Interpretation of Religious Experience

I often hear from non-religious people, especially from the New Atheist camp, something along the lines of “well, if you showed me proper evidence I might change my beliefs”. This, I think, is total bullshit. What a scientifically-minded, rational person would consider proper evidence must go through a rigorous test of possible causes and interpretations.
Now, I am going to venture that the only real kind of evidence for God, or some other metaphysical or supernatural phenomenon, would be a direct experience of the thing in question. Most people who claim religious knowledge describe this very thing: “God talked to me” or “Mary appeared to me in a vision”. Encounters with the divine in the Bible follow the same lines –think of the burning bush. Otherwise, there has been no physical evidence for the supernatural that is not continually debunked.

When it comes to interpretation of experience, Modern Man usually knows better than to trust himself. We live in a post-Freudian world afterall, where we know to not always trust our own consciousnesses or experiences. The sub-conscious can play tricks on the conscious. Furthermore, we now know that we live in an environment full of mind-altering chemicals, from bread mold to spray paint to methamphetamine.

Imagine, if you will, that you were to have the following experience:

You are laying in your bed reading a book, ready to fall asleep, when all of the sudden there is a flash of light and a bearded man in a robe appears in front of you. You can barely see his face because everything is so illuminated. He speaks to you in a language that you cannot understand, then the room begins to melt away and you lose consciousness. When you wake, you are in your bed, book in hand, and a few minutes, say ten or fifteen, have passed.

So, if I had an experience like the one stated above, that we might consider experiential evidence for the divine, I, and probably any other non-religious person of sound mind, would consider the following interpretations in the following order, assuming I am still rational:

1. The phenomenon experienced is actually real, but I just interpreted it incorrectly. (Think UFO sightings)
2. Drug hallucination – Someone has spiked my drink with acid. (Delusion caused by something external to myself)
3. Sudden and severe schizophrenia and/or some other madness. (Internal delusion)
4. I am dreaming, or am having a strange memory.
5. The phenomenon is real and I have interpreted it correctly.

As you see, number five would be the only interpretation that would lead me to conclude that there actually is a God (or ghosts or fairies, et cetera). Many people, I think, jump to interpretation number five before considering the other possibilities that are much more likely.

Perhaps what separates the religious mentality from the non-religious is the level of willingness to trust your own experience of the strange and unknown.

 

Two Sonnets in Shakespearean Rhyme

Hidden from children, high on a shelf
in a little jar are three little pills.
One for sickness, one for health
and another for cheap thrills.
And one quiet night when no one’s around
a little boy goes in search for pleasures,
and two little hands, without a sound,
find as his prize three little treasures.
What he will do and what he will be
is determined this moment in the choice he will make,
(An astronaut, a doctor, a revolutionary)
as a little hand grabs one to take.
And all that we are and all that we will
taken pill, after pill, after pill.
___________________________________________________________

There is an old woman who lives in a chest
with all that she needs, without burden or care
And of all her past homes, this she likes best,
and of the outside world she is unaware.
She lives simple and free in such little space
and passes the time by recollecting her years.
and often you can see on her wrinkled face
old lovers, lost passions, and undying fears.
And when the time comes that she is ready to die
to flowers and dirt she says “heavens forbid!”
And, if able, she asks that you try not to cry
as it is only a matter of closing the lid.
And with that, a lifetime of memories rest
in a little, modest wooden chest.

 

The World That Spun Too Fast

I remember when it started to really accelerate, when it reached that dead point, where there is no going back. I would come up with an analogy to describe it, but there are too many to choose from now. At first, a lot of people got sick from the vertigo. I, however, built up a strong stomach from eating my own shit. Today there is enough shit for everyone, and you only really feel the spin when you look up at the sky.

We are losing mass as we increase in speed. Sometime soon our mass will reach zero, and we will disappear from space-time. It will be pure ecstasy; a blinding white light that moves so fast it is inert.

 

Vibrissology: The Study and Collection of Whiskers

Vibrissa: (vī-brĭs’ə, və-) n. pl. vi•bris•sae (-brĭs’ē) :
Any of the long stiff hairs that project from the snout or brow of most mammals, as the whiskers of a cat.

I have taken up the hobby of collecting whiskers, namely of the feline variety, though there is interest in dog, rodent, cow, horse, sea lion and other specimens. Whisker collecting is not merely a hobby, but an art form and a science. I have developed a methodology for finding and harvesting whiskers that will be explained below.

THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF WHISKERS

As any owner of mammalian pets will no doubt conclude, whiskers are not merely hairs or fur, but special sense-organs that the animal uses for tactile purposes. The vibrissa itself does not contain any nerves, consisting of a material similar to hair. At its root, however, are special sensory cells, consisting of a follicle surrounded by capsules of blood, called blood sinuses. When the vibrissa moves, the follicle agitates the blood sinus, the movement of which is in turn picked up by nerves called mechanoreceptors. This complicated mechanism allows the creature to sense the slightest stimulus, whether it be and object, the air or, in some specimens, even vibrations.
Whiskers come in many different colours and tend to match the fur of their host animal. As the vibrissologist collects samples it is important to document from what breed they are taken. This can be a difficult task for specimens found in the habitat. The field scientist must isolate and examine all whisker-bearing creatures in the habitat to compare the specimen with. The coloration and patterning should match, while size may vary from whisker to whisker.

METHODOLOGY

COLLECTION

METHOD ONE: HARVESTING

If the Vibrissologist is persistant, she may be able to harvest the whiskers straight from the animal’s cute lil’ face. This may be done effectively by running your fingers along the animal’s cheeks, then, when ready, pinch the whiskers between the thumb and pointer finger. Be extremely careful as you pull at the vibrissa, the sensation of their being plucked prematurely can be very painful for the creature involved. If the whiskers are ready for harvesting they will fall into your fingers with the greatest ease.
Do not attempt harvesting if the animal seems at all irritated, as only a thin layer of fur-laden lip lay between the vibrissa and sharp little fangs. Whiskers are not shed as often as normal hairs, and so this process can be a slow and arduous one. Eager field scientists may find combing the habitat to be more fruitful.
DISCLAIMER: Forcefully removing premature whiskers is a violent and inexcusable act and will not be tolerated by the Centre for Vibrissology or the Society of Whisker Enthusiasts.

METHOD TWO: COMBING

Combing the habitat of whisker-laden creatures will yield quicker results, but may make categorisation difficult if multiple whiskered mammalians inhabit said area. Once the daily habits of the vabrissa-bearing creature(s) are known, the field scientist can determine hot spots where whiskers are likely to be found. Cat trees, Dog beds, windowsills, under beds, on beds, near food and water and any place where the creature is found cleaning itself are viable gold mines to the vibrissologist. When dealing with felines, it is well to note that they pick certain spots in the habitats for sleeping, grooming and lounging that they return to repeatedly. These spots are picked for unknown reasons and utilised for seemingly random periods of time. Only the most ardent and perceptive vibrissologists may be able to discern their locations.
Being similar in nature to hair, dust and other light-weight, small objects, whiskers tend to float around the habitat (usually a house or apartment), and may be found apart from the regular hauntings of whiskered beasts. The field scientist must search along the walls, in corners and underneath things where dust tends to pile up. Specimens tend to be brushed to the side on wood or tile flooring, whereas rugs tend to grab onto them, keeping them in place for the observant scientist to find.
Use your hands to comb the area, as whiskers can sometimes blend in with the rug, dust or hair.

UNSURE WHETHER IT IS A WHISKER?
Loose hairs can sometimes look like whiskers, especially when dealing with large canines, whereas whiskers from kittens or puppies can sometimes look like hairs due to their diminutive sizes. The only sure way to discern true whisker-hood is to administer the Backward Rub Test (BRT).
To perform the BRT, hold the specimen at one end between the thumb and pointer finger, then with your other hand, rub your other thumb and pointer finger along the specimen, starting from the end you are holding. Now do the same thing starting at the opposite end. If the specimen is indeed a whisker, it should feel smooth going one way and rough going the other.
The vibrissologist may be able to observe the characteristics of a whisker without the aid of tools. Most notable is the tendency of vibrissae to be thick at the root end, then progressively grow smaller toward the tip. Whiskers tend to be straighter than fur, and damage if bent more easily.

WHAT TO DO WITH THE SAMPLES
For those interested in furthering science, specimens should be sent to The Centre for Vibrissology at the address below. The host mammal’s type, breed and age should be included with each sample. Monetary donations for research and equipment are also welcomed and encouraged.

Centre for Vibrissology
6797 SW 179th Ave.
Aloha, OR 97007

 

PTSD, a self-diagnosis

      I have just diagnosed myself with a new disorder called pre-traumatic-stress-disorder (PTSD). It is similar to post-traumatic-stress-disorder (PTSD). Post-TSD, if you don’t know, is an anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to a terrifying event or ordeal in which grave physical harm occurred or was threatened, according to the NIMH. Pre-TSD, then, is an anxiety disorder that can develop before exposure to a terrifying event or ordeal in which grave physical harm will occur or will be threatened. My own death comes to mind, and I imagine it will happen sometime between right now and no more than eighty years from now. Being that I live in America, do not smoke and am not over-weight, I am guessing it will either be some kind of cancer due to exposure to pollutants, or a car accident.

