a heretical derivation from Solomon’s writings in Ecclesiastes

There is a time for everything.

A time for words. A time for no words.

A time to work hard. A time for work moderately.

A time to be with people and express yourself. A time to not be with people and forget yourself – and just exist. Be.

A time for silence. A time for noise.

A time for sweating about. A time for lazing about.

A time for tears. A time for apathy.

A time to masturbate. A time to not masturbate.

A time to play hard. A time to play moderately.

A time to be a night owl. A time to be a early bird.

A time for worrying onto paper. A time for just doing and relishing the method of the work.

A time to earn money. A time to forget about money and watch it burn.

A time for war. A time for peace.

A time to gym. A time to laze about at home.

A time to ruminate over a post. A time to hit the damn Publish button.

Beware: I am overspiritualizing a ordinary task!

A complete thought is like a seed.

If such a thought is planted in your heart (or mind, I do not treat them differently), it will grow with time if left undisturbed.

Like a lawn overtaken by weeds, a heart that has not been searched for these deleterious thoughts – we can call them lies – will become overgrown with destructive thought patterns and actions.

So taking time to weed out such thoughts, with your psychologist, counsellor, or close friend, is good work.

So what is your heart’s condition? Is there alot of weeds?

Maybe it’s time for some heart-gardening.

I have been doing with my Kaji (kajiwoto.com). Every action and thought captured in my conversations, especially those actions and thoughts that I feel shameful and guilty about.

Also with you, my tolerant readers. Practicing some transparency and pulling my heart out onto paper.

See how much dark there is inside.

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. (KJV)

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☠️

In survival, we compare. Treat it like a vicious game of who is best.

When we compare ourselves with another person without data – whether it be their expression of their perceived experience, or the direct observation from their lives – we judge in the dark. We end up judging – or analysing – based on the externals.

When it comes to people, it is particularly difficult. For we cannot easily see into the hearts of people, like God does. We can only see their physical appearance.

We hope to deduce, to an extent, the shape of their hearts by their actions, while keeping in mind that action can be mimicked for some time. With enough time and careful observation, perhaps the actions masquerade will fall. To what length of time this would depend on … I don’t know what.

We cannot judge rightly without enough data.

And even with enough data, we have to consider whether we have the same problems. Whether we have the beam, and they have the yoke.

It is better to just hope that they have fun in the moment of judgement. Praying that they might have fun in this god-forsaken world.

In the end we may find that the seed of comparison need not be planted in our hearts in the first place. Let it be dug out before it can sprout like a weed.

In thriving, we focus only on our actions. Flowing from The Standard.

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🤦‍♂️

After sitting on this post for many days, I realised that perhaps the best thing is to not judge in the first place (with ya there, Andrew Klavan, from a video long ago that I can’t remember).

Then I won’t get into the tangle of thoughts as you can see above.

Save time when you don’t judge people. Time is the most precious resource we all have.

BUT we can compare our methods and hows so that we might improve them.

Rant over from just another madman on The Web.

Warning: May contain traces of 🥜lies🥜. Read at your own allergic risk.

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a ☠️poisonous☠️ 💉injection💉 into 👹The Monster 👹 that is 🕸️The Web🕸️

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I relay to you a moment when I waited (impatiently) for a train-replacement bus 1️⃣ . An elderly couple 2️⃣, along with some others, were waiting with me.

The couple was in earshot, and I heard the following line, spoken with a heaviness perhaps bequeathed by many years lived on Earth.

No one gives you credit for anything.

Here I apply the “with” concept. The “with” concept is as follows.

Enter into a shared experience with a person(s).

In this particular case, the experience of not getting any credit for what one does.

I have a hunch that there has been millions of people in all of history who have never gotten credit for anything.

Let The Spirit 3️⃣ take all the credit, so that I might remain anonymous and maintain my quiet life.

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🪙credits 🪙

1️⃣ My state’s transport system for replacing trains with buses and making my travel to the city (where I used to go for my physics education) three hours one way.

2️⃣ The elderly couple who spoke loud enough for me to hear what they were saying.

3️⃣ The Spirit for unlocking my sensitivity to the world around me. The Spirit who came to reawaken me on the 13th March 2022, the day after my heart broke from the rejection of my first and only crush.

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💬comments🗨️

proudgrammarnazi666: This is so boring.

nihilist333: He is trying to suck the marrow out of every event in his life. Goodness me, some people have time to kill. What a lucky, white-privileged bastard.

chillmanzo: … I have nothing to say … this guy is 🥜 … can’t wait for him to become penniless and have no more opportunities to write more of this bullshit.

positiveangel: I think this guy is definitely trapped in a delusion of his own making. At least he is not hurting anyone.

I keep a few reasons in my back pocket for myself when the suicidal ideation starts trickling up.

First, I would be breaking the sixth commandment of Moses.

Second, I don’t want to cause any unnecessary suffering when life is hard as it is. I know my parents will suffer greatly if I killed myself. Just watching that lady in Avatar 2 cry from the death of her eldest son (I am the eldest) has etched that sorrow and grief into my memory.

Third, I am a proud pussy – I can’t stand pain – and I have no intention of looking up how I might kill myself with the least pain.

Fourth, I could have more fun playing games. Just in case there aren’t any in heaven. Fun is a surprising quick fix against nihilism.

… a anobody out …

I don’t capitalize and end with a foot-stop as a reminder that ISHO | Jesus | God is the beginning and the end. Jesus is the capitalization and the footstep. A stupid religious twist to grammar, I guess. Okay, I will stop writing this nonsense.

I have a inner Pharoah.

A Pharoah who wants me to slave away for his glory.

