Immortality doesn’t mean we’ll keep living after we die. It means we’re irrevocably alive now.
To say there is no duality is to concede there is.
To say God has a list is ignorance.
To say you know anything for sure is naive.
To believe in a separate, personal God is nothing short of ridiculous.
Every religion tells us that God is immutable, omnipotent, and utterly ungraspable by the human mind. Every religion goes on to tell us exactly what is in the mind of God.
Do you think your one, holy, catholic and apostolic church has droned the same immutable message since it rose from the ashes of the Roman Empire? Do you really believe your free-thinking, free-wheeling nihilistic Buddha is the same one who sat, perplexed, tormented and impatient under the Bodhi tree? Can it be your quibbling, etymological Yaweh is the same brutal partisan of the Torah? Is your pitiless prophet the same one who forgave the Meccans for trying to destroy him?
Congratulations, you have mastered the difficult art of intransigent gullibility. Nothing is changeless, not even the divine genealogies your ancestors would find disturbing without their context.
Yes, there is a God, created and lovingly maintained by his human masters. How could it be the opposite? Does God shave? What does he eat? What use would he have of testicles? Where does he get his clothes? How can he have demands?
In my universe, there is no god but All. There are no demands, no rewards, no punishment. Leave that kind of stuff for humanity. The meaning of life is life. The meaning of death is life. The meaning of humanity is arrogance. The meaning of good is evil. The meaning of my right hand is my left hand.
How can it be otherwise?
Shall we live in the moment? It’s possible, of course, to do it, but we cannot experience it. Just from the sheer physics of it: something happens, and it takes some time – not much, but some – for the data to physically reach our senses. Not even light is instantaneous. Then a signal has to travel from the outer shell to the brain. By the time we’re aware of it, it’s over. Only those unfortunate few who are technically alive, but in a persistent vegetative state may be living in the moment. Even then, it’s possible we’re missing some signal or other being sent out of that quiescent skull into the room, the hospice, the eternal vastness beyond, missing that faint tapping on the inner bone that indicates a thing is living in there. As for what it’s like in that locked room, that’s a subject to be set aside for later perusal.
Right. Technically we can’t live in the present. But awareness cannot exist without memory, even from a subjective point of view. When you see a face, what you’re getting is a pelting stream of photons, constantly changing; you have to supply the meaning. There’s a story of a congenitally blind man who, through surgery, was able to see for the first time. He described it as an onslaught of totally unfamiliar data. He could only identify what must have been his wife’s face because the sound of her voice seemed to be coming from it. She was neither beautiful nor ugly, just disturbing; it was, indeed, hard to tell where the face ended, and its surroundings began. It was bewildering. Ultimately, he became blind again, but not from any physical cause. He simply couldn’t deal with the odd new sensations.
Imagine all your senses like that: vibrating ear drums, tingling skin, chemical eruptions in the nasal passages, all prompting a deluge of neuronal activity, incomprehensible because never before experienced, yet unavoidable. We only know what these things mean because we live in the past.
Okay, sure, you say, we need a bit of the past, but surely we can avoid the future.
Can we, now? Let’s plan on it.