 

I am infinite…

I am infinite            nothing
and were it not that I were dreaming
I would explode.

 

The Indignity of Man

      I look forward to the day when the last human being, frail and gasping for air as it wanders through the wasteland, finally collapses, and with it, all that was humanity. Some time later this insignificant star will expand, engulfing what remains of our ruins, then collapse in on itself, all within what is not but a moment, meaningless in the face of infinity.

      Now, you might say “do not despise all of humanity, for there are good people and beautiful things—art, love, knowledge”. Sure, there are a few good apples here and there, but they quickly fall into insignificance when compared to the rotting mass of humanity. Besides, in the end, even they have worms.

Hell is not just other people. Hell is the concept of humanity in its entirety, the you and the I.

      I am glad that humanity will die in the slowest and most painful way: through the use of a simple poison, found naturally and in abundance, administered slowly into the atmosphere. And, through the mass production of poison-distribution machines, everyone can participate in the mass murder. And as a trade off, as a secondary function, these machines will take us from point A to point B.

      Say I were to give it a second thought, that maybe those few good things made it all worth while, that our rotten stench weren’t so overpowering so as to quash anything sweet.
      All that is sweet and worthwhile is fodder for consumption, to be swallowed by pop culture. Pop culture is the sum total of failed attempts to divert our attention from reality, so that those sweet things, real and pure, are made banal, superficial, equal to anything else for better or worse.
      Pop culture is so successful, it is worth asking: what is there in the human experience that remains real? There was only ever two causes, two explanations, two reasons.

Reproduction. Death. Reproduction. Death. Reproduction. Death. Reproduction. Death.

      That is all that will remain because that is all that there ever was. Because humanity was never at the centre of things. Life was nothing more than a meaningless anomaly. And any life form is like any other: a perpetual struggle until it is finally gone.

 

The Love Scene

Trianta: Kiss me my dear, capture my breath. Lay with me and caress my bosom. Have me. Come into me. I am yours.
Sedia: Tut. Enough of this.
Trianta: What is about you?
Sedia: I have something far sweeter for this daring night. And daring it is indeed!
Trianta: O, O.
Sedia: Tonight, let us pour our eyes out. Let us bathe in one another’s blood. I will strike your olive face so you may look upon me with beautiful black eyes.
Trianta: This is ill my dear!
Sedia: [picks up stone and hands it to Trianta] With this, flog my belly directly, and with such zeal take away my breath.

Hesitantly, she readies the rock in her palm. After a long moment of silence, their eyes interlocked, she with all her ability runs the rock to his belly. He gasps with intensity, and falls to his knees.
She kneels to aid him. As her hand gently touches his shoulder, he strikes her face.
She screams and begins to weep. Her weeping soon turns to a childish giggle.

Trianta: [still laughing] O happy man!

Sedia laughs loudly.

Trianta: Now my sweet, bruise my thigh, such a hip as that to bare your children. Blue will no longer be the color of woe, and black shall represent our unyielding zeal.

He does as she says, and directly afterward smothers her in kisses.

Sedia: Now love, bring about such rapture as to tear the skin from my chest.
Trianta: And in doing so might I unveil your beating heart. [she scratches his bare chest with her nails, deeply and wide]

He recovers to run her to the ground. There, he strikes her continually. Willingly, he rolls over and she begins to beat at his chest. Blood spittles from her face and all about him.
She stops her attack and brings her head to his chest, smothering her bleeding features upon him.

Sedia: Let us share in this bounty. Give to me that sweet nectar and charitably shall I give you mine. [they kiss with bloody lips]

 

Upon a windowsill was a plant…

Upon a windowsill was a plant that grew downward.
It grew downward out of depression.
For, through the window it would watch the plants outside
growing wild and free in the sun and rain.
Eventually its vines grew so long and heavy that it fell
off of the windowsill.

When it landed, soil splattered everywhere.
And among shrivelled brown leaves and the shattered pieces of a planter
lay a broken and twisted vine,
but no note.

 

There was a woman who…

There was a woman who would plant lavender in a garden that was not her own.
As it grew the owner of the garden would cut the lavender that he did not plant
and again she would return and lay more seeds.

Long after they had both died the garden became wild and her lavender did grow and blossom.