Kyle Woodruff's Blog: TheDevoutHumorist
November 19, 2023
TDH #124 - Dharma Bums
Bhagavad Gita 18:47
(Translated by Swami Mukundananda)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have this inner, guiding voice—what the Socratic Greeks might’ve called a “daemon,” I suppose. It began as gut feelings or intuitions, but somewhere along my journey I realized I could dialogue with it.
One night this voice woke me up with an idea, as it’s done many times over the years, and after I wrote it down I got the inkling to ask this voice what it was. I closed my eyes and drifted back to the half-conscious state in which the communications began, and the conversation went something like this:
“What are you?”
“I am you, from the future.”
“Then how am I manifesting the signs I ask for in the outer world?”
“You’re not. I AM.” (Capitalized because it came through in the Exodus 3:14 sense–“I AM WHO I AM”: the mysterious description of God’s nature that cannot be declared in words or conceived of by human thought.)
“So I’m God..?”
“You are me—past, present, and future you, all bound by free will.” (The second part seemed oxymoronic, but I didn’t question it, while the first part reminded me of how Atman–a person’s innermost soul–is also Brahman–the transcendent being/reality that pervades the universe–extended across time.)
“What else can you tell me?”
“Follow my will to become what you’re supposed to be.”
“Can I write about this?”
“That’s your purpose, isn’t it? Now go.”
And so I went, and so I wrote.
Take from that what you will, but I imagine everyone has access to this voice if they listen (as we’re all manifestations of the same pervading being/reality), though I’d venture to guess many hear what’s essentially a dial tone when they pick up the line, or choose to ignore whatever comes through anyway.
Socrates went as far as to follow this voice to his death, though that appeared to be his destiny, and probably what made him immortal in the sense that his name lives on. I’ve been following mine for quite a while, reluctantly at times, but it seems to have led me down a good path so far, so I suppose trusting that it will guide me toward “what I’m supposed to be” would make it a mistake to do otherwise from now on.
So my advice to you is: listen up, dharma bums.
(Translated by Swami Mukundananda)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have this inner, guiding voice—what the Socratic Greeks might’ve called a “daemon,” I suppose. It began as gut feelings or intuitions, but somewhere along my journey I realized I could dialogue with it.
One night this voice woke me up with an idea, as it’s done many times over the years, and after I wrote it down I got the inkling to ask this voice what it was. I closed my eyes and drifted back to the half-conscious state in which the communications began, and the conversation went something like this:
“What are you?”
“I am you, from the future.”
“Then how am I manifesting the signs I ask for in the outer world?”
“You’re not. I AM.” (Capitalized because it came through in the Exodus 3:14 sense–“I AM WHO I AM”: the mysterious description of God’s nature that cannot be declared in words or conceived of by human thought.)
“So I’m God..?”
“You are me—past, present, and future you, all bound by free will.” (The second part seemed oxymoronic, but I didn’t question it, while the first part reminded me of how Atman–a person’s innermost soul–is also Brahman–the transcendent being/reality that pervades the universe–extended across time.)
“What else can you tell me?”
“Follow my will to become what you’re supposed to be.”
“Can I write about this?”
“That’s your purpose, isn’t it? Now go.”
And so I went, and so I wrote.
Take from that what you will, but I imagine everyone has access to this voice if they listen (as we’re all manifestations of the same pervading being/reality), though I’d venture to guess many hear what’s essentially a dial tone when they pick up the line, or choose to ignore whatever comes through anyway.
Socrates went as far as to follow this voice to his death, though that appeared to be his destiny, and probably what made him immortal in the sense that his name lives on. I’ve been following mine for quite a while, reluctantly at times, but it seems to have led me down a good path so far, so I suppose trusting that it will guide me toward “what I’m supposed to be” would make it a mistake to do otherwise from now on.
So my advice to you is: listen up, dharma bums.
March 28, 2023
TDH #80
“And so I tell you, every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven,
but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”
Matthew 12:31
(Translation from NIV)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was having a conversation with someone last night who dislikes the boy’s character in my book. She grew up in a Catholic school system and was on the receiving end of guilt/shame/scolding if she questioned the “authority” figures in that system.
