I think I finally articulated my problem with religion in the popular form. Thanks to Ritika Dusad - discussion with her was instrumental in achieving this. The biggest, and likely only, problem I have with religion is that the way in which you are introduced to it, preaching or reading, starts with the premise that there is a superior way of life than yours. It ends up convincing you that what you are doing is not the best and therefore, you are not there. You come out humbled and feeling inferior to yourself, or your ideal projection and thus, become your own competitor. And perhaps that is what makes this mode of propagating religion so effective that a slight tip into it pulls you all the way in - nobody, and I mean nobody, can be spared this inferiority complex, because the competition is not with another human, but with yourself. And it doesn't stop there. You are also convinced that religion is the only way to self-upliftment. That's the glue.
Therefore, no matter what your state is, no matter how good you are (whatever that means - don't ask me to define good, but I won't be able to, but just think of it as a measure of how close you are to that ideal projection), you will always be split away from what you want you want to be, that is, when religion kicks in.
Ever heard of a religion starting with "You are great! Think of all the reasons why that is true."? Nobody is totally devoid of good. And that's the irony - the path to improvement has to begin with realizing your shortcomings. It's just that the goal religion places on you is so far ahead that it could make you recoil, stoking self-condemnation to the extent that you lose the ability to identify and, therefore, nurture the good in you. All that dominates is negativism.
Religion may be great. Its intent too. That's not even the question. But the popular form is surely not for the average person. And perhaps that is why so few really attain what religion aims. Why do you punish the laborer for not being an astronaut?
Friday, October 8, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Work vacation
Work. Vacation.
Work. Vacation. Work vacation. "Are you getting it?" as Steve Jobs says it. You don't pay your bills. You don't drive around. You don't even pay a visit to the courthouse for that fix-it ticket they gave you. You don't go out to eat. You don't go get groceries. You don't go move your clothes from washer to dryer. And yes, you don't even take a shower.
Something is missing from that list. Something is naggingly off. Work. We never used that word! That's what you don't put aside. In fact, it's the only thing you do. Well, okay, respond to email like a master, so they know you're working. Forage in the kitchen. And when you really can't hold it any longer, answer the nature. But for all the rest of your 26 hours, you satiate the student in you, the engineer in you, the detective in you, that ferocious warrior in you who shall not be held back by dark ignorance, the prophet in you who sought the divinity of knowledge and understanding, and the dreamer in you who knew where heaven was.
You take that vacation into waters you want to sail. You are the master and commander of that ship. You choose the course. In a world where you never run out of time. You don't sleep thinking about the next morning. You wake up without remembering the last night, except that you were sailing, only to be able to sail again. That, my friend, is the "work" vacation.
Work. Vacation. Work vacation. "Are you getting it?" as Steve Jobs says it. You don't pay your bills. You don't drive around. You don't even pay a visit to the courthouse for that fix-it ticket they gave you. You don't go out to eat. You don't go get groceries. You don't go move your clothes from washer to dryer. And yes, you don't even take a shower.
Something is missing from that list. Something is naggingly off. Work. We never used that word! That's what you don't put aside. In fact, it's the only thing you do. Well, okay, respond to email like a master, so they know you're working. Forage in the kitchen. And when you really can't hold it any longer, answer the nature. But for all the rest of your 26 hours, you satiate the student in you, the engineer in you, the detective in you, that ferocious warrior in you who shall not be held back by dark ignorance, the prophet in you who sought the divinity of knowledge and understanding, and the dreamer in you who knew where heaven was.
You take that vacation into waters you want to sail. You are the master and commander of that ship. You choose the course. In a world where you never run out of time. You don't sleep thinking about the next morning. You wake up without remembering the last night, except that you were sailing, only to be able to sail again. That, my friend, is the "work" vacation.
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