A response to religious bribery (corruption)

It’s deeply interesting to me that the religious corruption cited here is largely, to me, indeed a corruption of religious traditions themselves, and by the most visible/vocal religious adherents themselves. This is what gave rise to Nietzsche’s announcement that, “God is dead.” And it is the corrupt God-following zealots who killed God—who corrupted the wisdom on which the greatest traditions were built.

To me, it is a misrepresentation of perennial wisdom traditions to say that they are founded on bribery. But it’s not unfair to say that that is how those traditions have been corrupted. What I mean is that the best of these wisdom traditions do not have at their heart a message of asking God for what one wants. Instead, they are rooted in the surrender of those wants and the discovery of a loving contentment with who one is, and what one has, already.

I’ll also offer partial agreement to the notion that the most religious youths grow up to be the most corrupted, in terms of their attempts at bribing God. Only partial agreement, because if those zealots continue growing, typically into middle-age, they are made aware of their own corruption in various ways. These authentic wisdom traditions hold up very, very few heroes who came into their own before middle-age. As success is built on failure, love is built on suffering. One must suffer enough before one knows what authentic love is. And only to the extent that one knows authentic love can one know God, uncorrupted. Within one’s soul.

The glass-half-full metaphor


The glass-half-full metaphor is fatally flawed if we conceive a glass too literally, as a “bottomed” container being filled from the top, especially from some external faucet that isn’t an integral part of the container. It’s not the nature of a container to itself be the source of its filling.

YOU are not a container.

Your nature is NOT to collect external contents from external sources. That means it’s NOT natural for you to receive and contain external material—feelings, opinions, judgments.

Even scholastic learning feels unnatural to us: Rote memorization is a capability we have, yes, but so do many things, living and non-living. We are not a notepad or book. When we are learning best, we are taking in material, then filtering and re-crafting it through who we are, so it settles best into our nature, and we re-present it to the world with our own creativity stamped upon it anew. It is our nature to re-create and *relate*, from the Latin for “to carry back.”

Think about how excruciating it is to undertake authentic transformation. Kicking a bad habit or way of thinking. We can consult self-help sources and have therapeutic counseling, but nothing about those transformation guides ever sticks until we make that guidance our own. Until we let it settle unconsciously and naturally into our individual nature.

We can grasp wise nuggets intellectually as brilliant. But they don’t come alive for us by any uses of our intellects. They are just another external guidepost which usually signals our failure to measure up. There is no debate. You can reject the science of addiction recovery, but your denial doesn’t change anything. Not a single human who has ever lived has re-formed or transformed themselves by thinking. By intellect.

You are a *feeling* and *action* machine. Containers do neither. Nor do notepads, books, or disk drives. It is our nature to *relate*, not contain.

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Neil D. 2020-06-11

Related: Glass Half… What?


Cheryl loving me

Some dear friends said the sweetest things to me this morning. Loving me.
I’m about to ride Cheryl. When the wind whistles through my helmet, I sometimes hear whispers mixed into it. They tell me to enjoy. So I do. Not because I was told. The whispers are just pokes at my consciousness, making me aware that I already AM enjoying the ride. Among those whispers, too, are reminders that it’s ok to feel. They’ll mix together with voices I’ve read this morning, that it’s ok to feel, and express feeling. The mix is like a swirling pot of love. Then I’ll be overcome, and not notice the whispers. I’ll just enjoy loving me

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(More on Cheryl)

Love knows no fear. Only terror:)


[3 minute read]

A friend has a book that speaks to the reader in the first-person voice of Yeshua, Christ, God.

Why is it so striking?

When we read the canonical narratives of Judeo Christianity, they are in the third person, and we are objective observers hearing conversations involving God. “And the Lord spake unto Moses…” “Jesus said…” The third person voice is gentle. It is left up to us to insert ourselves into the story to receive the Word.

I can barely read or hear a sentence from my friend’s book without being seized and overwhelmed. “I have made you this way…” “Let me do this for you…” “Let’s do that together…” Many of the third-person narratives in the scriptures are of course love stories. But I often sense them as the love stories of someone else. Like great movies, yes, they move me deeply to the extent I internalize them. But the direct voice of my friend’s book skips that internalization process. It’s not optional when you are spoken at directly.

The words are a punch directly in the chest. Right at the heart. Like a physical blow to my chest, it takes my breath away, literally. And like recovering from that lost breath, the very next breath is extraordinarily deep, and literally life-giving. It’s weird to me that words can do that.

