Nom de plumes And Death

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Since I moved my computer downstairs in order to stay cooler longer before I have to turn on the air conditioner, I haven't been comfortable typing because the computer desk I had everything arranged around upstairs is too heavy for me to handle alone. "Just another old man with bad hands."

It doesn't seem too odd to me that I would chose the Spanish term for "hands" to be the middle name in my nom de plume. Manos. Felix Manos Peregrino. Granted, I chose the term as my middle name because, at the time, I was reading palms a lot. Reading palms petered out on me just like my hands have.

It's mostly my thumbs that have caused me the main problems. I can't squeeze anything like doorknobs and medicine lids. Anything child-proofed makes me feel helpless and stupid. I have to hesitate to shake hands with men who might wanna impress me with their youth and vitality. The pain from that can be excruciating beyond expression.

Many of my daily activities remind me that death will take everything I value away and leave me nothingness in it's stead, but I fear there won't be any awareness of a "stead". My experiences as a psychonaut have exposed me to the various states of death, and due to what I learned from deliberately going there, giving up what I've imbued with value is the very thing to do.

This bit about having to surrender all to death reminds me of an epiphany I had while watching a PBS travel documentary. This dude went to some Buddhist monastery somewhere in Asia. The monks there provided a lecture about their activities there after which a visitor could ask questions. One visitor asked why nearly all the Buddha statues show him smiling enigmatically.

The monk's answer surprised me with it's frankness. He said, "The Buddha smiles when he meditates in order to be kind to those who might see him practicing." The reason it surprised me was that I had come to the same conclusion. I have seen a few so-called "master meditators" in the throes of their purportedly lucid state of being, and the looks on their faces was hardly holy.

Of my own volition I decided to put a smile on my face when I'm practicing meditation for the sake of-the-other. I hadn't thought about my doing that as an act of kindness, but in consideration of what the monk on that travel show, it probably means the same thing.

During the last decade or so, a group of Tibetan monks has been traveling from one Buddhist temple to the other in the United States. I've never seen them perform their sect chants in person, but I've seen several videos of them doing it. In my opinion they're doing bel canto exercises that are recognized by some Christians as being good for the soul.

Except for one or two out of maybe twenty-odd Tibetan monks making the tour, none of them smiled when they chanted or meditated. What incentive does that offer for a neophyte to want to mimick them? I don't think there is such a mystical, secret society that gives an edge to it's students or to the various seekers who kowtow to their personal demands.

There are no more secrets that cause a chela to bend before some master's will. It's all on the internet. True, acquiring all the abstract knowledge about meditation there is from studying it on the thousands or millions of sites on the internet, but what is gained by practicing still requires that a body sit down to it and do what it takes. That part can't be explained for either love or money.

Time for my disclaimer. I make up the stuff I write to amuse myself. It's not the God's own truth to the best of my knowledge. I probably wouldn't recognize it if it were. The point of me keeping this blog is to attempt to use words to capture drifting thoughts. It's fun, and the very idea that somebody might believe this as gospel makes my day... for a little while.
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