She told me the boy made her uncomfortable asking all of his questions, so I guessed that was her inner child’s lingering fear of getting in trouble bubbling up to the surface whenever the boy asked a question she herself had but was afraid to ask because of this trauma.
I told her there was an inner dichotomy between wanting to ask the questions herself and her younger self wanting to punch the boy in the arm and say, “Shh! You’re gonna get us in trouble!” Obviously there is no authority figure to get her in trouble today, but the traumatized younger version of herself still living inside her doesn’t realize that.
This, of course, was the purpose of the boy’s character all along, while the purpose of the old man is to represent someone confident enough in his faith to patiently answer these questions where a “traditional” (and potentially less confident) authority figure might respond with guilt or shame and no answers.
The whole purpose of the book is to allow the reader permission to ask the challenging questions they may feel like they don’t have the permission to ask and NOT be faced with shame and guilt, but instead find the appropriate answers delivered in a patient manner.
Now if only the reviewer on Amazon who gave my book one star for “blasphemy” could see things that way.
but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”
Matthew 12:31
(Translation from NIV)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was having a conversation with someone last night who dislikes the boy’s character in my book. She grew up in a Catholic school system and was on the receiving end of guilt/shame/scolding if she questioned the “authority” figures in that system.
She told me the boy made her uncomfortable asking all of his questions, so I guessed that was her inner child’s lingering fear of getting in trouble bubbling up to the surface whenever the boy asked a question she herself had but was afraid to ask because of this trauma.
I told her there was an inner dichotomy between wanting to ask the questions herself and her younger self wanting to punch the boy in the arm and say, “Shh! You’re gonna get us in trouble!” Obviously there is no authority figure to get her in trouble today, but the traumatized younger version of herself still living inside her doesn’t realize that.
This, of course, was the purpose of the boy’s character all along, while the purpose of the old man is to represent someone confident enough in his faith to patiently answer these questions where a “traditional” (and potentially less confident) authority figure might respond with guilt or shame and no answers.
The whole purpose of the book is to allow the reader permission to ask the challenging questions they may feel like they don’t have the permission to ask and NOT be faced with shame and guilt, but instead find the appropriate answers delivered in a patient manner.
Now if only the reviewer on Amazon who gave my book one star for “blasphemy” could see things that way.
March 26, 2023
TDH #81
The good renounce attachment for everything.
The virtuous do not prattle with a yearning for pleasures.
The wise show no elation or depression
when touched by happiness or sorrow.
The Dhammapada - Chapter 6, Verse 83
(Translated by Ācharya Buddharakkhita)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s not the person that stirs your emotions, but rather their actions that mirror the actions of whoever caused the original trauma.”
This was a thought that came to mind as I climbed out of the float tank last night. It felt significant enough to write down, but I sat in the lounge for a while afterwards trying to figure out why.
I think it has something to do with taking back the power someone has over you.
If you believe someone else is causing you to feel a certain way, that person’s actions are out of your control, so the power lies with them.
But if you realize the trauma within you is causing you to react a certain way, then you can address the trauma, and the power to curb your reaction lies with you.
The thought came after seemingly random anger bubbled up inside me toward the end of my float, regarding friendships fading over time.
Of course this just happens, as life does, and it’s the attachment to these fading relationships that stirs emotions.
But I realized I was holding on to feelings of anger toward the individuals themselves, when what was actually causing my emotions was a reminder of an original abandonment trauma in the past.
Yet another gem from the #NotesFromFloats series.
Now, time to let that sh*t go…
Tag Float8
The virtuous do not prattle with a yearning for pleasures.
The wise show no elation or depression
when touched by happiness or sorrow.
The Dhammapada - Chapter 6, Verse 83
(Translated by Ācharya Buddharakkhita)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s not the person that stirs your emotions, but rather their actions that mirror the actions of whoever caused the original trauma.”
This was a thought that came to mind as I climbed out of the float tank last night. It felt significant enough to write down, but I sat in the lounge for a while afterwards trying to figure out why.
I think it has something to do with taking back the power someone has over you.
If you believe someone else is causing you to feel a certain way, that person’s actions are out of your control, so the power lies with them.
