more about the Metric System at that point than she did. She was the first teacher to tag my report card with the phrase, “Not performing up to potential” – but not the last. Lebo never had a class after that which challenged me – except to find ways to cope with boredom. While I never excelled at any one musical instrument, I learned to play 12 different ones – reading music – before the end of my Sophomore year of high school.

There I was – barely 16 – and I’d already done more than many adults do if they live to be 80. I had a bright future – or so we thought until I applied for admission to my equivalent of the Vulcan Science Academy.

The music teacher from Lebo High School (way back then – he isn’t there any more) had worked out a full-ride scholarship for me to study music at Emporia State University. It was a very big deal. Except for one problem – or actually two. The math teacher I worked with at Emporia High School (where I actually graduated) had worked out a full-ride scholarship for me in the Mathematics Department at Emporia State University, and the Creative Writing teacher at EHS had also worked out a full-ride scholarship for me at ESU. When I talked to the admissions office about my application, they were thrilled that I would consider ESU (to be honest, Julliard and MIT weren’t options because my family couldn’t afford them). I just needed to declare my major before we could get me enrolled.

How does a 16 year old kid who’s never had a friendly peer group decide what his entire life’s future would be? I took a page out of Mr. Spock’s book – turn your back on the Vulcan Science Academy and join Star Fleet. Or, in the real world, I walked away from Emporia State University and joined the US Army.

Thank you, Mr. Nimoy. You’ve done more for me than you will ever know.

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Sex advice for young men (SFW)

Alright, guys.  Admit it – you’ve been watching me.  Yes, me.  The fat, disabled, gray-haired old man hobbling around town – with the hardbodied hottie holding his hand.  She’s my wife, and looks half of her true age.  I know what you’re thinking.  “She must be his daughter.”  or “How does a guy like that get a gal like THAT?”

I’m going to tell you a secret.  In fact, it is THE secret.  This is the answer to your dream question.  Yes that question that even I was asking when I was your age.  “What does a guy have to do to spend the rest of his life with his hands in HER pants?”

But first, let me tell you something else.  If you ask HER, my wife will not tell you that this secret has anything to do with my success.  She’d tell you about “love” and “laughter”.  She would credit the time I spend managing the maintenance on our home so she can just come back from work and relax instead of calling contractors for mowing, guttering, painting, or tuck pointing.

While I’m sure all of those things do factor into it, lots of guys would do them just because our society conditions them to think of those as “the manly things to do”.  So they are obviously NOT the secret to my success.  The secret has to be something that I do, which she appreciates, that would NOT be conditioned by society or taught in school – right?

Are you ready?  Honestly, no tricks.

Learn to do the laundry – and make sure she knows you can do it.  Then do it, well, and often.  You’ll have your hands in her pants even when she doesn’t feel up to having your hands on her body!

Have a nice day!laughing cat

Personal epiphanies . . .

I had a bad night, the night before last.  I was smelling things that aren’t in the house, and also hearing strange sounds.  Anyone who gets migraines should know what that means.

So, right after eating supper with my wife, I went to bed, for the night, I hoped.  Instead, after only 3 hours, I was back up, with my head hurting and my left shoulder adding an original counterpoint to the beat.  I got a glass of whiskey, and watched Divergent with my wife (we’d gotten it on DVD from Netflix).  As I prepared to make another run at my pillow, I had an interesting thought.

Mind you, I do have a nice home, and a beautiful wife who loves me.  We have 2 grand lap warmers all year long – complete with vibration and sound effects!  All things considered, I have it pretty good, and I know it.

Which is why this personal epiphany is a bit of a milestone.  I realized that, as much as I appreciate this life – I don’t feel that I deserve it.  I never have.  Do you know that old success coaching aphorism about “Fake it until you make it” ?  Well, I’ve been faking it for 50 years, and I made it, but I’m still faking.  So, what is the trade-off then?  I compensate for my feeling unworthy by allowing my body to be disfunctional.  The arthritis, the slowly creeping in cataracts, the intermittent cardiac arrhythmia (aka – intermittent irregular heart beat) – it’s all allowed to keep me from having more success.

