I’ve decided that there will never be “peace perfect” peace. Never. Why? It’s impossible, that’s why. Think of yourself and your daily life; every day, estimate how many hours of pure peace you have. Don’t use sleeping as peace unless like me you don’t dream and even if you don’t dream most people’s sleep is not peaceful at all. If anything, your body is regenerating while you're sleeping and that can’t be very peaceful. The process of human evacuation isn’t a peaceful process either, is it?
Art thou catching my drift?
There certainly cannot ever be any kind of world peace—in the Gestalt sense—unless there is an undiscovered place still left on the planet, a Shangra-La (no it’s not Los Angeles!), where everything’s in harmony and the principles of pleasure are followed diligently and where even human evacuating is a pleasure and not a chore.
According to my instincts, I am constantly being called back into the Jungle, the perfect state of Nature, the compleat world. No, I do not want to go back into the Jungle and live under Nature's laws. Hell no there is no peace in Nature. Case closed. But we humans were supposed to through our heightened instincts figure out how to CONTROL (opposite of peace, right?) the Jungle and turn its treasures into a civilized form and its “evils” into extinction—that’s why humans naturally don’t give a damn about “wild” (savage) animal brothers and sisters disappearing from the world—that’s the whole idea of Civilization—the eradication of all EVIL (Live spelled backwards), including those "evil" animals--"the beasts of the fields."
The Chinese thinkers seemed to better understand this than Westerners did and they also seemed to better understand how to deal with it in a true “two sides to every object” sense, that sense expressed in the Chinese concept of yin and yang. Confucius especially seemed to understand it and Lao Tzu—they understood it as a statistical problem, a sociological study where all sides are valued and then graphically visualized and then “poetically” explained—I now think that “pictorially” may be a better word than "poetically" since to me the pictograph is the first true dictionary, a society of socially minded human beings grunting and ugh-ing and flailing about their hands in gestures of trying to identify something like “big deer with big horns is correct deer to kill for food; smaller deer with no horns is mother deer and necessary to keep alive in order to have big deer for festival and dancing and mafficking and much, much fun after the braves have proven themselves with a successful hunt. Amen. Selah.”
Death, of course, is the real TERRORIST in all our lives, both individually and socially. Death is behind everything we do. Living is the struggle. As new beings on this planet, and we are very young compared to other beasts, we have established “paths” for ourselves, to get us through the jungle or the desert or the wilderness, and it is these paths that show us the easiest way to get through life with as little to fear as possible, though all these paths lead to an ending; all these paths lead to death—unless society so worships the path you set for them that they begin to idolize you as “eternal” and through that sanctified state start believing (“true believers”) (Am I full of Baedeker parentheses?) they are “reborn” to show their new divine path, that path that leads past the grave and into a great mysterious unknown paradise in which billions upon billions of us and billions upon on billions of wild savage beasts will live together in thankful brother- and sisterhood plentiful paradise in that distant unknown space in some hidden other world outerspace—I assume from reading the Christian Book of Their Path and the Baghavad-Gita or Zarathustra—you know, that “one day the lion will lay down with the lamb,” though I honestly know that's BS. Let me assure you, folks, there will never be a day anywhere where you can put a lamb down by a lion and the lamb won’t get eaten. Even put a lamb down by a human and he might get eaten, too. “The blood of the lamb of God—(that’s Jesus, folks)” is the bait Christian priests and shamans use to get folks to line up and tithe, the scent of that lamb’s blood stirring up the believers's hunting instincts as we first have to satisfy our thirst, then our hunger, and then we look for pleasure, which should include sleeping, which is why sleep is not a basic instinct. We struggle to stay awake—that time when we are alert—you know—the time we are on constant alert, where when we’re asleep…you get the picture.
All a writer is is a pictographer. They now say cuneiform was an actual alphabet rather than a pictographic language, to which I say, OK, why can’t it, though, be a higher form of pictography?
So there will never be any peace because due to our fear of death we don’t know how to trust. Hippies found out during the Vietnam War protests that your enemies are trained to kill you due to their fear of your talk of peace and love. Sex is not a pleasure to most people; it is an instinct that has to be performed if WE are to continue to live—the thinking that says (and this is pure MALE thinking, which most of the written-down paths are, by the way, MALE paths—because the males are the ones who go out and clear the paths through the jungle; males are also the mapmakers—OK, here we go, who came first the chicken or the egg?—impossible to answer, except I sometimes answer it by saying a woman is simply a reverse man—she has a penis and if you don’t believe me go on the Internet and look at photos of clitorises. Wow, there are some clitorises in this world that look exactly like little penises coming from right where a man’s penis comes from, at that vee under the stomach, just over where her testicles have reversed and become ovaries—and the vagina is a blossoming flower, that it is, “the vestibule of love” as the Romans called it that beckons the penetration of the thirsty male’s pollinating prong—though need I go into it—it’s really too poetic a subject for this common ordinary blog.
So peace is impossible. Moments of peace in history—could we call it periods of stability in history—I don’t know—I suppose there is somewhere on this earth a place where there has never been war or murder or assassination or criminals—I don’t know where it is—Switzerland is as close as I can come to it—maybe New Zealand—or maybe as close to perfect peace while alive is found high up in the Himalayas with that people called the Hunzas—anybody ever heard of them? The Hunza diet is supposed to be the healthiest diet on earth—whole grains, dates, nuts, stuff like that. The US Christian cult of the Seventh Day Adventists practice the Hunza style of living—or they used to—their famous hospital in Loma Linda, California, was based on Hunza diets and exercises and stuff like that. I may have my cart before the muskox here, but I once dated a 56-year-old virgin who amused me with that fact all one evening who was a Rosicrucian (another California nut cult) and she told me all about the Hunzas and gave me a book on them that had in it the Hunza way of curing a backache. This exercise actually helped a friend of mine when I told him about it and showed him how to do it—you lie on your back, gather your legs up to your chest, move your head forward, and then you rock like a rocking chair, back and forth, using your spine as the rocker. This dude praised me highly for helping him cure his back pains—why, I thought he was going to nominate me for a Nobel Prize that year he was so thankful. I never have had a backache in my life so I don’t know if that Hunza method works or not.
thegrowlingwolf
for The Daily Growler
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