Defeat, and some if God did not exist the topic never would come up cosmic humor

 

    From Erik Rittenberry’s

Defeat
By: Kahlil Gibran
POETIC OUTLAWS
JUN 26, 2024

Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness;
You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs,
And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory.

Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance,
Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot
And not to be trapped by withering laurels.
And in you I have found aloneness
And the joy of being shunned and scorned.

Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield,
In your eyes I have read
That to be enthroned is to be enslaved,
And to be understood is to be leveled down,
And to be grasped is but to reach one's fullness
And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed.

Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion,
You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences,
And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings,
And urging of seas,
And of mountains that burn in the night,
And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul.

Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage,
You and I shall laugh together with the storm,
And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us,
And we shall stand in the sun with a will,
And we shall be dangerous.

Sloan Bashinsky
Sloan’s Newsletter
Gibran was way ahead of his years and time. I read his biography by his American girlfriend and secretary, and then I read his biography by a Lebanon man, who had read and was complimentary of the first biography. Both biographies were excellent. Gibran left Lebanon, where he was a political rabblerouser and had a following even at a young age, because he was no longer safe there. His mother told him after he showed her The Prophet, to tuck it away and wait some years before sharing it with the public. He had physical ailments, according to his American girlfriend, and people came to him seeking his counsel and he gave it to them. She addressed rumors of his celibacy by saying he was very. creative and as such … As I recall, he died in his fifties from heart failure. But he indeed was dangerous in the ego and spiritual sense. His defeat poem kinda reminded me of a poem that leaped out of me in the spring of 2001, when I was living on the street in Key West.

“The World's Greatest Failure” 

I know what it is 

to love fully,

have my heart broken by death

and by loved ones’ rejections,

Over and over again,

So I can love even more. 

 

I know what it is 

to be engulfed in pain,

Awash in evil,

Terrified, enraged, despaired,

Believing God has again forsaken me,

Then be given the truth

that again makes me free 

 

I know what it is 

to doubt,

Be lost and wandering

time and time again,

Then be rescued yet again

and my faith grows deeper. 

 

I know what it is 

to blindly trust,

Then be destroyed by betrayal

time and time again,

Until I trust only God. 

 

I know what it is

to have much

and be completely of this world,

Then have it all taken away

and be in the world but not of it. 

 

I know what it is 

to fail in this world,

And fail and fail and fail:

The world’s greatest failure,

I can serve only God. 

 

I know what it is 

to give and give and give and give;

I cannot stop giving

because giving is receiving. 

 

I know what it is 

to explain God

time after time after time again. 

Something demands I keep explaining:

Maybe someone will listen, 

Maybe me. 

    Some cosmic comic relief:

Bless Me Father for I Have Sinned

I’m on the road to hell!

https://medium.com/the-springboard/bless-me-father-for-i-have-sinned-fd3ba7f11750

So, here’s me sitting on the 7b bus heading into town. I shouldn’t be on the bus. I don’t want to be on the bus. I should be on a bike, legs pumping like pistons. The freedom of the open road. Direction where the tyres press, as the poet said.

Ah, no! Not your poetry stuff again! You know that bores me rigid, right?

The docking station

When I left the house, I intended to hop onto one of Belfast’s public bikes. There’s a docking station on the main road at the top of our street. The bike gets me into town quicker than the bus. I also get to enjoy some healthy exercise.

Sat amongst the traffic, breathing in carbon monoxide fumes? That’s a healthy option now?

At the docking station, I fish out my phone. The handy app means I only need to scan a QR code to unlock a bike and start my journey.

The handy app invites me to log in. This doesn’t usually happen. It wants my username and six-digit PIN. This isn’t handy at all.

The username is my phone number. The PIN? Round up the usual six-digit suspects. It could be my birthday, her birthday, or the son’s. Might be our wedding day. It might even be our landline number.

You’re still using a landline? What are you, ninety?