But if you realize the trauma within you is causing you to react a certain way, then you can address the trauma, and the power to curb your reaction lies with you.
The thought came after seemingly random anger bubbled up inside me toward the end of my float, regarding friendships fading over time.
Of course this just happens, as life does, and it’s the attachment to these fading relationships that stirs emotions.
But I realized I was holding on to feelings of anger toward the individuals themselves, when what was actually causing my emotions was a reminder of an original abandonment trauma in the past.
Yet another gem from the #NotesFromFloats series.
Now, time to let that sh*t go…
Tag Float8
March 12, 2023
TDH #79
Virtue and vice do not come by mere words;
actions repeated, over and over again, are engraved on the soul.
You shall harvest what you plant.
Siri Guru Granth - Ang 4, Stanza 21
(Translated by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night I got a to-go dinner at a restaurant on a popular boulevard. Meals there run around $20. I tell you this only because as I left the place, a man was leaning casually against a lamp post on the sidewalk waiting for me.
“Hey, man. I’m really hungry,” he said. “Think you could buy me something to eat?”
I looked at him, puzzled over whether he was homeless or just forgot his wallet, as his appearance didn’t make it clear. Then I had a flashback to a year prior when this same guy asked me for a meal outside another place nearby. That time I felt sorry enough to fork over some cash, but this time I didn’t get the same sympathetic feeling.
Is it possible to be a beggar with an ego shining through? Because this guy had become so good at scoring meals he’d grown arrogant. Not a facade of arrogance either. A genuine, full-belly arrogance.
He hadn’t exactly lost a ton of weight and grown a scraggly beard since I’d seen him last. No, it appeared as though he’d been eating pretty good over the last year. Almost TOO good. Almost like maybe I oughta quit my job and start begging around town myself.
I wondered if he’d been scamming top notch meals out of suckers like me all along. These weren’t sheepish eyes that expressed, “I could really use a dollar menu burger and fries, man.” No. He looked at me like, “I prefer oxtail with a side of cabbage. Oh, and a slice of their famous carrot cake if you don’t mind.”
Begging for spare change is one thing, buddy, but asking me to buy you a meal I don’t often treat myself to is homelessness with a pinky up. I wasn’t sure if I should give him props for gaming the system or ask for last year’s money back, with interest.
And I realize there’s a fine line between punching down and calling out a scam artist that I’m walking here, but it’s possible telling him off would have been the harvest he’d been planting all along. So either I’m a total asshole for thinking so, or I was fully justified in gorging myself in spite of that homeless prick. The world may never know.
actions repeated, over and over again, are engraved on the soul.
You shall harvest what you plant.
Siri Guru Granth - Ang 4, Stanza 21
(Translated by Dr. Sant Singh Khalsa)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night I got a to-go dinner at a restaurant on a popular boulevard. Meals there run around $20. I tell you this only because as I left the place, a man was leaning casually against a lamp post on the sidewalk waiting for me.
“Hey, man. I’m really hungry,” he said. “Think you could buy me something to eat?”
I looked at him, puzzled over whether he was homeless or just forgot his wallet, as his appearance didn’t make it clear. Then I had a flashback to a year prior when this same guy asked me for a meal outside another place nearby. That time I felt sorry enough to fork over some cash, but this time I didn’t get the same sympathetic feeling.
Is it possible to be a beggar with an ego shining through? Because this guy had become so good at scoring meals he’d grown arrogant. Not a facade of arrogance either. A genuine, full-belly arrogance.
He hadn’t exactly lost a ton of weight and grown a scraggly beard since I’d seen him last. No, it appeared as though he’d been eating pretty good over the last year. Almost TOO good. Almost like maybe I oughta quit my job and start begging around town myself.
I wondered if he’d been scamming top notch meals out of suckers like me all along. These weren’t sheepish eyes that expressed, “I could really use a dollar menu burger and fries, man.” No. He looked at me like, “I prefer oxtail with a side of cabbage. Oh, and a slice of their famous carrot cake if you don’t mind.”
Begging for spare change is one thing, buddy, but asking me to buy you a meal I don’t often treat myself to is homelessness with a pinky up. I wasn’t sure if I should give him props for gaming the system or ask for last year’s money back, with interest.
