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I am a mystic madman, a wandering wildman, scholar of esoterica, dilettante sadhu, dready-headed hippie (only have a few jata on the back of my head right now, though more be forming of this third set of knotted hair), gentle yogi, fierce foe of falsity. I was a preacher, but I renounced that. I was married, but she renounced me. I was a grad student at one of the top universities in the world on my way to becoming a professor, but I realized they taught lies there too. I am protector of souls, lover of mountains, smoker of herb, fond of hot springs, oceans and lakes and rivers and rain and sunshine, devotee of Devi.

Hindu Gods and Goddesses

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Brahma's Boy Abe and Tube Steak Tips . . .

History is important.  To forget the past, though not ensuring its repetition as the adage contends, does mean lessons which should have been learned will be lost, that wisdoms of past generations or ages will not be available to help solve problems of today.  To intentionally obscure or alter the historical record proves even more potentially disastrous, and lies, institutional and otherwise, foment dysfunction whether immediate of deferred.

So here’s the gist of the truth of one extremely current and pertinent issue which has been quite intentionally obscured and hidden and striken from the historical record and especially from the curriculum taught in schools from grade school through graduate school, a tale twistedly told in history books and Sunday school classes which has been edited to no small degree to hide certain very pertinent truths:

So there was this dude called Abram, later known as Abraham.  He and his crew came out of a place called Ur of the Chaldese sometime around 1900 bce, according to his descendants record of it.  This is about the time archaeologist contend was about the end of that very advanced early civilization known as Indus Valley Civilization and Harrapan Culture (3500bce-1900bce).  The land he came from was largely Hindu (though that particular term didn’t come about till much later), and he was seemingly named after the Creator aspect of God in that land, who was and is called Brahma, or some derivation of said Deity’s name.  Abraham married this chick named Sarai, who is clearly analogous to Saraswati, Consort to Brahma.  Brahma and Saraswati, Abraham and Sarai, get it?!  Sarai had a handmaiden named Haggar who Abraham fucked and made pregnant ‘cuz Sarai seemingly couldn’t get pregnant.  The Arab people claim descent from Haggar’s son Ishmael.  There is a river named after Saraswati, and an intermittent tributary to this river is called the Ghaggar River.  Ghaggar, Haggar, get it?!  The records regarding Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar most definitely predate the time of Abraham and Sarai and Haggar.  In other words, the founding family of Judaism and of the Arab people, Abraham and Sarai and Haggar, were Hindus, practitioners of sanAtana dharma as “Hinduism” is more properly known.

According to the Old Testament/Torah, Abraham finally knocked up Sarai when she was ninety years old.  After his son was born, Abraham’s god told him to take his kid out into the desert and kill him, according to this tale told.  Upon preparing to kill his son Isaac, as this tale’s told, Abraham’s god provided a ram to take the place of his son to be slain, and then Abraham was told by his god to cut of the end of his dick (i.e., circumcision) and to  do the same to his kid and to all the men and boys of his tribe, and supposedly this constituted a covenant between Abraham’s crew and their god.  Kinda a weird story.

The likely true mythological origin of the rite of circumcision:  Brahma, Creator aspect of the Hindu Trimurti, Himself a created Being, got kinda bored one day after workin’ hard at the manifestation of creation and decided to create this really hot chick.  Brahma then proceeded to lust after her, chasin’ her around and tryin’ to get it on with her.  Brahma even grew a fifth head to continue to gaze upon her as she sought to evade his lustful gaze.  Well, Siva then shows up, who is the Destroyer person of the Trimurti and is not a created Being, i.e., is the always has been and always shall be eternal Divine.  He sees what ol’ Brahma’d done and he says to Brahma, “Yo!!  Wassup Brahma?!  Listen here boy:  that pretty mama you so skillfully created, since you made her, she be your daughter, DUDE!!!  That means you can neither fuck her nor lust after her, yo!!”  and with a swift motion cut off Brahma’s “fifth head”  with the fingernail of his pinky finger (think of the “Freudian” connotations).  In other words, Siva cut off the foreskin of Brahma’s cock.  In anthropological terms, the rite mimicking this mythic act would be called an incest taboo rite, a reminder, at least in the inception of the practice if not in the later mythic explanation, that you don’t fuck your own daughter.  The aforementioned myth is given as one of a few myths tells why Brahma, the Creator of what us humans call “creation,” the earth, etc., is not much worshipped in India and has only few temples built to Him.  My rendering of the Hebrew version, writ down hundreds of years after Abraham’s days:  some Jewish mother got ahold of the myth and said, “Oh god!!  We can’t tell our little boys that’s why they get the end of their pee pees cut off!!  We have to think of something nicer!!”

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Ramblin' And Readin' The Road, Ridin' the Tides and Flows As I Go, Survivin' Storms . . . And Stayin' Fed to Boot!!

New Paltz is one of those havens from environs less kind to kind travellers, long hairs, freaks tattooed and/or wearing jata in their hair, sistas wearin' paisley and tie died, india print skirts--and some brothers wearin' the same, grungy crews rollin' through with sometimes spontaneous gypsy concerts hap'nin' on the corner, and you can get a breakfast special for $2 that'll fill your belly full. 

