the game of life

I’m imagining I’m in my crib slobbering and goo-gooing and in comes the one I love to see, and my mouth opens wide squealing and my legs kicking and hearing sounds and seeing lips moving and smiling, and I’m picked up and the lips kiss my forehead and cheeks and the one I love puts me back down into the crib. I feel so very good as I pull myself up bobbing and weaving to stand in my crib unaided for the first time.

Down the road I came to recognize a sound and decided the sound was referring to me. I became me, the name, the ID: the one who will eventually choose and figure. My body is the one seeing, feeling, smelling, etc. Today I’m guessing I’m an arrangement in a powerful brain inside of a body which has mobility, language, and will. The last one is critical and is my specialty, it’s my duty to choose. And starting out it was easy.

I didn’t know where I came from until I was told by a girl in my Sunday-school class that I came out of my mother’s stomach. And I asked my mother and she said so too.

I went to church three times a week with my mother for years and they taught that I had an eternal soul inside of me, and to be safe for all eternity, I had to believe and trust in Jesus to be saved from terrible punishments that would never stop.

So, I believed and trusted. Yet I still wasn’t totally honest all the time, and I treated others as I would like to be treated but not all of the time. I was caught shoplifting a pocketknife when I was twelve. Knives weren’t kept under glass when I was a kid. This episode in my life turned out to be a good thing.

The important thing is I was and am a normal human being. I, like everyone else, have either a constant flow of language going on inside of me, or I have language coming out of me, or I’m paying attention to language sounds coming from my surroundings.

Our desire to continue this constant gathering in and reeling out of language must be the reason why there’s a hugh market for entertainment. It’s a wonderful thing to have the opportunity to relax and hear and see the best ideas and things going and to read what others are recommending. What a relief it is to be entertained. 

As one matures, one eventually and naturally wonders about the answers to questions like Does my life have a purpose? and Why am I here? Unless your mind has been made up for you. Which is usually the case until one starts to think for one’s self.

However, it’s not likely we carry around from birth a purpose to complete, and it’s more likely a purpose can find us by appealing to us and then convinces us. How so? Purpose can’t talk but situations can pull thoughts out of us. For a long time I’ve thought there’s no special purpose for anyone, and circumstances help to make it so. 

Beyond giving our gifts to the world, what is there? Can we give something to ourselves? Can one explore without becoming religious? The spiritual philosophies of the East appear to be the oldest and best. Excluding Hinduism’s many gods, is there anything else besides Buddhism and Zen Buddhism which comes close to the depth of their spiritual insights?

Are Buddhism’s ideas about personal fulfillment or enlightenment valid? Does communing with one’s being plug one into the universe? Can existing without language   for a while each day eventually bring a realization which completes a human being?

Countless sages in the past agree there’s more to life than a life where one’s identity dominates all of the time. This is because of its ancient position of decider and planner. 

A normal type of life is all we can expect when normality is all we want. The search-for-enlightenment meme is one of the oldest memes existing. 

No search is necessary because the sages agree our wonderful and powerful carriage is the key. Commune with it silently and it will take you home.

Desire will prompt an adventurous baby to climb out of its crib to explore. Does language represent a special crib which naturally, without malice corrals the normal life?

We don’t notice the corral because being occupied with language has always been the case. There’s no expectation of anything more after death except an afterlife. Is the belief in a never ending joyous or torturous afterlife the ring in the nose of the followers of most organized religions?

Are we all dreaming and snoring, and this rumble is the breath of identity: the wonderful and powerful tool of language? 

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