When I was three years old, a man, named Sheldon Kopp, penned a marvelous book, called If You Meet The Buddha on the Road, Kill Him. The last title was not all my idea. I am not a violent man, and I guess some of my friends found the title a bit provocative. But I do want to explain.
When the book was written, it was based in no small part on the key idea that no truth that comes from outside yourself is real. I have had to truly look into my soul, and seek out some pieces of truth, especially in the light of the challenges some readers of this blog have posed to me. My own statements on knowing a man's motives forced me into a corner, after essentially saying that a man's motives cannot be known, and furthermore, are in most cases immaterial. I hope these philosophies do not keep me off any jury selections.
It is amazing to me that once a pewrson starts taking a stance that a man;s motives are not only unknowable, but insignificant, it can simply put you at odds with so many folk in the world. How can I say that I take so much of this seriously when I do not even look at most of it as real? I have been posting for two months about this petty breakup in my life, if for no other reason than that I felt denied the most basic, most simple of vindications. Sigh. That is pathetic. No wonder my roommate thinks I am a bitter man. Still, he does want me to move with him, and perhaps it is just so he does not have to have me on his floor anymore. But, in a room where he would not have to interact with me....
I believe that when I can transcend all this drama, my life would become more manageable. I see all these points in my life where I, or someone nearby me, wanted to make a point about someone, and had to base it on a speculation about a person;'s "obvious" motives. How often has my name been smeared by people with their concerns about the reasons behind my actions? This discussion would not burn a hole in my ass so bad if it were not for the fact that I have had to endure the most tedious discussions.
One man sat on the phone and pointlessly blew smoke up my ass over a slight he did me four years ago, and instead of telling me that his actions were wrong, and would never try to fuck me over again, he left me feeling slimy.
Causality merely means to me a pointless exercise in trying to make sense of a world with my own infinitely limited resources. If I walk a shoreline, I could never fully decide where to declare the shore. Every time, every footfall would land somewhere different, and never again could I say I hold the absolute knowledge of where the shore lies, neglectful of the constantly changing tides, the movement of the sands, my incomprehensably changing values as I roll my reliable measuring wheel.
When I want to solve a life problem, or I want to praise someone for their solution, I would be bound into a false declaration of truth. So, I stay out of the fray, and move onto a path of greater peace.
Where is this peace to be found? It is found where it has always been, in my breath. When I got panicked, lost, afraid, I was always reminded to breathe. Now I breathe, hopefully with a little more consciousness. Perhaps I can breathe in the hopes of finding that lasting peace where every drama plays out without my active involvement...