Hogwarts Witchcraft & Wizardry Web

Decal Zodiac

What is it that IS keeping us here - or not?

*Justify Your Existence!* demanded the large decal on the rear window of the big, black, sooped-up SUV ahead of me, as I pulled up at a red light.

Maybe it was the dark appeal of the vehicle itself that swayed my thinking, but I felt the slogan had strong whiffs of ultra-rightist ideology. I then pondered the impossibility for anyone to truly justify their existence.

I mean, we can't get away with it simply by saying I need to exist because I'm a good person or Because it's my right or Because i was born or Because I'm a mother or Because the work I do is important ... can we?

And then, I realized that the only way to answer the dare,*Justify Your Existence!* would be to reply: Sure, no problem. My purpose on this earth, in this lifetime, is to amend the karma that is mine to amend - the one that's encoded in my energy field, the one that's been passed on to me by all of my soul's previous incarnations - as well as the karma that I have created for myself through my words, thoughts and actions – not that I suggest this reply to the next person who should pose the question

Serious question: is there any other way to Justify Our Existence in *this* lifetime other than by indulging less our needs and our fears to begin fulfilling our True Destiny?

That's once we have figured out who we really are. Having just said that, another question demanding a hard answer is Who are you?

Indeed, WHO are we, really?

We can't simply answer by stating our name, as our name is only a name, a label of sorts, and not much would be changed in our life if our name happened to be a different name from the one we have.

We can't get away with it either by adding our nationality because that refers only to a place of birth. Even if we grew up there, this location has, at best, only given us some of our traits and some of our cultural habits. Neither explains WHO we, personally, ARE. They only explain some of our reactions.

So, we could add facts regarding our ancestral lineage, the level of our education, the area of our expertise and our social status, as well as bits of information about what makes us tick but - serious question: would the sum of this information, even if we threw in our age and our Zodiac Sign, accurately answer the question Who are You? I believe it would not.

I believe that all these combined facts about our selves only amount to facts - the facts with which we have been dressing up our persona. These facts simply declare our preferences such as the car we drive, the type of house we live in, the brands we prefer and the jewellery we like to display on our person. these facts are the mere results of reflex actions dredged up from the low end of our ego.

So What then is the correct answer to Who are you?

If we are open to the idea that there most definitely are other higher, much higher planes hugging our physical selves like the rings of an onion, we can agree that, indeed, we are souls disguised - not in a fat suit of the sort used in films - but hidden in a *body* suit. Alan Watts referred of our physical self as a mere bag of bones and fluids but for aesthetic reasons, I much prefer the idea of my body being a body-suit. Less messy.

Those of us who accept the idea of a state of things that lies beyond what we can see, smell and touch if only through our entertainment screens will understand that the only REAL reason we are alive in this body suit, as in every other incarnation - past or future - is to amend karma. That's it.

Really, is there any other truthful way to handle the question?

Those of us open to an alternative idea to This is Me/This is What Makes Me Tick would already have noted how convincingly the eager little ego leads us like a toddler's hand towards the new shiny toy, the current whim and that candy-cool Must-Have. Of course we would have observed how our little ego also curls up from its own fears as it does from its sadnesses and disappointments. It curls up in a little ball of despond just as easily as it strikes out in anger. Surely, the cosmic engineering needed to get us *out there* - or should I say *right here* in our lifetime - civilization after civilization over the millennia and the sustained planetary maintenance THAT requires – can't be merely so that we can merrily zone out, grab, grasp and clutch according to our ego's whims.

Next comes the need to cast a fresh eye on the inevitability of death – and its often unsuspected immediacy: Once we internalize the reality that some forty-one million three hundred and seventeen thousand people have died last year, with more or less two others dying every second, the next point begging for attention has now got to be ... What is it that keeps us alive for as long as we remain alive? Good Luck? Good genes? A healthy lifestyle? A good doctor? A team of specialists?

 

Wikipedia tells us that the ‘longest documented lifespan is that of Jeanne Calment of France. She died in 1997 164 days after her 122 birthday. ‘Calment was still in good shape, and was able to walk until she fractured her femur during a fall at age 114 years and 11 months [ ... ] Calment became ill with influenza shortly before her 116th birthday.She smoked until the age of 117' [1]

Although we tend to be more afraid of the unknown after death than desperate to break Jeanne Calment's longevity record, almost as one we have aligned ourselves with the voice of the Surgeon General that has branded smoking tobacco as a major hazard to our health. And so, one of the things many of us have done hoping to prolong our time on earth, here and now, has been to lose that pack of cigarettes, ween ourselves from the ubiquitous ashtray – and celebrate our willpower by indulging in some retail therapy at the end of each fiscal year.

