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On Fri, 05 Jun 2009 12:32:00 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.net
Cuz it's the wisdom that counts?
Lumbini, Tilaurakot/Kapilvastu?
Oral traditions can be tricky.
Try Glastonbury.
For Martha, try Tarascon.
For Mary, try St. Maximin.
For Lazarus, St.Victor in Marseilles.
Born in Huhsien, aka Luyi,
about 70 miles from Shangchiu.
See the shrine there.
There's also a stele at the
grave of his mother.
But that wasn't what you asked.
The Royal Archives were at Loyang.
Aka Luoyang, Henanfu, Honanfu.
Probably not much, if any.
"The original city of Luoyang was constructed by the Duke of Zhou in
the 11th century BC as a settlement for the remnants of the captured
Shang nobility and was named Chengzhou. It became the capital of the
Zhou Dynasty in 770 BC. The city was destroyed in a civil war in 510
BC and rebuilt the next year at the request of the king.
In AD 25, Luoyang became the capital of Eastern Han Dynasty. For
several centuries, Luoyang was the focal point of China. In AD 68, the
White Horse Temple, the first Buddhist temple in China, was founded in
Luoyang. The temple still exists, though the architecture is of later
origin, mainly from the 16th century. An Shihkao was one of the first
monks to popularize Buddhism in Luoyang.
In AD 190, Chancellor Dong Zhuo ordered his soldiers to ransack,
pillage and raze the city ... "
He went west. Got tired of the wars.
"When Prince Chao was banished from Wangcheng,
he took with him the royal archives, the same archives
of which Lao-tzu was supposedly in charge. If Lao-tzu
needed a reason to leave, he certainly had one in 516 BC."
Siddhartha and Jesus both fasted.
Perhaps delusional, or visionaries, they both
returned, ate well, and spoke of many things.
Lao Tzu maybe read a great deal. He might
have practiced some of the techniques
alluded to in the Tao Te Ching.
Leaving his wisdom at the gate
could be literal and metaphorical.
Myths one and all at this point.
That may or may not be the point
of what was said or said to have
been said by anyone in particular.
What difference does it make
if George Washington or any of the
founders of the States existed?
What if Christopher Columbus
didn't really sail across an ocean?
The so-called New World
and the States is a big machine.
It has its own reality, in various ways.
There's a spirit about it. Canada too.
Not to mention Mexico and lands
folks landed on to the south.
Attributing principles or discoveries
to somebody real or imagined
might not really make much difference.
Does it matter if everything
really originated in ancient Egypt?
Or does China get more credit?
Why may that matter?
Ideas
such as desire=suffering
or, love people, or be like water,
those ideas might not matter if the original
sayers of the sayings existed.
If you can dematerialize
and rematerialize on command,
that might be a whole other deal.
-in reality
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On Fri, 5 Jun 2009 21:12:13 -0700 (PDT), zenworm <...@gmail.com
On Jun 5, 3:32 pm, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.net
get real
;)
ZN
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On Sun, 07 Jun 2009 13:48:45 -0700, Ruskin <...@hotmail.com
On Fri, 05 Jun 2009 12:32:00 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.netwrote:
What difference does it make where something originates?
What makes it fraudulent?
What makes it suitable?
You might be watering the crops in the rain, what difference does it
make?
Men make men and writers make stories, what's the difference?
Life is not a story. Life has its stories. The stories make a
difference to how a life is lived by the reader.
Are the stories about life or are the stories about men who lived
lives? If men lived lives and they have a story to leave behind, then
they must have had the wisdom to write it down.
Lao Tzu never wanted to start a religion, he wanted to save his life
by your account of his leaving. He was the one who talked of returning
home. By this account he went where he was forced to go, a far cry
from home.
The Buddha was anti-Brahmin. They say there is a soul, he says no
soul. The caste system was abhorrent, so said the little monarchist?
There are no archaelogical proofs of his mythical kingdom.