I feel like there is something in my back-story that is so horrendous that society would ostracize me the minute it became known.  Something like blowing up Hiroshima to kill a termite.  Because I accept a form of reincarnation as not only plausible, but most likely, it is easy to see how I could have done this and nobody know it was me.  It’s simple – I’m using a different avatar now!  I don’t know where this is leading, but it looks like I’m on a very interesting journey.

Over 1700 years in the making . . .

I really hate to come across as your typical conspiracy theorist, but sometimes things happen for which no other interpretation seems accurate. One such thing happened to me, this morning.

Some of you may recall past blogs I’ve written within which I speculated about the story of Jesus of Nazareth. If you allow for the possibility of him being a real, flesh and blood human being then you have to accept that he was born, had a child-hood, and a life before he began his public ministry at the age of 30. So, for years (decades, even) I’ve been asking clergy from many different sects of Christendom one particular question.

Who taught Jesus the path to enlightenment?

Seems like a simple enough question, right? Well, for decades Christian ministers have been telling me answers like this:

Nobody really knows where he went to school.

As part of the God-head, he just knew.

He wasn’t really human, just God in a human form to show us the way to salvation.

Those answers may feel really comforting to some people, but as a person who is genuinely hungry to also become an enlightened master, they don’t do squat for me.

Finally, after years of search, I found a clue in the writings of a 1st Century AD Jewish historian. Josephus Flavius – usually just referred to as Josephus. He wrote a lot about conditions in Israel during the life of Jesus and the first few decades after. He was also very highly esteemed – at different points in his life he served as an ambassador to Rome and as the Governor of Galilee.

Josephus describes in detail one particular sect of the Jews, which he said was called the “Essenes”. The Essenes were, Josephus said, a very tight-knit group who would recognize a visiting Essene from another town or province instantly. In his writings he names 3 Essenes in particular. Two were cousins – John the Baptist and Jesus. And to remove any doubt on his qualification to name them – the third he names is himself.

After I learned of Josephus’ declaration of Jesus’ religious affiliation, I began to look for authentic materials on the teachings of the Essene sect.

Last week I hit pay-dirt. I found a small book through one of my book-swap clubs. It was simply titled, “The Essene Gospel of Peace”. I requested it, and got it a couple of days ago. Wednesday morning I had an appointment to get repairs done on our car, and took that book with me to read while I waited.

Two hours later I was so mad I could hardly see straight. So far, everything I’ve learned from TEGP about Jesus’ public ministry points to one thing. For TEGP to be right, the “Holy Bible” is a fraud. Checking out the truth of TEGP shouldn’t be difficult, either – it goes into considerable detail of the methods used by Jesus to facilitate healing. Everything is covered, from dietary rules to ritual bathing. Daily schedules include how much time to spend working your garden, or in prayer or study.

In fact, so far (and I’m not through with even half of the book yet) the entire book is devoted to MORTAL purification. Those things covered are all things that everyone can do to live a healthier life. And Jesus’ references to Satan? In every instance, Satan is a term applied to physical ailments suffered by those who have not lived according to the natural laws of life Jesus was teaching. In one instance, when Jesus “cast Satan out” of a terribly ill man, “Satan” was a tape worm nearly as long as the man himself.

I’m going to keep reading. In part, I hope to find some information which will refute the belief growing in me of the degree of error in the Bible. It feels so great of a betrayal that only a deliberate series of acts would have succeeded in creating it, and that isn’t “error.” I also intend to begin preparations for following Jesus’ healing rituals, as described in this book.

Updates will follow.

Fear and enlightenment . . .

I had another brain-burst last night. Admittedly, I was also up at 2am due to a migraine headache, but when it’s this productive I say go with it.

Here is the idea. The basic reason for fractured denominations and 150 different religions (at least) is a lack of tolerance. When we believe we are right, humans naturally tend to include in that belief that all other points-of-view are wrong.

Why?

It seems to me that we are lacking in tolerance because we see some sort of threat to the view-points of others. To the degree that they may be right, we think it makes us less right. For most people, it never occurs to us that both ideas can be equally, totally, right. Why do we think the rightness of another is a threat to us?

FEAR.