And I realize there’s a fine line between punching down and calling out a scam artist that I’m walking here, but it’s possible telling him off would have been the harvest he’d been planting all along. So either I’m a total asshole for thinking so, or I was fully justified in gorging myself in spite of that homeless prick. The world may never know.
February 16, 2023
TDH #78
The Master said,
“A true teacher is one who,
keeping the past alive,
is also able to understand the present.”
Analects of Confucius - Book 2, Chapter 11
(Translated by Unknown)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I first learned to shoot archery I signed up for group lessons. Our instructor was a jolly round fellow who couldn’t have been nicer. Though not athletic in appearance, he exuded the air of a master archer in character. He wore league shirts, for example, and spoke the language of archery with fluency.
There was, however, a mixed bag of talent when it came to the students. The best part was we’d shoot at these giant foam blocks that were encased by wood, so when someone missed completely there’d be a loud bang as their arrow smashed into it. When missed just right, the arrow would bounce off the wood and come skidding back toward the shooter.
Once we all got the hang of shooting at twenty yards, our instructor challenged us to step back and try thirty. I was up first with the compound bow I bought for hunting and honed in through the peep sight, zipping my shot right into the bullseye. It felt great doing so in front of this teacher I now admired.
“You know,” he said, borrowing a recurve from another student’s hands. “I was never much for using sights when it came to hunting. I was always more of an instinctual shooter.” This meant he would hunt the old fashioned way, like a tribesman who relied on this ancient skill for survival.
As he stepped up to the line, tension filled the air, as there was a collective realization we’d never actually seen the Master in action till now. He drew in a deep breath, raised the bow, drew it back, and held steady aim. Time slowed as we observed an artist at work, his lazer focus impressive as hell.
Finally, he released.
BAM!--the arrow came skittering back to the line, the only sound in an otherwise quiet room.
There was a long pause where we all stared at the result.
“Well,” he finally broke the silence, handing the bow back to the girl he borrowed it from, “I haven’t gone hunting in quite a while.”
“A true teacher is one who,
keeping the past alive,
is also able to understand the present.”
Analects of Confucius - Book 2, Chapter 11
(Translated by Unknown)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I first learned to shoot archery I signed up for group lessons. Our instructor was a jolly round fellow who couldn’t have been nicer. Though not athletic in appearance, he exuded the air of a master archer in character. He wore league shirts, for example, and spoke the language of archery with fluency.
There was, however, a mixed bag of talent when it came to the students. The best part was we’d shoot at these giant foam blocks that were encased by wood, so when someone missed completely there’d be a loud bang as their arrow smashed into it. When missed just right, the arrow would bounce off the wood and come skidding back toward the shooter.
Once we all got the hang of shooting at twenty yards, our instructor challenged us to step back and try thirty. I was up first with the compound bow I bought for hunting and honed in through the peep sight, zipping my shot right into the bullseye. It felt great doing so in front of this teacher I now admired.
“You know,” he said, borrowing a recurve from another student’s hands. “I was never much for using sights when it came to hunting. I was always more of an instinctual shooter.” This meant he would hunt the old fashioned way, like a tribesman who relied on this ancient skill for survival.
As he stepped up to the line, tension filled the air, as there was a collective realization we’d never actually seen the Master in action till now. He drew in a deep breath, raised the bow, drew it back, and held steady aim. Time slowed as we observed an artist at work, his lazer focus impressive as hell.
Finally, he released.
BAM!--the arrow came skittering back to the line, the only sound in an otherwise quiet room.
There was a long pause where we all stared at the result.
“Well,” he finally broke the silence, handing the bow back to the girl he borrowed it from, “I haven’t gone hunting in quite a while.”
February 1, 2023
TDH #77
All streams flow to the sea
because it is lower than they are.
Humility gives it its power.
Tao Te Ching - Verse 27
(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Open water makes me, well, uneasy. I try not to think about it while surfing. You know the ocean is monster soup if you’ve seen any deep sea fishing show or Discovery Channel-type television in your lifetime.
