Post by reverendroxie22 on Mar 8, 2016 20:04:42 GMT
1. How would you feel if you realized that you were just “stuff”, just this body, and that there was nothing “meta” physical about you? Be sure to use your “I” voice and present your reaction in an autobiographical framework. Also make pertinent references (when possible) to the film on mysterium tremendum.
- I refuse to believe that really, I am "just stuff." Of course, without a doubt, we all end up being out of this body, and already, due to the rigorous activity called birthing a child when I was a little too close to the golden age of 35 when, apparently, our eggs which give us chicks that whole ..special...thing about us - I had an (gulp) out of body thing happen for me. The first thing that I heard, while still conscious and on this side of the veil was the nurse freak out, then say the word "SHIT! STAT!" and then "beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep..." temporarily the end of Rox, as I know me.
This is why I know that, no matter what anyone tells any one of us, we are far more than just stuff. We are ...kick ass...stuff, and because I have had that one experience, I know, too, that we have a soul and that we are all, no matter what those guys from a long time ago wanted to tell us all, the stuff that we are is stuff like no other. In that sense, okay, we are indeed, just stuff. Yet those guys did not think for a moment that even they might have been pondering what the purpose of life is if we are just merely this stuff they wanted us to believe that we are. We are not just that. We are the culmination of everyone else's stuff who came before us so that their stuff would not be forgotten.
haha...I love that word "stuff." Makes me think of turkey lol
2. using your own life as a template, provide two or more examples of Plato’s Allegory of the cave. Hint: think of those times in your life when you mistakenly believed something to be true or real but you later realized wasn’t. Be sure to think within the context of the movie.
- I was brought up "born again," by parents who, to this day, believe, as though their God reached out of the heavens and penned it himself, that every word that is in the Bible is the literal word of (their) God. I say "their" God because while I was growing up, this same God who they promised would protect me failed me. Yet, they kept hanging on to what they taught me because...yep, I am gonna go there...I assume it would be a horrible thing for anyone to have to rethink about the idea that what they were believing, and then went on to give to their kids, and a whole LOT of other people called "the congregation," as being NOT the literal thing they hoped it would be.
My entire life is colored by memories of private Christian grade school, seeing people behave in strange ways and chalking it up to their God giving them the gift of whatever the hell it was that they wanted it to be, as long as it meant that they were somehow ordained by God for some special place in the lives of others that would call them "Important" in the eyes of those others. Problem is, I ended up getting older and when I did, my thoughts and my curiosities also did. Unlike other Preacher's Kids, I was NOT one's typical or stereotypical Minister's Daughter. I did not go the route of sex, drugs and rock and roll, but rather, I went the route of "the craft, beer and weed, and hell yeah rock n roll," and while it was that I was terrified like a girl on prom night the first time I danced with others beneath the full moon, it was like I had been given the keys to the Universe.
I was pissed, at first, because all that time I depended on my parents to keep me informed about things, and the only thing that I was well informed about was that since it was that they were born again, and they were fervent and for all things "Lord," it was a requirement in their household that we kids towed that same line. My siblings did, and still do, but they do so in the manner that I ended up having to - the common sense manner. When it was that I chose to seek out the beliefs of my ancestors, my mother might as well have birthed a large and smelly bovine creature because she had a big fat turd of a cow about it. Here I was, 45 years old, one of the Kahunas here in Los Angeles who is a bloodline Kahu (meaning that it is literally one of those things that is passed down, from high priestess to high priestess in training lol...yes, I am training my Gracie in this weirdness stuff...please, keep reading...and yes, I know - run on sentences. Call me a sinner - my mother does hahahahahaaa) and prior to that particular birthday, I was just a rambling writer about all things strange.