In this universe, the number one rule of life is “Survive.” For a person who has awakened to enlightenment, there is NO threat to survival. He/she knows what is true, and lives it, and allows nothing to happen in their space without their personal approval. Even in the case of Jesus (Yeshuah ben Panther), he had to ALLOW himself to be crucified. Because Enlightened Masters know that nothing can be a threat, even the opinions of others are tolerable.

Which is why others can immediately tell when they are in the presence of an Enlightened Master. They feel a peace, a presence, that can only mean that they are fully accepted just as they are, no strings attached. This person before them would never be a threat to them, and will accept no threat to himself or others. The Enlightened Master creates a cone of peace around himself, and then freely invites the world to enter it.

We don’t need any more bimbo’s in bathing suits hoping for “world peace” – we need more Enlightened Masters to help CREATE world peace.

Unworthy . . . ?

Some of you may remember that I wrote about some things like Jed McKenna’s book on spiritual enlightenment and Alberto Villoldo’s book on soul retrieval. Well, I’ve been struggling to do anything with either one, and it’s way past frustrating. I kept telling myself that there weren’t enough specifics in McKenna’s book about how to do it, and I just don’t have anywhere in my home that is suitable for doing the journeying Villoldo writes about.

But, I also started a so-called transformation course – also dealing with spiritual growth. The course is self-paced and internet based, so I thought this might give me a kick in the right direction, at least.

At the end of lesson 3 there was an exercise. Part of the exercise was to make a list of all the people and groups that you feel judgmental about.

The big winner on my list? ME.

Oh, I know – someone is going to say something like, “But we’re all our own worst critics!” That may be true, but this goes way over the line.

I don’t even know for sure when it started, but perhaps had some roots in my struggle to avoid being a punching-bag when I was growing up. You have no idea how damaging to your self-esteem it is to be both the smartest kid in your class and the smallest/weakest. It was always an internal fight with myself over the question, “What is wrong with me?” In a small town like Lebo, there weren’t many peers to draw friends from, and none were my friend for very long. I didn’t fit in.

Then I had the bone tumor terminate my Army career at the age of 19. Then, at the still wet-behind-the-ears age of 30, I had my first wife file for divorce. Add to that the fact that, ever since my discharge from the Army, I have never earned more than $10,000 US in one calendar year. Oh, and my wife and I seem to have the absolute worst luck with lotto tickets – we almost never win anything, and have never won more than $7 when we do win.

So, who do I sit in judgment on? Myself. I don’t feel worthy. I don’t feel like I deserve the wife who makes me so happy when she’s near. I don’t deserve our cats, who never judge me or withhold affection from me. I don’t deserve a government job that starts out making twice the highest pay I’ve ever had. I don’t deserve a house where clothes closets weren’t an after-thought years after it was built. I don’t deserve a reliable car that’s also fun to drive.

I don’t deserve. I’m not worthy.

That is what I found hiding under all the braggadocio and swagger. It doesn’t seem to help for me to remind myself of the help I am to others, my talent for finding information other people need, how many internet friends I have (and just why is it that almost all of my friends have never actually met me?) or how many people congratulated me on doing all the right things to try to help my daughter. None of that matters, because inside I know I’m just old crap. It’s a feeling I can’t talk myself out of.

I think it’s also why I’ve been having trouble doing anything beyond reading those two books I wrote about in the first paragraph above. I just don’t deserve to become enlightened. No matter how much I want it. It’s like wanting a $2.5 Million USD home – keep on wanting, because it sure ain’t going to happen.

I don’t know what to do about this, either. Please, don’t tell me that I’m depressed and need to see a shrink – I wouldn’t go to a psychiatrist or any other “mental health practitioner” if I had an iron-clad guarantee from GOD ALMIGHTY that one visit between me and one of them would bring about eternal world-peace. I don’t trust them. It’s sort of a professional rivalry thing – remember my first (and only) Dianetics failure?

I don’t really know what any of you can do about this. I guess that, to a degree, it just feels a little better getting it out in the open where I can look at it. I’ve written this pretty much stream-of-consciousness, so I am sure it’s a bit messy. So be it. Right now it’s alright to be messy – I need to see this for what it is so I can know what I’m dealing with. But, still I thank you for caring enough to read this self-flagellation.

And the lightning strikes . . .