Jesus was supposedly a man. This is doubtful considering the amount of
historical texts of the times and no mention of the carpenter
anywhere. Christianity stills fights doggedly to maintain its grasp on
people's morals, despite of it's horrible records.
What difference does hypocracy make?
Your answer was informative but the answer you gave in support of
believing in what you want to believe, despite the validity of the
message seems all too trusting. This is why religions continue to be
reformed for public indoctrination. They keep adapting to each
millenium's needs in the help wanted sections of modern life.
Taoism seems to be a good discipline for someone worn out with life
and heading for the hills. Buddhism is a good discipline to keep the
hopes alive for the next go-round. (Thats always the kicker- more
life) and the same with Chritianity.
We hate death and we can write stories about living - but not after
this life. Nobody has a story about that aspect of being, because no
one has died and wrote a book about it. If they did write a book, then
maybe some in here would read it and say its true because it makes no
difference where the story came from?
Lao Tzu was a product of the stories of the times. When you observe as
the old masters did, you need something to show for your dedication,
otherwise people will say its not accurate because it is not written.
The Word, It is Written,.....validity for the masses.
Oral traditions are regarded as myths. The stories change with the
mood of the tellers. What is added may not acquire value over time.
What is omitted may acquire validity over time.
Man is a forger, a plagarist and a fraud. Let's hope that the old
books weren't written in that regard.
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On Sun, 7 Jun 2009 14:03:45 -0700 (PDT), zenworm <...@gmail.com
On Jun 7, 4:48 pm, Ruskin <...@hotmail.com
ego seeks evidence
ZN
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On Sun, 07 Jun 2009 17:10:19 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.net
It was your quest, presumably.
Faith, perhaps.
Ultimately, it has been said,
each individual is the authority,
deciding which authority to believe
and which authority to discard.
What is suitable for one author
is not suitable for another.
Sizes differ. Suits are many.
Ultimately, in the rain,
perhaps not much.
Whatever one finds as different.
Okay.
Could depend on the story.
Perhaps.
I don't recall any returning home
in the story of him at Hanku.
Home may be where the heart is.
You had mentioned archeology.
Other interpretations are available.
Taking the old guy, or ancient wisdom,
as the meaning of the term, "Lao-tzu,"
it could be seen as a forcing of a hand
to let go of wisdom, to leave the land
of wars and strife and all in between,
leaving it at the gate, at the pass, before
passing beyond and leaving that land.
Leaving, not forced, simply leaving.
Leaving wisdom at the gate, at the border.
Passing beyond. Tis a narrow passage.
Not all camels are able to.
Myths are not facts.
Myths point.
Some say his point was to balance
what had become out of balance.
With incessant rounds of reincarnation,
with no way out of or off the wheel,
he said, in return, there is no self.
And that was the end of that.
Would you be willing
to be crucified upside down
or boiled in oil for what you believe?
Traditions abound. Relics can be found.
Politics is usually a dirty game.
It can be a clue, if one is willing to look inside.
It might make some difference, at times.
Many things, arguments, proof, etc.,
could hinge on semantics, presuppositions,
axioms, what is acceptable as given, taken for
granted, etc..
Why folks believe in anything, have faith,
continue to go to work, to raise children,
to have a beer, there may need to be a
little bit of trust along the way.
I sense you
don't particularly care for organized religion.
Institutions become as organisms.
Seeking to survive, they need nourishment.
They stake out territory, absorb stuff, and so on.
Things can be viewed as one wishes.
Taoism, and the others, might be good discipline
for folks engaged in life and sticking around.
Pov can make a difference.
Some say they were alive previously.
Others say they channel information.
Anecdotes abound.
If there's something that speaks to them, sure.
A menu speaks of what is to eat.
It's the food that counts.
Not what is written.
Many say there was no individual as such.
The old guy, or ancient wisdom, long ears, heard it from,
it was written, they say, etc.. Naturally, a product.
Prior to being written
it was handed down by word of mouth.
The elders say. That makes it of interest.
At times they were wise. At times what was said
depended upon the times it was said. At other times
the wisdom speaks down thru the ages, for eons.
