Who knows when this journey started. No doubt, before I had even heard the word Buddha. The shards of my own spiritual wanderings rise up inside of me like secondhand hallucinations. The drugged-out trips of the sixties that led me to Sufi dancing; Hindu chanting; new age enneagrams; Taoist breathing' Gurdjieffian and Arican "stop" exercises, Kriya, Hatha, Siddha, Raja, and Kundalini Yogas, Indian ashrams; analysis; Peruvian and Native American shamanism -- and the reverse: cynicism and despair, the deluded excesses of Hollywood, exploiting the intimacies of the psyche under the brightly colored banner of entertainment. Failing to help exorcise the demons of America. In fact, increasing then. Then numbing solipsism rescued by the road again. Life dances on. All the journeys becoming forgotten dreams. And then, finally, haltingly, the Dharma and taking refuge with Dudjom Rinpoche. Followed by twenty more years of traveling. India. Nepal. East and West. L.A. New York. Greenland, Australia, and Peru. North and South. Cape Breton and Nicaragua. And always, in between, banging around the States with Dharma caravans. Sitting, practicing, failing to practice, being initiated into tantras and sutras, exposed, transmitted, empowered to inner secrets and revelations beyond my comprehension. Saying prayers, whispering prayers, yelling prayers, sleeping through prayers, dropping out, coming back, leaving again, hanging in, taking and breaking and retaking vows, burned out by Dharma centers and Tibetan politics. Why? Why not? And who cares?
If there’s one thing college has done for me, it’s to reinforce the notion that a piece of paper with an accomplishment written on it means little. A title such as Dr. and a jumble of letters after someone’s name is not, by any means, a measure of intelligence.
At the end of each term, we’d fill out evaluations for our classes and Professors – but there was never a question as to if the Professor had a grasp of the subject they were lecturing on or not. Why is that?
Dangerous assumptions, says I.
In The Story of B, Daniel Quinn continues the teachings first layed out in Ishmael. Through B, he furthers his criticism of Civilization by continuing to attack agriculture as its base, and expounding a great deal on religion. Indeed, the majority of the book is devoted to religious issues. Quinn classifies the major religions of the East and West – Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – all as salvationist religions, meaning that they’re all of the opinion that man needs to be saved. He shows this as a result of the development of agriculture and a demonstration that collapse is coming, and has been coming for quite a while.
It is certainly a book that fans of Ishmael will enjoy and, if you haven’t read Ishmael yet, what are you doing wasting your time here?
I. Own only that which you must presently use, for all else is deceit. Use little, as virtue is derived from experience, not consumption.
II. Simplicity is virtue. The most beautiful form of simplicity is the elegant circle of self-sufficient consumption and creation. In all forms of accounting, do not consume more than you have already created.
III. Virtue is found not in secrecy or in the constraint of freedom, but in acknowledgement, and accepting responsibility for all costs of one’s actions.
IV. Understanding the universe of connection is virtue. Connect with space through silence. Connect with time through experience. Free yourself from ego through awareness. Protect transcendent beauty.
This is it, here it is. The book that pushes away all others as the most significant book of recent times. It’s been a strong influence on me since before I heard it’s name. Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael is the originator of the primitive movement – the so-called New Tribal Revolution. By allowing one to hear the myth that bombards us every day, Ishmael calls into question the basis of our society and forces one to look at the world in a different way.
There’s little to say, other than read this book.
Spring Quarter is over. And not a minute to soon.
I had stopped doing homework a few weeks ago. I wasn’t motivated enough to do my final Computer Science project. While every one else crammed for finals, I immersed myself in the writings of primitivism, buddhism, and mayan myth.
I moved out of the dorms tonight and payed the holding fee for where I’ll be living starting September. It’s downtown, above the Pita Pit.
An email just arrived, confirming my reservations for my first three nights in Bangkok. Suk it, dorm style.
Last night I completed Dennis Tedlock’s translation of the Popul Vuh. Often referred to as the Mayan’s Genesis, this is the Quiché people’s creation myth. It tells of the gods’ creation of the earth-sky, their attempts to create humans, the exploits of the trickster‘s Hunahpu and Xbalanque, and the times of the first humans. Unlike most sacred texts, I found this one to be quite accessible. It’s written in a way that, even in translation, flows and is easy to understand. I did have trouble pronouncing many of the names, but for that just ask your friendly neighborhood Guatemalan.
When the first humans were created (on the gods’ third attempt), they had perfect sight. The gods were worried that, being able to see “the four sides, the four corners in the sky, on the earth,” these humans’ deeds would rival their own, so they took the sight away. The name Popul Vuh translates to Council Book. It is said that the Quiché lords would sit with the this book in council and, using the original hieroglyphic version (which is now either lost or hiding) as a celestial guide, could regain the lost sight.
They knew whether war would occur; everything they saw was clear to them. Whether there would be death, or whether there would be famine, or whether quarrels would occur, they knew it for certain, since there was a place to see it, there was a book. "Council Book" was their name for it.
Mel Gibson’s upcoming film Apocalypto is supposed to be partially based on these myths. Hopefully the book will gain more attention because of it.