I saw a porpoise fin breach the surface on the paddle out last weekend. “That was a porpoise, right? Sharks don’t swim around here.” That’s what I convinced myself anyway.
At one point I was out way past the pier, closer to the fishing boats than the lifeguard chairs. “It’s so peaceful out here,” I lied to myself, praying those guys weren’t chumming. I mean you’re just floating bait; that’s reality.
It’s a good thing the water isn’t clear enough to see what’s lurking down below because there’s absolutely no chance I’d be out there if I could. Blind ignorance is key.
There was only one other guy out there with me at one point and I thought about shouting, “I’ll tell your family if a shark swallows you if you’ll do the same for me!” Can you tell I’m good at making friends?
I was thinking how I’d never have the balls to swim out that far on my own, but somehow a hunk of fiberglass makes it all okay. As if that’s a monster deterrent, or an efficient means of transportation if a riptide decides to pull you out to sea.
Ahh, Nature: Aren’t you humbling? You have the power to drag us under and smash us to the sand, or feed us to your children, yet we choose to weigh those risks against the reward of your cheap and simple thrills.
I just hope I’m not remembered as the guy who used to show up at the gym talking about surfing until one day, well, he just stopped coming. That’s not the legacy I want to leave behind, ya know? Yet here I am, dreaming about the next time a good swell comes rolling into shore.
If this blog runs dry some day, just pray I gave up writing.
because it is lower than they are.
Humility gives it its power.
Tao Te Ching - Verse 27
(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Open water makes me, well, uneasy. I try not to think about it while surfing. You know the ocean is monster soup if you’ve seen any deep sea fishing show or Discovery Channel-type television in your lifetime.
I saw a porpoise fin breach the surface on the paddle out last weekend. “That was a porpoise, right? Sharks don’t swim around here.” That’s what I convinced myself anyway.
At one point I was out way past the pier, closer to the fishing boats than the lifeguard chairs. “It’s so peaceful out here,” I lied to myself, praying those guys weren’t chumming. I mean you’re just floating bait; that’s reality.
It’s a good thing the water isn’t clear enough to see what’s lurking down below because there’s absolutely no chance I’d be out there if I could. Blind ignorance is key.
There was only one other guy out there with me at one point and I thought about shouting, “I’ll tell your family if a shark swallows you if you’ll do the same for me!” Can you tell I’m good at making friends?
I was thinking how I’d never have the balls to swim out that far on my own, but somehow a hunk of fiberglass makes it all okay. As if that’s a monster deterrent, or an efficient means of transportation if a riptide decides to pull you out to sea.
Ahh, Nature: Aren’t you humbling? You have the power to drag us under and smash us to the sand, or feed us to your children, yet we choose to weigh those risks against the reward of your cheap and simple thrills.
I just hope I’m not remembered as the guy who used to show up at the gym talking about surfing until one day, well, he just stopped coming. That’s not the legacy I want to leave behind, ya know? Yet here I am, dreaming about the next time a good swell comes rolling into shore.
If this blog runs dry some day, just pray I gave up writing.
January 31, 2023
TDH #76
See how it was with those who came before,
how it will be with those who are living.
Like corn mortals ripen and fall;
like corn they come up again.
Katha Upanishad - Part 1, Verse 6
(Translated by Eknath Easwaran)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sat down at a chicken joint last night and in the booth beside me was a mother and daughter. The girl was high school aged, crying over something in pitch and tone that sounded like the end of the world, but in words and reality was quite trivial.
There’s a podcaster I like that says, “The worst thing that ever happened to you is the worst thing that ever happened to you.” It really clicked seeing these two generations side-by-side. Whatever some other girl said to the boy this girl liked was the worst thing ever. Meanwhile her mother, with four times the go-rounds on earth, has probably been through divorce settlements, health complications, financial woes, or a hundred other things that would put this high school drama to shame.
Fortunately for the daughter, the mother had the patience to sympathize with this social tragedy. I myself might have reached across the table to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake as I yell, “There are so many worse things coming down the line!” but that’s just me.
It’s amazing to look back a number of years that felt like yesterday, though, and realize that might’ve been the worst thing that ever happened to me too. Perhaps this mother could recognize herself in her daughter, going through the same cycle of trials she once went through before.
