If I’m a Buddhist then why the fuck am I typing away for something to submit to a Satanist E-Collective’s website?
Because I can.
Because they asked me to.
Because I identify as an aging anarcho-punk satanic Buddhist.
And because I said I would, mafucka.
Being that this good ol’ boy body of mine and my integrity are the only things that I can say are truly mine, and being that I had to turn to the supposed source of all that is dark and unholy in this world to find some glimmer of hope in my cavern of dystopian despair, here-I-sit.
Scared that someone out there is gonna know just by reading this that I don’t know the first thing about Satanism. I don’t know the first thing about operating out of purely selfish desire. I can’t.
I can’t because I understand the teachings of eastern mysticism that have been razor honed to perfection through a stupidly horny desire to understand this reality through science, with all its flaws and double negatives, and wild translations, and how my brain turns it against itself into a depressing, suicide beckoning that will not stop until it beats me
or I beat it.
When you’re locked into a death dance with everything in the known, and unknown universe, just about anything will do. Won’t it?
If it’ll give you a sense of purpose.
If it’ll give you a reason to keep going.
If it’ll reignite the youthful spite towards just about everything the world around you has aligned itself with because you *know* ( somewhere down deep in your DNA, you can feel it SCREAMING, can’t you? ) this isn’t the way it *HAS* to be.
It may well be the way it’s been, but that doesn’t mean shit. Not to one that understands their place in this universe as an adversary to anything and everything that has ever said it was the end all be all.
That doesn’t stop you when you understand that the real nature of the world, and the universe it resides in, stands flat foot in opposition with that of those that would lay claim to the only time-tested authority, does it?
You can’t keep still, can you?
You can’t keep your eyes from reading on even though your pedigree says this is disingenuous, because I don’t hold the same book in the air as a testament to the truth?
Because I can’t rightfully call your savior my own?
Because as much as I’d like to, I can’t believe in an invisible boogeyman. If for no other reason than to call it down and beat the shit out of it, or die trying.
I say to hell with saviors. I say to hell with waiting for anything, or anyone, else to do the work I must. I say to hell with all that was, and IS, that doesn’t cause your compassion to come shooting out of your nose.
We Buddhists like to call that Bodhi Chetta. That care and concern for everything we can identify with as it is marched towards the only end we’ve ever been taught could be. The rage that ruptures the surface when facing fascism in any of its myriad forms shows its face.
Its justifiable, and I can relate.
Technically, I’m a Buddhist. Technically, I’m a Buddhist from a very distinguished lineage that is called Vajrayana.
There’s a hand full of major schools in Buddhism; Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana are the top three. If enlightenment were an island, you could only get there by boat. Theravada is the Buddhist equivalent of baptists. Mahayana is “the great vehicle”, and it can fit as many as needed each run for a pleasure cruise of affirmation as to why you’re as fuct up as you are. Vajrayana is the speed or diamond boat. It’s a no-frills kill-the-ego-right-fucking-now! kinda tour you’ve probably experienced a tad of if you’ve ever been in a corner crying with a head full of LSD. There’s no letting you down easy or embracing your suffering for any reason other than to put a shiny dagger into its peach pit. Sever that connection between self and observer, and away-you-go.
( I would consider Manjushri the patron saint of Vajrayana, but I’m sure there are others that would scold me for such. The problem is, I just don’t give a fuck. Let the monastics have their way while I’m out here in the streets fighting every urge I’ve ever known, every bit of the animalistic nature I was born with. )
That is why we’re all here, ain’t it?
Despite the misnomers. Despite the errors of translation in trying to tiptoe our collective way towards something we *can* believe belongs to us.
Because we give a shit. That’s why you lay awake at night trying to figure out a way to hashtag your way towards the halls of history, ain’t it?
To feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself, and to know that inevitably you’ll disappear into an ink so black that no one will be able to discern your name.
But by association, we’re all guilty. We’re all trying to find some little bit of something to help us through this thing we call life.
Between the fast bits,
the slow traumas
and the dizzy dancing of demigods of our own making. Here with the used to be’s and want to become’s….
To stand as the adversary to ANY-fucking-thing that’s worn out it’s welcome. Even if the hoards come for me. To be dedicated towards the creation of the future, chest fluctuating madly as you run, like a 7-year-old at recess, towards the edge of experience.