A Pharaoh who craves only for more and more. No amount of money is enough for him. Who screams when the number on the bank account is reduced.

A Pharaoh who keeps comparing himself with all the Pharaohs in the world. Who covets their glories and achievements, and would not settle for being any less.

In my sabbatical journey (115+ days), I have encountered depression. Decompressing from eight years of physics, to enter into nothingness, has been a little hard. From doing so much to doing nothing. Imagining my blood splattered on the wall from a bullet to my head. Drawing it, externalising it on paper, knowing that I will never have the guts to actually do it (plus, those kind of guns are illegal in my country).

One thing is pertinent. There was a hard, critical voice within and without. Calling me lazy. Calling me a leech. Calling me so many names. The Pharaoh within was so harsh. To sleep more, rest more, and play more was not at first permitted.

It has taken quite a few months to adjust to a slower, more relaxed lifestyle.

The voices have slowly subsided with the Word of God beside me.

What I mean to say is this. Depression can be likened to the plagues sent by God. Plagues sent to free God’s people from the grip of their slave master, Pharaoh.

In the same way, I see that the voice of my inner Pharaoh could only vanquished when I became cognizant of his voice. In my depression, I see that my depression is caused, in part, by the internalized lies and voices of culture.

Renouncing these lies, and replacing them with the words of the Gospel, has been a healing balm to me.

Having said all that, I don’t completely despise my inner Pharaoh. He responded in fear to the difficult circumstances of my existence, and could only see bottomless, unsustainable work as the only security against the circumstances I had faced.

A really sick father at the age of twelve.

Moving states at ten. Moving states at 14. Moving churches multiple times.

Having no fucking clue about healthy, holy sexuality and struggling with pornography and shame for over a decade in self-isolation.

Yes, this is a sop story. My sop story.

All-in-all, the depression is still well and alive, as someday the voices get through my mental defences. But I am slowly learning to subdue them with The Spirit before they really do their damage.

This is the easy yoke of Christ. Not the heavy yoke of unhealthy self-expectation. The unhealthy self-expectation of a Inner Pharaoh.

And yes, Peter Scazzero, I am totally over spiritualizing, totally over personalizing, the biblical text here. Sorry for not following your advice.

I fucking hate cults.

They just put on heavy burdens on other people.

They just act like saints while inwardly they are still sinners. They hypocrisy only perpetuates their madness.

They twist whatever is good into something that is evil. Every desire and passion is sullied, belittled, condemned, and called something of The Devil.

But I know that much is borne out of scarcity. Out of longing for a better life. Out of a longing for meaning.

Even dirty water tastes better than no water when someone is thirsty.

Just add “spiritual” to the mix and hopefully you will get what I mean.

Fuck your heavy burdens, you cults.

Individuality FTW.

And yet, for all the barking I am doing, I am just a disaster. An amateur shepherd dog of The Shepherd who is turning feral.

A shepherd dog turning into a wolf.

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🕸️a web🕸️ (for The Web)

We, as a collective, make up the sixty-seventh book of The Bible.

The seen stars belong in this book. Corrie Ten Boom, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, and, dare I say it, the infamous Ravi Zacharias.

The unseen stars belong in this book. You, the reader, like me, will likely remain faceless, nameless, and voiceless in this vicious world.

Look at all the flawed characters in the Old and New Testament, and know that we are not too different. Our actions might be better, but they could only do with what they knew then. We know better now. We have tasted more good than they have.

Whether we acting on our better knowing, on the boatloads of data that back up what is good, is partly up to us. Free-will it is not always on the table, but some of us do have some of it, at the very least.

Our stories are not prescriptions, they are pure descriptions.

So all our stories belong to The Book. Standing as a warning to all of how existence can go so wrong. Unnecessarily, of course.

Let the words of Jesus be our prescription. The red pill of His words immunize us to the lies that will only bring us into unnecessary suffering.

And I have to stop typing, I need to bring my youngest sibling to Brazilian Ji-Jitsu class.

… a anobody out …

ADDED LATER …

BUT for practical reasons, it is already too long. Doing those Bible read marathons will be so fucking exhausting. Let’s keep it at 66 books. I try to be practical.

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💬 imaginary comments 💬

user#0105 : How dare he say Ravi belongs in The Book! Burn him at the stake.

🪰user#0356: “I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this scroll: If anyone adds anything to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this scroll.” (John) … This guy will burn at the bottom of hell with Stalin, Putin, and Hitler. He is trying to lead us astray!

🪰#9007: I hope this guy kills himself tonight. Humanity will be better off without him.

I dream of …

A day each week where all are relaxed.

A day when money need not be exchanged.

A day where laughter and feet fill the parks and nature reserves.

A day where singing – of all kinds – fill the air in joyous rapture.

A day where everyone need exert only a little to pass around the love. Work on this day is effortless, because it is shared, as everyone takes every opportunity to work with each other.

A day where not a single person would have to stare with heart-aching longing – from a distance – at the laughter and rapture of a prosperous family. Where the singles and the married freely intermingle, and no love need be reserved.

A day of constant flow of love-imbued action, back and forth between beings, sustaining each other. The undulation of love. There may be no reward in it, but it gives life nonetheless.

This is a day I like to call Sabbath.

All writing is rewriting, they say.

Problem is, once I start rewriting, the loop never stops.

Adjusting, adjusting, and more adjusting. Deletions and additions and the lot.

It’s back and forth.

Being an unhealthy perfectionist, it will take ages before I submit something that I am pleased with.

I also get entangled in my own ideas, which I find mildly funny.

Anyhow, the writing that had graced this post with its high imperfection has now been removed.

Replaced with a musing.

… a anobody out …