I cannot blame my parents, though. They are doing what I write about all the time - they are still adhering to rules that were created by now dead people, and those dead people were also doing the same thing. The problem with passing down familial traditions is that while they are being handed down, the down handers are not thinking about the FACT that not all of those in the generations which will follow theirs are going to willingly follow their lead. I followed the lead of my bloodline, not my parents' ministry. I am not suggesting that they are wrong for what or how they believe. I am stating that not all of us are going to follow what we are brought up to believe and that all of us will question what it is that we are told is the truth. That is what is really at play here - we are being constantly subjected to the truths of other people, particularly the truths of our parents and their parents. We are told that this is the only way that things are, and that we are required to believe what they believe or most assuredly we will burn for eternity in their God's hell. It might seem that I am totally against whatever is anyone's religious beliefs, but the opposite is the truth. I am against people impounding the creative nature of children for the sake of carrying on hatreds for other humans disguised as beliefs that are infallible.
I was told that my parents' God was perfect, that no matter how hard I tried to please their God, I was, am and will always be but the equivalent of the ickiness that collects on the bottom of the kitchen trash can. This is what I was taught; Our imperfect nature makes it so that their God, through their God's preacher guys (in this case, my father), will judge us as harshly as the preacher guy thinks we ought to be. That guy is sanctioned by their God to point fingers, to tell others what is wrong with us all, to scare the hell out of us with hell fire and brimstone, and then have the nerve to tell us that as long as we let their big, scary, abusive douche-bag of a male chauvinist God have his way, we would be able to get into their God's heaven when we die.
Thing is...I DID die, and it was NOT their God who brought me back, because I was not in that place where I could be gone forever, only "gone" long enough to have my own fears made lesser in that I KNOW what is on the other side of our awareness, and I know that the God I grew up with does NOT exist. It was nothing but an energy and a feeling of Love, and Love that was complete and made me feel as though I never did a thing wrong in my lifetime and that no matter what I was told I had to believe, I am, we are, far more than only this bag of bones dressed nicely as human beings....yes, even the ones who we might think are not that easy to look at - them, too. We are not just stuff, not just meat. We are ethereal beings who are truly made of the light that we have read about.
We are not meant to be enslaved by the ideals that were created by others, who were told by others what they ought to write so that many many moons later, we would all sit here, pondering why it is that if one guy says that we are made of tiny things that are also made of tinier things that jiggle, why it is that some unenlightened, technically thinking jackass would have anyone believe that we are but snacks for big giant mammals who do not exist eating leaves and twigs but rather and only you and I?
- I refuse to believe that really, I am "just stuff." Of course, without a doubt, we all end up being out of this body, and already, due to the rigorous activity called birthing a child when I was a little too close to the golden age of 35 when, apparently, our eggs which give us chicks that whole ..special...thing about us - I had an (gulp) out of body thing happen for me. The first thing that I heard, while still conscious and on this side of the veil was the nurse freak out, then say the word "SHIT! STAT!" and then "beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep..." temporarily the end of Rox, as I know me.
This is why I know that, no matter what anyone tells any one of us, we are far more than just stuff. We are ...kick ass...stuff, and because I have had that one experience, I know, too, that we have a soul and that we are all, no matter what those guys from a long time ago wanted to tell us all, the stuff that we are is stuff like no other. In that sense, okay, we are indeed, just stuff. Yet those guys did not think for a moment that even they might have been pondering what the purpose of life is if we are just merely this stuff they wanted us to believe that we are. We are not just that. We are the culmination of everyone else's stuff who came before us so that their stuff would not be forgotten.
haha...I love that word "stuff." Makes me think of turkey lol
2. using your own life as a template, provide two or more examples of Plato’s Allegory of the cave. Hint: think of those times in your life when you mistakenly believed something to be true or real but you later realized wasn’t. Be sure to think within the context of the movie.
- I was brought up "born again," by parents who, to this day, believe, as though their God reached out of the heavens and penned it himself, that every word that is in the Bible is the literal word of (their) God. I say "their" God because while I was growing up, this same God who they promised would protect me failed me. Yet, they kept hanging on to what they taught me because...yep, I am gonna go there...I assume it would be a horrible thing for anyone to have to rethink about the idea that what they were believing, and then went on to give to their kids, and a whole LOT of other people called "the congregation," as being NOT the literal thing they hoped it would be.