I could try these usual suspects, but I’ll only get three attempts before I’m locked out.

There’s a helpline number. They can unlock a bike remotely.

The road

I ring the helpline, but I can’t hear a word the fella’s saying.

The docking station sits on one of the busiest roads in Belfast. Freight lorries and motorbikes whizz past, not three feet away. Buses hurtle by.

The buses are electric. They’re silent. I like your punchy sentences, though.

To hear Mr. Helpline, I have to nip behind a wall into the grounds of the nearby Catholic church. I stand in the church car park with the phone pressed against one ear and a finger jammed into the other. Even here, I have to shout to be heard.

“Okay”, says Mr. Helpline. “What’s the number of the docking station you’re standing beside?”

“Hold on,” I say.

I dash out of the church grounds to squint at the docking station before turning around and running back.

“3–6–2–3!”

“Perfect. And which bike would you like me to release?”

“Hold on again.”

Another dash. I see four bikes. One has a flat tyre. Two others have their saddles set so high you’d need legs the length of pylons to ride them. I note the number of the fourth bike and shuffle back into the church.

“5–3–7–0–2.”

“I’m unlocking it now. Has it been released?”

“Just a sec.”

Not so much of a dash this time. I haven’t done shuttle sprints since 1992 and I’m struggling. We need a traffic bypass!

You’re the one who needs a bypass, fella. The state of you after a bit of gentle exercise!

I try and lift the bike off the rack. It doesn’t budge. Back to the church.

“It hasn’t unlocked.”

“That’s unusual,” he says, more to himself than me.

I notice a man walking from the church towards me. He’s wearing a clerical collar. As he approaches, I acknowledge him with a smile and some clever use of my eyebrows.

“Is everything alright?” he asks. “Only I heard shouting. And then I saw you running around clutching both ears. Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. “No, Father, I was…” Mr.Helpline starts talking to me again.

“Have you paid your annual subscription fee?” he asks.

“It comes off my debit card automatically,” I shout irritably. “I don’t pay it. You take it out.”

“It’s not showing,” says the voice.

The priest waves a hand to get my attention. “We have a funeral this morning and the family will arrive any minute. We can’t have you shouting in the car park when they come in.”

I nod in agreement.

“Check again,” I tell Mr. Helpline in a much quieter voice.

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” he replies.

“CHECK. IT. AGAIN!” I shout into the phone.

“Please keep your voice down!” the priest whispers urgently. He’s looking over my shoulder. There’s a hearse pulling slowly into the car park followed by a line of mourners.

“I’ve checked it twice. The fee hasn’t been paid.”

“It hasn’t been collected, is what you mean, right? RIGHT? Are you people totally incompetent?”

The priest stares at me in disbelief. Mourners look curiously in my direction as they file past. Ghosts of my ancestors appear before me and shake their heads sorrowfully.

“Have you changed your bank details recently?” Mr.Helpline asks.

Somewhere in a dark corner of my brain, a bell tinkles softly. A memory of a debit card lost and cancelled several months ago.

I mumble something abject and end the call.

“Sorry for the disturbance, Father,” I say. As I’m talking, I realise the fingers of my left hand are waggling a greeting at those mourners still staring at me.

I’m not sure why that’s happening. My brain has issued no instructions about finger-waggling. If my brain had issued instructions about finger-waggling, it would have been to impose a blanket ban on the practice, given the circumstances.

“Stop waving at the family and leave the church grounds,” the priest tells me.

I trudge out of the car park and through the gates. I feel like a sinner cast into the wilderness. The road to perdition lies before me.

Fortunately, the 7b runs down that very road every fifteen minutes.

    Some more cosmic comic relief:

Religious Forums

Thread starter Fire Dragon  

Start dateJun 16, 2024

Why "God does not exist" is a positive claim

Redneck Mystic

I have told Atheists, if God does not exist, the topic never would come up. 

