my pathway to spirituality has been a long, tumultuous journey with more bumps than not. G-d is good all of the time, though. although the path hasn’t always been clear, finding the destination after wandering aimlessly through the woods has given me new life.
my opposition to a higher being began with resentment of weak, broken, humans. in looking for G-d i turned to the people who claim to be his messengers, but instead i found wickedness. the holiest of men were performing the unholiest of acts.
ironically, i was afraid my own wickedness would prove prohibitive in my quest.
more and more things were wrong in my head. men as monsters, hateful impositions of “faith”, what i concluded to be egregious waste in the face of countless orphans.
the hypocrisy of the clergy in all facets of life was enough to make me ignore G-d, because of the actions of his chosen ones.
why can’t people just be good human beings? why can’t people just love other people? why do we need an archaic rulebook and equally archaic men beating down from their pulpits to teach us how to be good human beings? Jesus would totally have been a socialist, you know. take that, right-wing assholes.
there was a drive in me to be the best human i could be. ignorantly or otherwise, i attributed that desire to good upbringing, my own knowledge of the depravity of the world, and countless other reasons that i now find laughable.
it was only in reconvenining with a family i didn’t know i had that opened up my heart to G-d once again. the urge to be a good person coupled with the obvious fact that we were there at the right time for the right reasons ripped my world apart.
not to say that my resistance to the Truth wasn’t futile. i fought tooth and nail to avoid what i already knew to be true. G-d created me. G-d created us. G-d created all we know and all we will never know.
the reasoning that kept me away was the same reasoning that was now drawing me in. the limits i created in my mind as to why G-d couldn’t possibly exist were the same limits i was using to prove why He does. the same brain that i was using to come up with a million reasons why G-d was an imaginary friend for people who didn’t have the strength to be good people on their own was the same brain i was using to recognize that my failures in life do not exclude me from the love of G-d, but actually draw me closer to him.
suddenly it hit me:
i am a human soul in the body of a broken man living a broken life for a perfect being and that’s okay as far as i’m concerned because i came from G-d who crafted me to be exactly what i am.
beards&hiphop will make a full recovery. if you see a tape drop in the next two weeks, you know we straight like 9:15
what’s the word b just chilling with my kangaroo
1. Mark Twain - “He had his leather bound notebooks custom made according to his own design idea. Each page had a tab; once a page had been used, he would tear off its tab, allowing him to easily find the next blank page for his jottings”
2. Charles Darwin - “The notebooks were filled with memorandum to himself on things to look further into, questions he wanted to answer, scientific speculations, notes on the many books he was currently reading, natural observations, sketches, and lists of the books he had read and wanted to read. But the progression is far from orderly: the entries are chaotically arranged and wide-ranging; they jump from one scientific subject to the next and are interspersed with notes on correspondences and conversations. He would rest the notebook on his desk and write horizontally down the page with a pen, and, like Isaac Newton, he would sometimes start in from both ends of the notebook at once and work towards the middle.
3. Jack Kerouac - The notebook entry reads:
“Ginsberg — intelligent enuf, interested in the outward appearance & pose of great things, intelligent enuf to know where to find them, but once there he acts like Jerry Newman, the photographer anxious to be photographed photographing —— Ginsberg wants to run his hand up the backs of people, for this he gives and seldom takes — He is also a mental screwball
*(Tape recorder anxious to be tape recorded tape recording) (like Seymour Barab anxious to have his name in larger letters than Robert Louis Stevenson, like Steinberg & Verlaine Rimbaud Baudelaire”
4. Ernest Hemingway - The notebook entry reads:
“My name is Ernest Miller Hemingway
I was born on July 21, 1899
My favorite authors are Kipling, O. Henry and Steuart Edward White.
My favorite flower is lady slipper and tiger lily.
My favorite sports are trout fishing, hiking, shooting, football and boxing.
My favorite studies are English, zoology and chemistry.
I intend to travel and write.”