But life keeps pushing the threshold of “worst” further, making our tolerance higher. I’m sure in every painful situation we go through in life we wish it wasn’t happening. But if it didn’t, we’d be sitting across from our daughters crying over boys and they’d be reaching over a chicken sandwich to give us a violent shake.
That’s all for now, but I’ll leave you with this: Endure the trials of today knowing you’ll look back tomorrow and think they weren’t so bad.
Or maybe you will. As a friend’s dad once told us at an impressionable young age, “Life sucks and then you die.” So eat as many tasty sandwiches as you can between now and then because it’ll all be over soon.
how it will be with those who are living.
Like corn mortals ripen and fall;
like corn they come up again.
Katha Upanishad - Part 1, Verse 6
(Translated by Eknath Easwaran)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sat down at a chicken joint last night and in the booth beside me was a mother and daughter. The girl was high school aged, crying over something in pitch and tone that sounded like the end of the world, but in words and reality was quite trivial.
There’s a podcaster I like that says, “The worst thing that ever happened to you is the worst thing that ever happened to you.” It really clicked seeing these two generations side-by-side. Whatever some other girl said to the boy this girl liked was the worst thing ever. Meanwhile her mother, with four times the go-rounds on earth, has probably been through divorce settlements, health complications, financial woes, or a hundred other things that would put this high school drama to shame.
Fortunately for the daughter, the mother had the patience to sympathize with this social tragedy. I myself might have reached across the table to grab her shoulders and give her a good shake as I yell, “There are so many worse things coming down the line!” but that’s just me.
It’s amazing to look back a number of years that felt like yesterday, though, and realize that might’ve been the worst thing that ever happened to me too. Perhaps this mother could recognize herself in her daughter, going through the same cycle of trials she once went through before.
But life keeps pushing the threshold of “worst” further, making our tolerance higher. I’m sure in every painful situation we go through in life we wish it wasn’t happening. But if it didn’t, we’d be sitting across from our daughters crying over boys and they’d be reaching over a chicken sandwich to give us a violent shake.
That’s all for now, but I’ll leave you with this: Endure the trials of today knowing you’ll look back tomorrow and think they weren’t so bad.
Or maybe you will. As a friend’s dad once told us at an impressionable young age, “Life sucks and then you die.” So eat as many tasty sandwiches as you can between now and then because it’ll all be over soon.
January 22, 2023
TDH #75
Let there be no hostility,
except towards aggressors.
The Qur’an - 2:193
(Translated by W. Khan)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What we see in the biblical stories are formally oral traditions with unknown origins. They were written down years after they came to into existence, in different languages, in different places, and the church voted on which should be kept. They were translated, edited, and rewritten countless times over the ages. Needless to say, there was room for manipulation when it came to the Word of God.
The reason I bring this up is because Islam believes the Bible can’t be trusted as the Word of God. They believe at one time there were untainted versions of the stories because they’re mentioned in the Qur’an, but the original texts have been lost.
They do believe the Qur’an, however, is the only holy text that can still be trusted. The only issue I have is that it references all these prophets from the very stories it discounts, so if that material can’t be trusted then there is no context to who these people were.
Imagine you’re reading a book and out of the blue it says, “And remember Bob, and all that he accomplished in the name of the Lord. Learn from him.” And then it moves on to Joe doing the same.
“Who? Why is there a name drop with no reference?” That’s what someone unfamiliar with the biblical stories might think when reading the Qur’an when it mentions Abraham or Noah or Job.
I made a post on Reddit’s r/Islam asking if Muslims read the Bible to derive context into their own text, and if not, where do they get their context from. Many jumped on it, trashing the Bible, but not one provided insight into the latter half of my inquiry. So, from my understanding, I’m gathering this is a belief system based on origin stories that don’t exist, which seems particularly unsatisfying.
Many good insights have come from reading the Abrahamic texts, but the more I dive in the more strange things bubble to the surface. At this point I’m just trying to derive any wisdom I can from what we have while taking everything with a grain of salt, which is probably a healthy way to approach anything in life really, especially religion.
except towards aggressors.