Because, since they were oral, there are no facts.
No menu. Just the food.
True.
Perhaps.
Those that know don't say.
In that regard, everything written
speaks volumes about what can't be said.
Knowing how language works,
how words can't say what can't be said,
everything said is necessarily not, "chang dao"
and is, naturally, a type of fraud
if it purports to be what it isn't.
A symbol is not the thing symbolized.
For some things no symbol is possible.
Be that as it may,
talking can be enjoyable.
Birds like to sing. Writers write.
Eyes of a reader may glance
off and on among a few
words bouncing here
and over there.
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On Mon, 08 Jun 2009 02:53:26 -0700, Ruskin <...@hotmail.com
On Sun, 07 Jun 2009 17:10:19 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.netwrote:
Well its obvious to me by now that you've got a keen eye on things and
nobodies are just somebodies at rest. You might be trustworthy enough
to invite over and watch the grass grow huh? I like to see if I can
see the difference every morning. Its hard to judge when all you can
compare is little green stalks against one another. All logic says
grass grows. I know because I've cut it. In all honesty, I have never
seen it grow. I am told, it is assumed and it has been physically
dealt with, that grass grows. What a difference it would make to me,
for my own view, if I knew, the truth to see!
Maybe one day, who knows, I can come outside and watch my grass
stretch. Yeah, like you say, I guess its all in the way you look at
it, or cut it, or rake it over, or have it in your bag.
Things move and I can't see them creep, or should I say gauge them. I
grew up, its obvious, but I didn't see it happening while I was
growing my body. Then how the hell can I see that I've grown in my
mind? I know I'm alot more wise than I was, even 10 years ago, but I
didn't know it was growing. (Yes, it may have shrunken) I was
available to myself when it was happening but what it took was time to
see the growth. Now I need to know how much time it will involve
trying to see the grass grow. But like you say, what difference does
it make?
I dunno...singing to plants makes them grow.
Would enhancing sibling rivalry in grass, spawn a lawn?
I don't hate religion, religion hates me. I didn't kick them out of my
house, they kicked me out of Sunday School. They, of the tolerant
merciful, could not bear witness to a seven year old kid with a case
of the giggles. I was summoned before the ancients and cast off to be
left to my own ill accord and found inner peace through childish
revenge. I plotted to overthrow the church and on one sunny afternoon
I opened the window to the Sunday School class and slithered in upside
down to the floor. Right away I got even by opening the cupboard and
taking with wanton gluttony, their stash of holy manna from heaven,
four cookies. I walked out of the room and down the hall to the big
room to see what all the Sunday fuss was about. I figured they didn't
want us kids to see what the adults were doing, what did I know.
I walked into the chapel? and sat down on a bench munching and
gawking at the nice woodwork, all shiny and glaring, the colored glass
in the windows and then I saw him. The guy was looking at me, well I
thought he was, but then I saw he had these thorns on his head and
blood on his forehead. Holy Christ! I was startled for a moment
because it was so graphic a symbol in comparison to the rest of the
room. It looked like he went through hell. I felt like for a moment I
was alone in the room with this guy, like he had caught me and then I
realized he wasn't real. And that was that. He was never real for me.
I wasn't sore about getting the boot from Sunday School and we always
knew we could get into the church through the front door. So I kind of
saw Christianity through the backdoor, my way.
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On Mon, 08 Jun 2009 07:41:06 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.net
Reminds me of a beer commercial.
Bamboo is a grass.
Some varieties might be able to be
seen to grow rapidly enough to see
unaided by artfully crafted devices.
You could use time-lapse photography.
Making patterns out of clouds,
seeing one thing or another in them,
could be easier to do in many ways.
Watching the clouds.
That might be akin to watching grass grow.
Maybe more enjoyable than watching paint dry.
Some bugs move faster than others.
Some things bug folks more than others.
Your body didn't seem to require that sense.
Mine either. Some folks have growing pains.
Some have a wall against which they measure
growth by months or years. They draw lines
or make some other mark to keep track.