I suppose it’s not words. To be metaphorical, it is the Word. Piercing my hardened sentinel—my ego. It hurts. Literally. It’s incomparably terrifying. I suppose it’s how the Word brings action to this world.

Some people are terrified by blood. Some pass out at its sight. Even those of us who stomach it are unsettled by it. It’s something that belongs “inside.” Not poured out.

Blood only moves through our insides when the heart pumps it. The heart, not mind.

When the direct words of my friend’s book pierce my heart figuratively, taking my breath away literally, and blood figuratively flows out of that piercing, I sense something *inside* that I too often think of as “out there.” I sense an intrusion. Violation. It is terrifying. Something comes into my heart that I am used to keeping out of it.

Yet mysteriously, it feels perfectly right. So natural. It is my nature to bleed from the heart. It is my nature to be free—free to choose what pierces my heart. Free to accept the raw terror of the blood that comes only from insides. And that is your nature too. To bleed in terror. To love FROM the terrifying fierceness inside.

“You only fear Me because you cannot feel and trust the fullness of pure love — yet. My Son’s passion is a show of love’s purity, not a message that you need to fear Us, nor that you needed His sacrifice… I do not command you by any other power or authority except love… Fearsomeness is false power, and I am not false. Love holds no space for fear. And I AM love…” (source)

The rawness of love’s fullness is terrifying.

Friend, fear no one or anything today. Cause no fear. Instead…

Terrorize someone today.
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Neil D. 2020-06-05


There’s something happening here… Stop, children, what’s that sound?


[5 minute read]

Excerpts from “For What It’s Worth”

There’s something happening here
What it is ain’t exactly clear
[“Authority” stands] over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

There’s battle lines being drawn
Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong
[The child inside is] speaking their mind
Getting so much resistance from behind
It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound
Everybody look what’s going down

What a field-day for the heat {of Satan’s doubt fire}
A thousand people in the street
Singing songs and carrying signs
Mostly say, hooray for our side
Everybody look what’s going down

Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you’re always afraid
You step out of line, [judgment] come and take you away

“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.” How do we sense the happening, and why is it unclear? As we grew up into adults, we progressively suppressed the innocent optimism and flighty, energetic spirit of youth. But that child-sense remains within, beneath the rubble of adulthood.

“[‘Authority’ stands] over there, telling me I got to beware.” Where is this “man with a gun”? He is “over there,” not right here, within. He is not even part of us (“over there”), but his voice “telling me I got to beware” is louder inside our head than our own child-voice. That man and his warnings are institutional religion preaching judgment, government mindsets that make us feel threatened, today’s bitter divisiveness of political partisanship, fear of a pandemic microbe, or righteous anger and rebellion. We are mistaking that voice from “over there” as our own heart: “It’s time we stop, children, what’s that sound (not from children). Everybody look (inside, with a child’s eyes and heart).

“There’s battle lines being drawn. Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong.” Fatal flaws of black-and-white, misinformed religious dogmas by which we feel condemnation. The replacements for Nietzsche’s dead God: Political tribalism and confirmation bias forged by “re-sharing” posts on social media.

“[The child inside is] speaking their mind, getting so much resistance from behind.” What a twist, this resistance… That resistance is the egotism of adulthood that has left the purer child-mind behind. But the child-heart inside us still calls from “behind.” Stop and listen to “that sound.”

Tribalism, fundamentalism, and individually inflated egos… “A thousand people in the street singing songs and carrying signs, mostly say, hooray for our side.” Evil triumphs not only when good people do nothing, but when good people gather under “heat” banners and surrender their creativity for *uniquely* individual powers of love. “What a field-day for the heat.”

As children, our uniqueness flowed out of us freely through everything we did, fearless of whether others were doing or thinking the same. We delighted in how our own uniqueness combined with the uniqueness of play friends. Until the well-intentioned but perditious powers of adult society pressured us to conform to roles and scripts. As children, we feared very unreal things such as monsters. As adults, we have become those unrealities, and live instead by fear of our individual selves, our intrinsic power. We don’t want to be seen by others as making mistakes. Our modus operandi has become fear itself, and we are real monsters: “Paranoia strikes deep; into your life it will creep. It starts when you’re always afraid: You step out of line,” and the unreal standards of adult expectations “come and take you away.”

Today, try to hold in conscious awareness that stopping that happens “here,” and let it become more clear. Take a moment to love another. Let your child-heart reflow through the rubble. With practice at stopping, it will become more clear. What’s happening here, is happening inside of you. Not “over there.”

For What It’s Worth
Song by Buffalo Springfield and Stephen Stills

Neil D. 2020-06-04