The Qur’an - 2:193
(Translated by W. Khan)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What we see in the biblical stories are formally oral traditions with unknown origins. They were written down years after they came to into existence, in different languages, in different places, and the church voted on which should be kept. They were translated, edited, and rewritten countless times over the ages. Needless to say, there was room for manipulation when it came to the Word of God.
The reason I bring this up is because Islam believes the Bible can’t be trusted as the Word of God. They believe at one time there were untainted versions of the stories because they’re mentioned in the Qur’an, but the original texts have been lost.
They do believe the Qur’an, however, is the only holy text that can still be trusted. The only issue I have is that it references all these prophets from the very stories it discounts, so if that material can’t be trusted then there is no context to who these people were.
Imagine you’re reading a book and out of the blue it says, “And remember Bob, and all that he accomplished in the name of the Lord. Learn from him.” And then it moves on to Joe doing the same.
“Who? Why is there a name drop with no reference?” That’s what someone unfamiliar with the biblical stories might think when reading the Qur’an when it mentions Abraham or Noah or Job.
I made a post on Reddit’s r/Islam asking if Muslims read the Bible to derive context into their own text, and if not, where do they get their context from. Many jumped on it, trashing the Bible, but not one provided insight into the latter half of my inquiry. So, from my understanding, I’m gathering this is a belief system based on origin stories that don’t exist, which seems particularly unsatisfying.
Many good insights have come from reading the Abrahamic texts, but the more I dive in the more strange things bubble to the surface. At this point I’m just trying to derive any wisdom I can from what we have while taking everything with a grain of salt, which is probably a healthy way to approach anything in life really, especially religion.
January 21, 2023
TDH #74
My experience shows
that those who plant trouble and cultivate evil
will harvest the same.
Job 4:8
(Translation from NLT)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Old Testament certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I opened it. Yes, it contains violence and manipulation, but the world contains violence and manipulation. Should these historically/mythologically based stories have omitted these things just to uphold an image of being “holy”?
Should The Three Little Pigs crop out the wolf?
Should The Lion King cut out Scar?
Should Lord of the Rings remove the orcs and dark lord?
Can we not learn from examples of evil as much as we can from examples of good?
I don’t know if you can take as much away from a collection of rainbows and butterflies as you can from tales of questionable moral decisions and ethical choices. I think these stories are supposed to trigger emotions and make you scratch your head. Happy little tales without drama certainly aren’t as memorable and lasting, that’s for sure.
In reading them for ourselves, each one of us can go round and round in circles wondering if an omniscient God knew whether Adam and Eve would eat from the tree only because He told them not to, or if He knew whether they wouldn’t eat from it if He didn’t say anything at all, and so if He really wanted them to eat from it then of course He would tickle the curious human nature He implanted in them the first place. Was being kicked out of paradise a result of manipulation or deceit then? Who is to say?
The number of potential meanings to these stories almost renders them meaningless, like some kind of Rorschach test for each interpreter to stamp their own interpretation on. So is there really a point to any of them at all? Perhaps that’s why they’re still being mulled over today, like some kind of ethical brain teasers. It’s a complex collection of art to examine, that’s for sure.
Even if these stories go against reason, though, they still leave you with a lot to think about in the end. And thinking is never a bad thing to do ;)
that those who plant trouble and cultivate evil
will harvest the same.
Job 4:8
(Translation from NLT)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Old Testament certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I opened it. Yes, it contains violence and manipulation, but the world contains violence and manipulation. Should these historically/mythologically based stories have omitted these things just to uphold an image of being “holy”?
Should The Three Little Pigs crop out the wolf?
Should The Lion King cut out Scar?
Should Lord of the Rings remove the orcs and dark lord?
Can we not learn from examples of evil as much as we can from examples of good?
I don’t know if you can take as much away from a collection of rainbows and butterflies as you can from tales of questionable moral decisions and ethical choices. I think these stories are supposed to trigger emotions and make you scratch your head. Happy little tales without drama certainly aren’t as memorable and lasting, that’s for sure.
