Wednesday, July 27, 2011

The Spirit Of The Times - Reprise

In Hinduism, Durga (Sanskrit: दुर्गा, Durgā, meaning "the inaccessible" or "the invincible"; Bengali: দুর্গা, durga) or Maa Durga (Bengali: মা দুর্গা, mā durgā, meaning "Mother Durga") "one who can redeem in situations of utmost distress" is a form of Devi, the supremely radiant goddess, depicted as having eight arms, riding a lion or a tiger, carrying weapons and a lotus flower, maintaining a meditative smile, and practicing mudras, or symbolic hand gestures. The name is made of Sanskrit dur- = "with difficulty" (compare Greek δυσ- (dys-)) and gā ("come", "go").

An embodiment of creative feminine force (Shakti), Durga exists in a state of svātantrya (independence from the universe and anything/anybody else, i.e., self-sufficiency) and fierce compassion. Kali is considered by Hindus to be an aspect of Durga. She is thus considered the fiercer, demon-fighting form of Shiva's wife, goddess Parvati. Durga manifests fearlessness and patience, and never loses her sense of humor, even during spiritual battles of epic proportion.

Om Dum Durgayei Swaha!

"I think there is choice possible at any moment to us, as long as we live. But there is no sacrifice. There is a choice, and the rest falls away. Second choice does not exist. Beware of those who talk about sacrifice."

"The universe is made of stories, not atoms."
- Muriel Rukeyser

On the left, Muriel in her youth. On the right, Muriel fully mature.

Wiki says: Muriel Rukeyser (15 December 1913 – 12 February 1980) was an American poet and political activist, best known for her poems about equality, feminism, social justice, and Judaism. Kenneth Rexroth said that she was the greatest poet of her "exact generation".

One of her most powerful pieces was a group of poems entitled The Book of the Dead (1938), documenting the details of the Hawk's Nest incident, an industrial disaster in which hundreds of miners died of silicosis.

Her poem "To be a Jew in the Twentieth Century" (1944), on the theme of Judaism as a gift, was adopted by the American Reform and Reconstructionist movements for their prayer books, something Rukeyser said "astonished" her, as she had remained distant from Judaism throughout her early life.

I am touched that she recognized the perilous ground that sacrifice treads. I too deeply suspect that sacrifice and its justifications form a less than honest complex in the scheme of things, more of the warp and weft of man's strange yearning than of God's demand.

Role playing. I'm a nice guy, surely. Honest, hardly ever rob banks, haven't set a fire in absolutely weeks! People like me goddammit. Yet there is something sour and dangerous going on and there really always is. I pull the ten block radius test on some of my concepts. I believe everyone from saints to sinners is hanging out within a ten block radius of me in any metro area. When I was a victim of identity theft, my bag was stolen from beside my car in my driveway at 4:45 AM on a quiet residential street, and NOBODY but me is up at that time. And because of what happened next it had to be a local who did it. A full blown thief pretty effing close to me.

The next deal, I am sure the potential exists in me, in you, in all of us, for anything anyone else actually does. In a wierd way this is precisely like the dream professionals asserting we each are all the characters and structures in our own dreams which are totally solipsistic no matter who is in them.

Hitler lived his own nightmare so large that millions of people had and paid for aspects of the same nightmare. Think that way for a while, how we each participate in each other's dreams and illusions and learn from that how Buddhists came up with the Four Noble Truths.

The Spirit Of The Times

So enter into
The joy of the destruction
As if it were real.

Then pull the black curtain back,
Look behind the face of things.

The dark mother sits
Behind my eyes, embraces me.
I circle with vultures.

First Posted January 13, 2009

1 comment:

  1. This thing

    I hold it in my hands this thing so fragile
    I can with one twitch
    Nerves fired racing through channels
    Long established for just that
    Crush it, tear it, rend it
    Fragile this thing in my hand is
    With one impulse I can
    Racing nerves quieted
    Seldom used But for this
    Caress it, nurture it, breath life
    Into its farthest recesses
    This thing so fragile, tenuous


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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