Bodhisattva in Blood Red Activity

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Bodhisattva in Blood Red Activity
by The Ox

Lo! I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold;
Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out
The year and I are old.

In youth I sought the prince of men,
Captain in cosmic wars,
Our Titan, even the weeds would show
Defiant, to the stars.

But now a great thing in the street
Seems any human nod,
Where shift in strange democracy
The million masks of God.

In youth I sought the golden flower
Hidden in wood or wold,
But I am come to autumn,
When all the leaves are gold.
G.K. Chesterton, Gold Leaves

“So the bodhisattva saves all beings, not by preaching sermons to them, but by showing them that they are delivered, they are liberated, by the act of not being able to stop changing.”
Alan Watts

By all outward appearances our life is a spark of light between one eternal darkness and another. Nor is the interval between these two nights an unclouded day, for the more we are vulnerable to pain — and, whether in background or foreground, the pain is always with us. We have been accustomed to make this existence worthwhile by the belief that there is more than the outward appearance — that we live for a future beyond this life here. For the outward appearance does not seem to make sense. If living is to end in pain, incompleteness, and nothingness, it seems a cruel and futile experience for beings who are born to reason, hope, create, and love. Man, as a being of sense, wants his life to make sense, and he has found it hard to believe that it does so unless there is more than what he sees — unless there is an eternal order and an eternal life behind the uncertain and momentary experience of life-and-death.

I may not, perhaps, be forgiven for introducing sober matters with a frivolous notion, but the problem of making sense out of the seeming chaos of experience reminds me of my childish desire to send someone a parcel of water in the mail. The recipient unties the string, releasing the deluge in his lap. But the game would never work, since it is irritatingly impossible to wrap and tie a pound of water in a paper package. There are kinds of paper which won’t disintegrate when wet, but the trouble is to get the water itself into any manageable shape, and to tie teh string without bursting the bundle.

The more one studies attempted solutions to problems in all realms, the more one has the impression of extremely gifted people wearing out their ingenuity at the impossible and futile task of trying to get the water of life into neat and permanent packages.

There are many reasons why this should be particularly evident to a person living today. We know so much about history, about so many of the packages which have been tied adn which have duly come apart. We know so much detail about the problems of life that they resist easy simplification, and seem more complex and shapeless than ever. Furthermore, science and industry have so increased both the tempo and the violence of living that our packages seem to come apart faster and faster every day.

[High tech gadgetry blends something into the mix which is deadly, and unacknowledged for the most part. This is radiation from devices such as Smart Meters, cell phone towers and (on a whole other order of horror) from Wi-Fi proliferation. I inject this at this juncture because I want to point out that what is above, was primarily taken from a publication from 1951! From a work by Alan Watts, The Wisdom of Insecurity: A Message for an Age of Anxiety. More info upon request.]

There is, then, the feeling that we live in a time of unusual insecurity. In the past century* or so, so many long-established traditions have broken down. In all realms. As the years go by, there seem to be fewer and fewer rocks to which we can hold, fewer things which we can regard as absolutely right and true, and fixed for all time. And midst the straining to find or prop up absolutes (which dominates much of the activity around us) there is the added element — never known before — of the increasing likelihood of global annihilation. I know what end-of-the-world scenarios from centuries past have generated; our counterpart today is a different animal, and it is felt as such.

*The difference between 2004 and 2011, arguably, seems as great as the difference between
1965 and 2003. And traditions are a relatively small part of that.

To some the breaking down of traditions is a welcome release from the restraints of moral, social, and spiritual dogma. To others it is a dangerous and terrifying breach with reason and sanity, tending to plunge human life into hopeless chaos. To most, perhaps, the immediate sense of release has given a brief exhilaration, to be followed by the deepest anxiety. For if all is relative, if life is a torrent without form or goal in whose flood absolutely nothing save change itself can last, ti seems to be something in which there is “no future” and thus no hope. Add to that angle, the hopelessness generated by
the major issues of our day, and Barack Obama’s hope and Nichi Vendola’s hope, and the all the false “hope” felt viscerally by the vast majority of people on earth plays out like a very sick joke.

The only “hope” may reside in Bodhisattva Blood Red Activity.

For elaboration or just chit chat, contact the plagiarizing author, Richard, at