Fine, but cigar-totting George Burns, a famous American comedian, moved upstairs at the age of 100. Because he died of a heart attack, some say he was the ‘living proof that smoking between 10 and 15 cigars a day for 70 years contributes to one's longevity. Maybe the old comedian was one of a breed and they don't make ‘em that way anymore. So be it, but Bob Dylan smokes 80 cigarettes a day, and he's still kicking. John Lennon was a chronic smoker too, but tobacco is not what killed him.

The flamed-haired comedian, a smoker all of her life, Lucille Ball, died at age 77, but from a dissecting aortic aneurysm. And when it comes to the one known as the grandfather of the world, Joan Riudavets Moll, a lifelong smoker himself, he died in 2004 at the mature age of 114.

Bottom line: though tobacco does kill approximately 5.4 million people yearly, it can be ruled out as one of our definite Life Terminators.

No idea whether he smoked or not but Mozart, considered a musical genius, died at 35. Henry Purcell, my favourite Baroque composer, died at 36 while George Gershwintook a break from Earth at 39. Janis Joplin died at 27 - at the same age as Kurt Cobain. In their own time frames, Syd Vicious died even younger and Buddy Holly died younger again at 22. Shannon Tavarez, a talented Broadway performer who played in the Lion King, died at the very unripe age of 11.

Bottom line: musical genius notwithstanding, no matter how steeped into any genre of music one might be, no amount of popularity shields us from the ultimate Death Glare.

Acting would appear to be equally ineffective a shield. Heath Ledger moved on at 28 while a few years earlier but in a similar timeline, James Dean preceded him by 4 years and River Phoenix by 5. Marylyn Monroe died at 36.  Though arguably death came to her too soon, she did outlive by 10 years the platinum-haired Jean Harlow.

Dolly the sheep caused a much bigger sensation around the world when she was born than when she died 6 years later.

Bottom line: being in the lime light for whatever reason, even being a sex symbol is no better shield against death than a being a musical persona.

The media tell us that health and fitness are the keys to a well-rounded lifestyle and, presumably, to a longer life. Yet, many of us will remember that day in 2010 when we heard of the shocking death of a young athlete, Georgian luge racer, Nodar Kumaritashvili, who died in a horrific crash while training at Whistler, Canada., only hours before the winter Olympics opening ceremony.

Gary Coleman, a body builder, collapsed during a competition and died in a hospital shortly after.

Legendary Bruce Lee is as much a legend in this century as in the previous one, but he died at 32.

Though Fran Crippen is not as legendary as the Kung Fu icon, he was a member of the U.S. national swimming team. At 26, he died during a race in the United Arab Emirates.

A Pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels baseball team, Nick Adenhart, died at 22 while Washington Redskins Sean Michael Maurice Taylor a.k.a. Meast [his fans' abbreviation for half man, half beast] died from a gunshot to the leg. He was 24.

Thomas Casarotto, a cyclist of international standing died while racing in the 2010 Italian cycling Tour of the region Friuli Venezia Giuli, Another 10 cyclist are logged in as having died while training in that year.

A few years earlier, Australian Amy Gillett, a top cyclist herself, was killed when a car swerved into the group of cyclists training with her.

Bottom line: from the many children of all ages who die to the very top international athletes, any level of fitness is no more a guarantee against an untimely death than being in the lime light, a sex symbol or a musical genius.

Pulitzer Prize winners do tend to grow to a ‘reasonable old age', but the list of writers who met an untimely death is long. Just to name a few, Thomas Wolfe died at 38, Stephen Crane died at 29 and so did Anne Bronte - Charlotte's sister. Silvia Plath died at 30 at the same age as Emily Bronte, the other sister whilst Rimbaud shuffled of this mortal coil at 37.

On the topic of ‘mortal coils', Hamlet is said to have died at some unspecified point between his fictitious 17th and 30th birthday – either way, the death of young characters dying on a page brings to mind Romeo and his Juliet.