My entire life is colored by memories of private Christian grade school, seeing people behave in strange ways and chalking it up to their God giving them the gift of whatever the hell it was that they wanted it to be, as long as it meant that they were somehow ordained by God for some special place in the lives of others that would call them "Important" in the eyes of those others. Problem is, I ended up getting older and when I did, my thoughts and my curiosities also did. Unlike other Preacher's Kids, I was NOT one's typical or stereotypical Minister's Daughter. I did not go the route of sex, drugs and rock and roll, but rather, I went the route of "the craft, beer and weed, and hell yeah rock n roll," and while it was that I was terrified like a girl on prom night the first time I danced with others beneath the full moon, it was like I had been given the keys to the Universe.
I was pissed, at first, because all that time I depended on my parents to keep me informed about things, and the only thing that I was well informed about was that since it was that they were born again, and they were fervent and for all things "Lord," it was a requirement in their household that we kids towed that same line. My siblings did, and still do, but they do so in the manner that I ended up having to - the common sense manner. When it was that I chose to seek out the beliefs of my ancestors, my mother might as well have birthed a large and smelly bovine creature because she had a big fat turd of a cow about it. Here I was, 45 years old, one of the Kahunas here in Los Angeles who is a bloodline Kahu (meaning that it is literally one of those things that is passed down, from high priestess to high priestess in training lol...yes, I am training my Gracie in this weirdness stuff...please, keep reading...and yes, I know - run on sentences. Call me a sinner - my mother does hahahahahaaa) and prior to that particular birthday, I was just a rambling writer about all things strange.
I cannot blame my parents, though. They are doing what I write about all the time - they are still adhering to rules that were created by now dead people, and those dead people were also doing the same thing. The problem with passing down familial traditions is that while they are being handed down, the down handers are not thinking about the FACT that not all of those in the generations which will follow theirs are going to willingly follow their lead. I followed the lead of my bloodline, not my parents' ministry. I am not suggesting that they are wrong for what or how they believe. I am stating that not all of us are going to follow what we are brought up to believe and that all of us will question what it is that we are told is the truth. That is what is really at play here - we are being constantly subjected to the truths of other people, particularly the truths of our parents and their parents. We are told that this is the only way that things are, and that we are required to believe what they believe or most assuredly we will burn for eternity in their God's hell. It might seem that I am totally against whatever is anyone's religious beliefs, but the opposite is the truth. I am against people impounding the creative nature of children for the sake of carrying on hatreds for other humans disguised as beliefs that are infallible.
I was told that my parents' God was perfect, that no matter how hard I tried to please their God, I was, am and will always be but the equivalent of the ickiness that collects on the bottom of the kitchen trash can. This is what I was taught; Our imperfect nature makes it so that their God, through their God's preacher guys (in this case, my father), will judge us as harshly as the preacher guy thinks we ought to be. That guy is sanctioned by their God to point fingers, to tell others what is wrong with us all, to scare the hell out of us with hell fire and brimstone, and then have the nerve to tell us that as long as we let their big, scary, abusive douche-bag of a male chauvinist God have his way, we would be able to get into their God's heaven when we die.
Thing is...I DID die, and it was NOT their God who brought me back, because I was not in that place where I could be gone forever, only "gone" long enough to have my own fears made lesser in that I KNOW what is on the other side of our awareness, and I know that the God I grew up with does NOT exist. It was nothing but an energy and a feeling of Love, and Love that was complete and made me feel as though I never did a thing wrong in my lifetime and that no matter what I was told I had to believe, I am, we are, far more than only this bag of bones dressed nicely as human beings....yes, even the ones who we might think are not that easy to look at - them, too. We are not just stuff, not just meat. We are ethereal beings who are truly made of the light that we have read about.
We are not meant to be enslaved by the ideals that were created by others, who were told by others what they ought to write so that many many moons later, we would all sit here, pondering why it is that if one guy says that we are made of tiny things that are also made of tinier things that jiggle, why it is that some unenlightened, technically thinking jackass would have anyone believe that we are but snacks for big giant mammals who do not exist eating leaves and twigs but rather and only you and I?