You’ve got one, too. A war. That’s why we’re here exploring this whole thing, no?
Because no matter how hard we’ve tried to just get along with a world in which every passing social fancy is at odds with what we believe to be morally sufficient, it keeps pulling stupid shit!
In Anarchist circles there’s a thought process that goes something like this ” Utopia may be impossible, but its the best thing we got to shoot for.” There’s also, ” So long as one is imprisoned, none are free.”You’re welcome.
How ironic, don’t you think, that the best way to embody universal justice is it to align yourself with something that you were told was the very origin of evil? How far off track has this whole thing gone that what, I was told, would suck my soul directly to hell, do-*not*-pass-go-do-*not*-collect-two-hundred-dollars, is one of the only belief systems I can identify with?
If it wasn’t for The Satanic Temple I wouldn’t call myself a Satanist, cuz I’m not.
Satan, as far as I was concerned, belongs to the same silliness that is “the church”.
Assuming a character though, that’s something I’m all too familiar with.
Being the new kid on the block,
being the kid with weird hair,
weird clothes, and an even weirder smile.
You find a way to make it yours. Find the similarities between your stance and that of any other and you can, and probably will identify with that other.
At least enough to signify yourself as something other than what you were ten seconds before you encountered it. -A messy, flawed creature with a sense of the dramatic drawn into your DNA like the experiences of every other thing you found some truth in. –
When you’ve been searching for this long, it is all too easy to lay down and rest under the moniker of anything that will suit your purposes for any amount of time. We’ve all done it, even if we won’t admit it. ( I’m looking at you, “hardcore” kids. )
For me to even write this I have to draw myself into a character. It requires whiskey and weed. It requires smoke doing a sultry song about my head, a cloud I can’t touch because everything I touch runs away sooner or later. Everything I become leaves me once the lesson has worn off and I find myself looking in the mirror wondering aloud, “Who the fuck is *that*?”
Old habits, and a habit of being creepy. The quiet guy in the corner of a dark bar. A line up of the usual suspects inspecting my activity as though there’s some mystery to it. Whiskey, smokes, lighter, ashtray and pen. All the usual trappings of a successful splurge into the sauna that is my mind.
And yes, it’s got me sweatin’.
Sweating the small stuff, sweating the differences, sweating the large pronouns I’m not sure I know how to use correctly. How do I do this? How do I impart upon myself the mystical credence of clear light when I can’t see 10 feet past this text?
I become it.
I step into it with each movement, second by second understanding what it is that drew me to it in the first place. Feel it wrap itself around your body as though it was tailored for my presence. As though it is everything you’ve ever wanted to be. And then some…
“One should strive to act with compassion and empathy towards all creatures in accordance with reason.
The struggle for justice is an ongoing and necessary pursuit that should prevail over laws and institutions.
One’s body is inviolable, subject to one’s own will alone.
The freedoms of others should be respected, including the freedom to offend. To willfully and unjustly encroach upon the freedoms of another is to forgo one’s own.
Beliefs should conform to our best scientific understanding of the world. We should take care never to distort scientific facts to fit our beliefs.
People are fallible. If we make a mistake, we should do our best to rectify it and remediate any harm that may have been caused.
Every tenet is a guiding principle designed to inspire nobility in action and thought. The spirit of compassion, wisdom, and justice should always prevail over the written or spoken word.”
(reprinted here without permission by the original author/s, The Satanic Temple)
I’ve impassionately argued that humanity’s current course could possibly be a learning curve. That we have yet to figure out all the things that will destroy us before we know which things will bring about the conditions that could cause our collective and individual successes. Just like, no doubt, everyone reading this has subscribed at one point, or another, with some silly shite that meant something at the time.
Maybe it’s about the places we were able to clutch to for a short period of time over those we’ve called home? Maybe where you are right now is exactly as the space around you meant to spit you out. Maybe we’re all here, identifying with things we aren’t quite sure we can define because we know that something ain’t right, and the best we can do is to find something that is; or as close as it can be. Maybe.
I’ve supped with beggars, and I’ve given birth to multiverses with those that would proclaim themselves King. But I have never found a better reason to live quite like belonging to a future that is unwritten.
Hail Yo’self, Mafucka. For you are made of star stuff, and just as eternal as that which will never be.
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