Ok, before I dive into this very far, I think a re-cap is in order.

I have been, since I was about 10 years old, asking questions that no religious teacher has wanted to attempt to answer. That’s 34 years.

34 years that I’ve been on – not a journey or a path – but a quest for something.

There have been times when I’ve felt very much like Neo in the movie MATRIX – before he met Trinity. Something bothers me, and I’m seeking an answer that it seems nobody knows. And, I can’t let go of the hunt. It compels, demands, that I continue to look for it. To try to define it. To solve the mystery of all mysteries. In the movie, it all comes together for Neo when Trinity whispers in his ear, “It’s the question that drives us. You know the question, the same as I did.” His reply: “What is the Matrix?”

For 34 years, I’ve been – obsessed isn’t a bad word to put here – with finding this mysterious something.

At this point, I can’t even remember for certain where it was that I first got the inspiration to connect with this, but I have under my right arm at this minute a book that has gone farther to resolve my issues in this area than all other books on the subject I’ve read combined.

The title is “Spiritual Enlightenment: The Damnedest Thing” by Jed McKenna.

My complete and humble apologies to anyone who suggested it, if I forgot it was your idea. However, more to the point – this book is like lightning in a bottle – my personal epiphany!

Here is a fair-use quote from page 45:

It’s amazing how desperately we cling to our beliefs. As history shows, the fastest way to reduce otherwise decent people to a state of savagery is by tampering with their belief system. The word for someone who does so is heretic, and historically the punishments reserved for him are more brutal than for any other class of offender. The point is that by the time people come to me, their beliefs are securely in place. No one approaches me and asks to have their hard-won beliefs demolished. They come to build upon what they already have and to continue along the path they’ve already started down. Demolition, though, is exactly what they need. If, that is, they want to wake up.

But, that’s a very big “if”. How many of them really want what it really is. My opinion is that only a fraction of one percent of seekers of enlightenment are even pointed in the right general direction. I would also say, however, that the percentage is a bit higher if you’re looking at the group that has made it to my house or to this book; to me and this message. At the time of this writing, the message you find in this book and that I share with our guests at the house, enlightenment stripped of its spiritual trappings, is uncommon in the extreme. I say that a higher percentage of people sitting with me or holding this book desire enlightenment for what it really is because we all get what we need when we need it. If the universe has set you in front of me or put this book into your hands, then in all likelihood you are closer than most to honestly confronting the stark reality of your situation. It works both ways: When the teacher appears, the student is ready.

End Fair-Use Quote.

There is no new-age, mystical mumbo-jumbo in this book. It’s written almost like a personal diary of his interactions with people who’ve come to his home to learn how to become enlightened. His reply is simplicity itself – strip away all that is not true, and what is left is enlightened. He calls the process, for lack of a better term, brutal, difficult, demanding, even perilous. Once someone has taken the first step (he capitalizes FS) – he says the rest of the path is nearly automatic and has never taken anyone more than 2 years to complete.

I’ve wasted 32 years! No, not really. Sometimes if feels like it, but that is part of the illusion (pride) that would keep me from finishing the journey. All that has gone before has led to now. Now is the beginning of the journey.

He likens being on the other side looking back at the rest of us to being the person watching a soap opera. Every character in the soap opera believes that he’s real, that what’s happening to him is real and important, while he’s sitting in his easy chair telling everyone that if they would only wake up, the soap opera wouldn’t matter anymore.

Is that why I’ve so conveniently arranged my life that I have very few attachments? The number of close friends – really good ones – that I can talk to who would know how to call me is so small I can count them on one hand with digits left over. (Please don’t think I’m diss’in’ my internet friends – you’re all great but most of you I’m still getting to know.) Over 80% of my family doesn’t know how to reach me directly. Even my high school class secretary can only reach me by email, or through my dad. I’m not working, so I have plenty of “free time” to spend on my quest.

If some major catastrophe were to happen tomorrow, the only thing here in Smallville that I would absolutely feel I had to take with me would be my wife. Sure, I’d like to take the Mustang, and my computer & DVD collection, but they are replaceable, if they are even really necessary.

So, that’s what has been going on with me the last couple of days. I’ve been mercifully attacked by the witty insights of Jed McKenna.