I guess maybe if it's been stretched
and keeps a larger space than previously,
is able to hold more information, perhaps.
Well, that reminds me of a story.
Once upon a time, there was a beach.
All along the sand were starfish, zillions.
The previous night's tide had carried them,
and stranded them along the shoreline.
At one end of the beach was a young man.
At the other end was an old man. The old man
watched as the young man picked up and threw
starfish back into the sea. As they approached
and were about to pass each other, the old man
said and asked the young man, "There are such
a great many starfish on this beach. What type
of difference can it make to throw a few back?"
The young man looked at the one he held in his
hand and said, "It makes a difference to this one,"
as he flung it back into the ocean beyond the waves.
Tough to say for sure.
Experiments and results vary.
They do seem to complete.
Ah.
Reminds me of Jethro Tull.
Too bad for them.
You brought light to the room
but they preferred gloom and doom.
Cool.
Scary!
He did, in a way. Supposedly
before even getting to the cross.
Hanging on it was hell too. After that,
the story goes, he went to Hell.
Then, after that, happily
ever after he went
on through to
eternity.
Nor for others not of his flock.
Are you much of a group person?
Me, well, there's this group.
I kinda like it well enough.
As for actual Real groups,
I'm not very fond of congregations,
gatherings, crowds, services, etc..
Funerals seem to get my attention.
I tend to attend quite a few of them.
Care for a beer?
I think the coffee is brewing.
Some folks prefer tea.
Water?
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On Fri, 12 Jun 2009 19:02:40 -0700, Ruskin <...@hotmail.com
On Mon, 08 Jun 2009 07:41:06 -0700, "{:-])))" <...@caguama.netwrote:
I'm hoping you aren't one who ARRANGES for some to attend their OWN
funerals!
I've never been to a funeral. I saw my mother die in the hospital
three years ago and the people around her deathbed were engaged in
conversations that centered around their displeasures. To their
surprise, I wiped my mother's forehead (comatose) and told her I was
leaving now and you should too!
The old gal needed death because she had life and it was simply time.
I saw what Chuang Tzu described with the dead sow and piglets.
So I whistled my way out of the room and somebody (who had no respect
for dying) cursed at me softly. So when they arranged for her funeral,
I saw it as their funeral, not old mom's.
What do people see in a white box with ashes?
My mother was an avid gardener and so was her mother, so I see them
both next to flowers where ever there's a bloom of them.
What do I know about dying? Where do you go when you die?
I'll join the dead. How's that for a big group!
Life has crippled me slowly, my discs have pancaked and I may have a
crossbow growing out of my spine. Or maybe a Peng bird! (Never been on
a plane either).
Most people that I once visited don't come around to visit me, so
whenever their was timeliness in my actions, I would hop (literally)
on a bus and go and listen to them piss and moan about their job,
family, their government, etc. But those days have covered themselves
with cobwebs and the only group I now know is caught in a network.
I used to drink beer and play guitar.
I used to be a tenor but now I'll sing for five.....
I spent the money my mother gave me for singing lessons......
I couldn't carry a tune in a wash bucket......
I sounded like a rope being pulled through a sore asshole.....
If I was singing for shit, I wouldn't get a smell.....
So now, being deficient of my wooden axe, I crawled through the window
of a website, slithered down to the floor unnoticed and "borrowed" a
program called Guitar Pro. If they want me to return it, I will upload
it to them but I can't find out where the bin is....Hey, I share.
It is an amusing music program that keeps me in tune with the piping
of heaven. (naw, just kidding I'm still stuck blowing farts on earth)
I think its father's day coming up. I will probably get drunk. Its
been two New Years since the last attempt (8 beers...zzzzzz)
So {:-]))) you have yourself a good one and I'll drop by on Father's
Day if I can type.
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On Fri, 12 Jun 2009 22:27:29 -0400, "kamerm" <...@yahoo.com
ah - a grumpy fart who understands death (and hence life :-)
welcome!
-k
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