The Main Street Bistro's breakfast special's been a staple for many a would-be starving student/artist/musician/mendicant wandering hippie or gutterpunk, young or old transient soul finding themselves lingering in this lovely hamlet gazes up at the heights of Shawgunk Ridge.  Two eggs or tofu ($1 extra for the vegan/no ovo-veggie version), home fries fried just right:  a tricolor of white, brown and just the proper proportion of blackened potato peels subtly seasoned a 'la diner-style perfection, and two slices of toast slathered with butter and jam, $1.95+ tax.  Plenty of $2 NY style pizza-by-the-slice for dinner (didn't they used to be bigger, though?  or was I smaller then?), but the real treasure for the impoverished soujourner or passers through is the Bistro Breakfast special. 

Coffeehouses, generally more vital to the vitality of a community--leastwise of the sort I'm talkin', are more plentiful here than before, or seems to me at least.  The Bakery was host to me many mornings and afternoons when last I was through this town.  Cheap but tasty bagels as well as other baked pastry delights, and a pleasant courtyard with ample seating make for a good start to the day.  What was the Coop (kinda a Green Party Coop) which served only drip coffee, became ___something else___ and is now "/root," a computer repair biz'/coffeehouse with pay-what-you-may styles.  CafeTeria ("T" capitalized for disambiguation, and not as reads on the sign) coffeehouse is a big open space with high-ceilings and a loft, burnt sienna embossed metal ceilings reminding of the antiquity of this building, black trim and a rather dreary mauve prevail where bare brick's absent, and eclectic 70's vintage furnishings from couches to easy chairs and artwork that bespeaks of corroded metal, whether literally crafted in a metalic medium or paint on canvas or cardboard.  The nigh gloom and nigh gothic ambiance of the place is quite comfy for burying one's face in a good book or crouched over an illuminated screen and keyboard in the corner, typing a term paper or existentially anxious novel.

The street here is lined with iconic shops and restaurants reminiscent of the still hippie ways prevail here years after the days when Janis or the Grateful Dead would play impromptu shows for the throngs of mostly education students hangin' out at SUNY New Paltz hoping to change the world through rock and roll, peace, and the right teachin', plus some share or other of the weed and wildness and sometimes psychedelic education techniques of sixties counter culture.  The Groovy Blueberry and various more or less head shops, hippie boutiques, tattoo parlors and bars, restaurants of varied fare and stoops aplenty to accommodate New York stoop sitting culture complete the picture of life on Main in New Paltz.  Not some retrospective, mind you, nor wistful reveries, the hopes and ideals became prominent in the days of the first big concert at Woodstock still animate activity, art, music, organisations and activisms here next to the far northern reaches of the Appalachians Mountains where meets the edge of the Hudson Valley region.

Despite my appreciation for my location here and now, am intent still upon sailboat dreams and shelter from the weather found on the seas, else a return to where I've most known as home this lifetime around, Rocky Mountains high and Wyoming bound.  Good to know, though, and be reassured there's yet enclaves and bastions maintain the groovy chillin' vibes of hippie, punk and other alternate flows to the officially sanctified culture of capitalist consumerisms gone amuck, and said consciousness most often even holding official reigns, as the Green Party showings at the polls here display.

namaste

   

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

New Paltz Respite



New coffeehouse in New Paltz since last I was here, nigh six years ago.  Other than that, much the same as when last I was here, even some faces I recognize, also seemingly unchanged.  Definitely one of if not my favorite town in New York.  Ithaca's got its charm and its gorges, Rhinebeck's quint, Poughkeepsie's got a cool name and a nice riverfront; ain't been to Woodstock or those other upstate hippie towns, and of course NYC is in a category nigh all by itself.  New Paltz is still holdin' on to its hippie past and keeps things fresh, punks and other freaks, too, mind you.

I am indeed a counter-culture-phile, largely 'cuz they are generally composed of individuals, despite the stereotyping.  Not that a businessman or woman can't be a deep, self-expressive and interesting person, is just that those are fewer and farther between and not so easy to pick out in a crowd.  Freaks can hang out without the sense they are missing the boat, generally love music and dancing, whether whirling about in a hazy daze or moshing in a pit of roughhousing mohawks and pierced noses, cheeks, and every other conceivable part.  Don't have anything particular against other subcultural genres, whatever the current ones might be, hipster, emo, or whatever, just endeared to the clear responses to the system's ills expressed so eloquently by flowers stuck in the barrel of a gun, grafiti on the wall proclaiming no rulers o'er the people, both well thought out peaceful and raucous replies to the ills of capitalism, neocolonialism and the war machine.  New Paltz gots plenty o'that, and a steady supply of college kids comin' in to maintain. 

New Paltz also had a Green Party mayor and city council last time I was in town.  Haven't checked the current local political scene, but I am inclined to believe the people's still representin'.  Healthy food and lifestyles (even if sometimes including indulgent drinkin' on some fronts), good live music and fair trade wares abound in the downtown, nearly all locally owned and operated.  Happy to be in a pace like this, if but for a week or two.  Reminds me there are indeed plenty plan for a progressive future and a world where people and environment find harmony, self-expressive and beautiful.

namaste