In reading them for ourselves, each one of us can go round and round in circles wondering if an omniscient God knew whether Adam and Eve would eat from the tree only because He told them not to, or if He knew whether they wouldn’t eat from it if He didn’t say anything at all, and so if He really wanted them to eat from it then of course He would tickle the curious human nature He implanted in them the first place. Was being kicked out of paradise a result of manipulation or deceit then? Who is to say?
The number of potential meanings to these stories almost renders them meaningless, like some kind of Rorschach test for each interpreter to stamp their own interpretation on. So is there really a point to any of them at all? Perhaps that’s why they’re still being mulled over today, like some kind of ethical brain teasers. It’s a complex collection of art to examine, that’s for sure.
Even if these stories go against reason, though, they still leave you with a lot to think about in the end. And thinking is never a bad thing to do ;)
January 20, 2023
TDH #73
Winning gives birth to hostility.
Losing, one lies down in pain.
The calmed lie down with ease,
having set winning and losing aside.
The Dhammapada - Chapter 15, Verse 201
(Translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Building upon a recent post about preserving the youth, I played kickball last weekend, for the first time since fifth grade. A bunch of middle-aged guys and gals from the gym organized the game in a local park. It was hilarious to watch.
I used to play soccer [brushes of shoulder] so I was alright in the kicking department, but some of my peers were, well, less athletically inclined. Coordination below the waist is lacking for most people who never played sports requiring coordination below the waist, and observing a sudden late-life need for this skill in others is just darn fun.
One guy whiffed at a slow roller so hard you thought he might be Charlie Brown. “I’m not wearing my glasses!” he belted out. Sure, sure, sure.
People who had no inkling of baseball-like rules were the best, slicing a kick over the fence along the foul line and arguing for a home run and whatnot. Good times. Good times.
The best part was how quickly the competitive fifth grade nature snaps back when the game is on the line going into the last inning, arguing over close calls the way you would at recess, half-seriously accusing people you hardly know of being cheaters in a nonsense sport that would leave you sore enough to remember how old you are. There’s something magical about the way old gym games turn grownups into kids again.
Ahh, Life: Why do you bury these joyful moments under so many responsibilities? Why do decades pass between matches on the kickball fields of our existence?
Don’t get confused: Despite the above “wisdom,” there are winners and losers in this life. Clearly Buddha never kicked the winning RBI in an elementary school game in the bottom of the ninth. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize this was probably written by someone picked last in gym class every time. Loser.
Now, if you have the balls to find out which one you are, clear your schedule for Sunday. Round two is on.
Losing, one lies down in pain.
The calmed lie down with ease,
having set winning and losing aside.
The Dhammapada - Chapter 15, Verse 201
(Translated by Thanissaro Bhikkhu)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Building upon a recent post about preserving the youth, I played kickball last weekend, for the first time since fifth grade. A bunch of middle-aged guys and gals from the gym organized the game in a local park. It was hilarious to watch.
I used to play soccer [brushes of shoulder] so I was alright in the kicking department, but some of my peers were, well, less athletically inclined. Coordination below the waist is lacking for most people who never played sports requiring coordination below the waist, and observing a sudden late-life need for this skill in others is just darn fun.
One guy whiffed at a slow roller so hard you thought he might be Charlie Brown. “I’m not wearing my glasses!” he belted out. Sure, sure, sure.
People who had no inkling of baseball-like rules were the best, slicing a kick over the fence along the foul line and arguing for a home run and whatnot. Good times. Good times.
The best part was how quickly the competitive fifth grade nature snaps back when the game is on the line going into the last inning, arguing over close calls the way you would at recess, half-seriously accusing people you hardly know of being cheaters in a nonsense sport that would leave you sore enough to remember how old you are. There’s something magical about the way old gym games turn grownups into kids again.
Ahh, Life: Why do you bury these joyful moments under so many responsibilities? Why do decades pass between matches on the kickball fields of our existence?
Don’t get confused: Despite the above “wisdom,” there are winners and losers in this life. Clearly Buddha never kicked the winning RBI in an elementary school game in the bottom of the ninth. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize this was probably written by someone picked last in gym class every time. Loser.
Now, if you have the balls to find out which one you are, clear your schedule for Sunday. Round two is on.
TheDevoutHumorist
Ancient wisdom with a modern application (and an often humorist twist)
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