"SPIRITUALITY" IN THE AGE OF THE MARKET!
Little Johnny has difficulty to understand what his parents tell him about making babies. They say babies are given to a Dad and a Mom who love each other. Although Johnny believes his parents, he thinks there is something wrong. He knew many people who have children without marriage; he also sees in the TV those who get children through rape.

"Are children born through Love or through sexual intercourse?" That’s in summary Johnny’s unformulated question. Can you answer it?
Animals make babies. Humans make babies. God makes babies. We have the “tools” to make them, but this doesn’t mean that we make them the right way. Does it?
We have systems to perform vital functions, we have systems to perform non-vital functions, and we have the “debated” systems to perform “spiritual” functions. Spiritual, para-psychologic, psychic, divine, whatever !
Being able to make babies doesn’t mean we make them right. Being “sexually potent” doesn’t mean we are creators. “Producing” a baby doesn’t need to come through Love, but how different is it when babies are made by love and for love.

Thus, having some “spiritual” systems doesn’t mean we use them in the Spirit. You can exercise and get psychological muscles, but these are only tools: like sperms, like digestive juices, like lungs.
Life is far different.
Love is different.
Spirituality is different.
- posted by R @ 12:49 AM 0 comments

 
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THE PRAYER OF A SKEPTIC...

I wish I can one day prove that what I smell when I'm peeling onions is the same as what you do smell. Unfortunately, I can't--although I can determine the "spectrophotometric fingerprint" of the volatile oils released while onions are being peeled.

How many times have I experienced what I cannot explain? Definitely not as many as the times in which I explained what I haven’t yet experienced; but, still, I find myself skeptical of each and every one of my deepest and probably 'truest' experiences.

Is it my programmed subconscious that talks inside me or it is the Holy Spirit that intercedes. How can I tell? Even when prayer pushes me to grow and works in me as the elders have described it, I drink this water and then question its purity! Shame on me! I even think that it was a mirage, a mere illusion.

But.. Lord, It always ends that I finally give in. How can I resist this absorbing power of yours: a relentless perseverant power that cannot be described, an amazing grace that must be described as “divine,” if this word ever has any meaning.
I end by giving in.
And then you open the doors that I have stubbornly blocked, and your innumerable graces submerge me. Again I forget to sample the water, to keep a ray of your light as “evidence” that You were there. Who cares?

Today I found out that I don’t ask. I found out that my friends don’t ask. I questioned some of them, and, to my surprise, they agreed that they have never really "prayed and not received. "Theirs and mine biggest problem is daring to ask. Who dares?

The silliest of excuses I use to avoid asking you and the same silliest of excuses I repeatedly heard from others. I wonder how can we afford cutting ourselves from the source, and I wonder how skillful and determined we are when killing ourselves.

I need to pray. I want to pray. I don’t want to think about the “validity” or “feasibility” or “reality” or “authenticity” or “theological-correctness” or “genuineness” of my experience. ENOUGH!

I’m thirsty while trying to analyze the water and assess its purity. Those whom I called “naïve”, “dumb” “borderline” or even “lucky” are drinking and drinking. They are bathing in the water that I’m testing.

So, while I’m finishing my analysis, how about a sip?
mmm..
A cup…
A bottle.
Ah!
- posted by R @ 12:23 AM 0 comments

 
Don't forget to check: ghandy.blogspot.com
- posted by R @ 3:56 AM 0 comments

 
يا للبلوجة!

البَلوْجة في بلاد الشمال!

عندمايأتي المساءُ في البلاد الباردة
أبلوج بلا اكتفاء خاطِراتي الشاردة
- posted by R @ 3:54 AM 0 comments

 
To blog or not to blog!?
Blogging?

Is it like shouting in the air hoping that some wind will carry your voice to an unwilling ear?
Or is it like encrypting the juice of your mind on old rocks and hoping they will be read by a die-hard researcher looking for a serendipitous find?

I don't know how many mixed feelings are going inside me now. My worry about writing in English which is not my first or second language mixed with my childish dreams of being a well-read humble extraordinary journalist. My fears of being even more narcissist are mingled with my certitude that this won't be read by anybody.

I always was wondering whether moments come when broadcasters are talking and talking while not a single being is tuning to them. What a thought! Who cares they are broadcasting anyway. Broad-casting. Haha.
- posted by R @ 3:30 AM 3 comments