This week we filled the sky with waving flags, but it isn’t until next week that my country celebrates its independence from British rule. This week had its own colors and controversies, as many have noticed.
I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’ll say it once again. As a child, I’d walk naively, without the knowledge of borders, not understanding the concept of North side and West side. It’s only as adults that we learn where we supposedly belong or don’t belong. I’d walk inside and outside with a large mirror in my arms, facing upwards so I could only see the ceiling. I liked the openness, the uncluttered feeling. There are moments that I still feel the wild child inside of me stir. She gets restless and wants to run and be free, hating the constraints of the 9 to 5, the should of the day-to-day life. Living in this society means coming to terms with the borders and the rules placed by civilization, but it doesn’t mean being completely tamed. We are never meant to be slaves.
I believe human conventions, pre-conceived notions, religion and the world’s cacophony do not stifle creativity, neither should they. Rather they serve as breaking ground manifestations of the limitless parlay of ideas floating the grand mass called ‘space.’- CLNgwe-Nwi A Multi-faceted Creative from her About me page
Life is untamable. Life is wild. Unpredictable. There are no permanent borders. No true boundaries. We try so hard to put up fences. To keep out the bad guys. To grasp on to what we love. But it’s not possible. Somewhere in there is righteous reasoning, but if we aren’t careful, we become like the zealots who kill everything good. We kill instead of healing. There’s a line that get’s crossed, and it has nothing to do with a flag or a country. It has no heritage involved. There are no lasting borders, only love and hate. No flag representing a heritage of shame should fly. Put it in a museum with the other items of shame. But let’s not wave our dirty laundry on the top of a flag pole for all the world to see. Please, America. Let’s have some modesty.
I grew up loving the candles, the quiet, the chanting, the sitting and waiting, that I found in religion. The ceremony. It was serious, pure, and poignant. Which to my mind as a child meant powerful. Like weddings and presidential inaugurations.
My religion is very simple. My religion is kindness. Dalai Lama
The Buddha taught that suffering came from our mind. We resist. We think. We worry. Stop these and suffering ends. When suffering ends, we simply are. There is no more “I.” There is no more “Want.” All that remains is the stillness. Even when the good things in life happen, there can be suffering. Good days, bad days. The Buddha, himself, was a man. He also left his religion. He left his home and family. He left his gods. He never claimed to be a god. He only claimed to be awake. In this awakening, he wished to teach others. There was no conversion or baptism or cutting of the flesh.
I’d always respected Buddhism with their mindfulness and care for others. Recently I wondered how it differed from Humanitarianism? Don’t they both with to help others? I didn’t know until I explored. There is religion in Buddhism. But how much you want to get into it is up to you and which version of Buddhism you study. Some are heavy on the Karma. Karmic debt. Karmic cleansing. It wasn’t as clean and simple as I had once thought it was.
I never believed in Original sin from my religion, so I can’t see myself picking up Karmic debt. I’ll be as good as I can and see what happens. I can’t follow a guru or wear a toga. I can be kind. I want to see society change. It won’t happen overnight, but I think it can happen. It can happen if we change who we are first. Because, isn’t that how all things start? You can’t make good coffee out of dirty water. And you have to pull the splinter out of your own eye before you can remove the board from another’s eye. At least that’s what I heard from another wise man.
Helping and giving is my religion. I don’t need people bend their knees at my prayer mat or light their candle with my brand of matches. I hope they can be well and help others to be well. You don’t even have to know my name.
I went for many years without health insurance. With my last job, I had insurance and the premiums came out of my check. My new employers pay for my insurance themselves and I am thankful to have it. In my years without coverage, I would hesitate, going in to see the doctor only when I had stuff oozing out of my orifices. I didn’t want to spend the money on getting my checkups or if I was only a little sick. Somewhere in the pit of my belly I felt poor. Broken. Without. Abandoned.
It’s a strange thought. I’d feel guilty about going in even if I had a severe sinus infection. Guilty and so pitiful for allowing myself to be so weak. How dare I allow myself to become sick.
And now I have insurance. Just getting my needs met makes me feel loved, even if it is me loving myself. It’s important for me to take care of my needs. Just as in society we take care of each other, we can show the same love to ourselves. It feels good. I feel good. Whole. Relaxed.It makes me smile.
I’m not the lost orphan, the broken, dirt-smeared, little ragamuffin, standing on the street corner, begging for pennies. I am the whole person. The healthy one who can stand up tall and breathe in the clean air of life. I am so thankful for this one simple thing. Say what you will about the Democrats and Obama, I have my health care because my employers are considerate, but not all people can afford it. I haven’t always had it myself. If it were up to some folks I know, none of us would. We would all have to tough it out and make do with whatever we had. I know some stingy pricks that have loads of money but don’t let a dime be wasted on going to the doctor unnecessarily. Who are they to decide for me if its unnecessary? If I feel it is necessary, I don’t need an overlord to decide for me. I dont ever want to be in that situation again where I allow anyone else to decide life’s decisions for me. I like my own freedom, thank you very much.
Don’t forget to read the previous post: But I Don’t Want to be a Socialist