Bottom line: any degree of fitness is no more a guarantee against an untimely death than being in the lime light, a sex symbol or a musical genius – neither is literary creativity – neither is being a famous Shakespearean character.

Grand Duchess of Russia, Maria Nikolaevna, was assassinated in 1918. She was 19 years of age whilst In the 15th century, Joan of Arc was executed for heresy when she was also only 19 years old. As an aside, it would have been entirely feasible for Maria to be Joan's latest incarnation but surely no one in their right mind would claim a famous persona as a past incarnation!

22 year old Robert Wadlow, the tallest man ever, didn't die because his head was too far above from his feet, but from an infection of the left ankle.

 

Princess Diana was 36 years old when she strapped herself in the back seat of the black Mercedes-Benz that failed to bring her to her intended physical destination.

Queen Victoria's husband, Albert, died in 1861 at the young age of 42 and the Queen wore black for the rest of her days.

John F kennedy Jr died at 38. Jesus was 33.

Bottom line: any degree of fitness is no more a guarantee against an untimely death than being in the lime light, a sex symbol or a musical genius – neither is literary creativity – neither is being a famous Shakespearean character - neither is being extremely tall, being a ‘royal' or having a famous father.

OK, so by now, some of us might be thinking, wtf ...might as well die young and stay pretty or die young and make a beautiful corpse. Ah, easier said than done!

Opting out of the ‘body suit' is not as easy as one might think. There are, as you know, an incredibly high number of earnestly failed suicides. Suicide, we think is complex and, we think, it has all to do with the person's will to cut their own life short but ... Halle Berry failed in her attempt to end her life through carbon monoxide poisoning. Drew Barrymore tried to kill herself at 14, but survived long enough to get the treatment that has kept her going.

Why Adolf Hitler's suicide came good in 1945, I'm not sure as many would have preferred to have him in solitary confinement for a minimum of 6 million years - no parole.

It might have been the double combo of gunshotand cyanide poisoning did the trick. Still, even that didn't just happen.

As one assumes that anyone who has repeatedly attempted taking their own life must have, at least once, given the matter thoughtful reflection, when Wendy O. Williams, front woman for the Plasmatics, finally succeeded in shutting herself down for this lifetime, the note she left behind failed to consider why her previous attempts had failed – they had after all been pretty much, point blank. Once she stabbed herself in the chest with a knife. Another time she took an overdose of ephedrine.

Finally, the bullet she fired at herself did find a sweet spot, but the note apparently only said: I don't believe that people should take their own lives without deep and thoughtful reflection over a considerable period of time.[2]

With this in mind, my very ‘noir' but favorite account of a failed suicide is that of the woman in New York who leapt to her death from a balcony enough storeys high only to have her fall broken by a sidewalk awning. Unfortunately, a pair of newlyweds happened to stroll by at that nano-second and the weight of the metallic structure weighted down by the woman's body collapsed on top of them – crushing them to death.

There is a quirky English colloquialism referring to the chest deep, often overweight sopranos, that states that it ain't over till the fat lady sings but, truly, those of us who are open to considering that real control upon our persons is not ours to yield, we can agree that it ain't over till soul says so.

For some of us, this understanding makes a lot more sense than the theory of random Bad Luck/good luck or that of being in the wrong place at the wrong time because then, the next hard question begging is why were we corralled into being at the wrong time at that wrong place?

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1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeanne_Calment

2. http://nocensorshit.co.cc/index.php?id=tribute-to-wendy-o-williams

About the Author

By day, a teacher of Senior English and French in Brisbane, Australia, and, by night, first a writer of novels and now a writer of spiritual material, I am on a quest of sorts – I am searching for a connection to my soul, right here, right now.

Admittedly, I have an ulterior motive – quite a strong one at that: I am trying to edit some karma out of my energy field by altering its properties. This, from me, who a couple of years ago thought about my soul as often as the molecular composition of my body, which was never.

Dear Reader,

Should you wish to read the original and fully illustrated pdf versions of all the articles based on Moriya's teachings, you will find them contextualized on C.C. on Destiny - the only page on the ‘net dedicated to her uncompromising approach to genuine spirituality.

And here is my new 2011 crop of articles on all matters of the Heart & Soul

 

Tron Guy Interview at ROFLCon (Respectably French!)

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This entry was posted on Friday, August 15th, 2008 at 10:10 am and is filed under Metaphysical. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.