Fiire Dragon

Hmm. Thinking about your statement here, I think it has a very deep meaning. Interesting. I don't know if you actually thought what I gathered from your statement. But this one goes a very very long way.
Nice.

Redneck Mystic

I also have told Atheists, and Christians, if they lived in my skin a little while, they would know for a fact that God exists, and they very well might wish God did not exist.

Fire Dragon

There are some who wish God does not exist. There are those who believe God exists but hates God. Distheists. Oh and even misotheists.

Redneck Mystic
Everyone is entitled to his/her own belief and opinion, but when I see poeple take a really strong stand about something they only believe, they are so sure they are right, but they only believe they are right, I wonder what is really going on, and I do often wonder how they would deal with what I deal with every day and night of my life since early 1987, when it began and there was zero doubt what started it. But I know I cannot prove any of it, nor can anyone disprove any of it 

Fire Dragon

Aight. Cheers. 

 

ppp

Which means that there is no good reason for anyone else to believe you.😀 

Redneck Mystic

Heh, someday, if not in this life, then in the afterlife, you will recall this conversation. Meanwhile, I wish you an interesting life in these really interesting times.😀 

 

ppp 
I do not think God fits in your skin.

Redneck Mystic
Nor did I say that, but I imagine if you were able to live in my skin for a while, you would have a different outlook 

ppp
Not only do I have no reason to believe you, but I have no reason to think that you know or are capable of knowing what you claim. 
Telling me that I will rue the day is silly. Might was well say, Nyah nyaah nyah nyah nyaaaah. 

Redneck Mystic
I didn’t say you would rue the day. I said someday, if not in this life, then in the afterlife, you will recall this conversation, and you will.

ppp
I said what I said.

Redneck Mystic
But I did not say what you said I said, and that might be a good place to start looking in the mirror, which I was forced to do for a v-e-r-y l-o-n-g t-i-m-e, with many refresher courses, by beings the likes of which you will meet someday, if not in the lifetime, then in the afterlife.

ppp
All that you are laying down is negging, pop psychology and innuendo. With a dollop of self-advertised hard-fought special wisdom. 
Can you be wrong about the nature of your experience in 1987? Could it simply be a product of a human mind misinterpreting an experience?

Redneck Mystic
No. It could not be. As I said earlier in this thread, I have told many Christians that if they lived in my skin, they might wish there were no God, and I meant that literally.
Believe is just that, believe. 
Having the direct experience is something else altogether, 
There are many reports of people having the direct experience, and they knew, as I know, there is no human way to prove it, and that’s just how it is.

Perhaps people who engage in discussions such as this one online, or elsewhere, might ponder just what they might be inviting into their lives?

PPS 

It could be.

Absolute conviction is the fundamental flaw,
You are incorrect. 
There is a duck in my sock drawer.
There is no duck in my sock drawer.
These are logically possible matters that are contradictions.

Redneck Mystic
No, it could not be what you wonder it might be, You were not there, You did not experience it. So, you have no clue what happened. And the way you are carrying on reminds me of Donald Turmp, who acts like he knows everything. As have many Christians I had talked with over decades, who lived in their beliefs and 1-dimensional earth experiences, as you do, because that’s all they have. Someday, if not in this lifetime, then in the afterlife, you will see differently, and you will remember this conversation.  

 

shunyadragon said:

Fair would be Natural Laws and natural processes determine what is fair If God is the Creator.

We flap our arms and jump off the 10 story building. We cannot fly

Redneck Mystic.

Never said I can fly, but I do have a lovely piece of art, entitled, “When pigs fly”, and I once knew the artist and how it came about that she did the painting, and it's hilarious. God has a terrific sense of humor, but sometimes it is not me laughing when it happens. I had a very religious girlfriend , who had a “We plan, God laughs” magnet on her refrigerator door. I kept telling her God had her put it there, and she heard me, but she kept making plans, and she kept trying to change me, even though she said God kept telling her to leave me alone, I was doing what God wanted me to do, and I told her if she kept it up, God would break us up, and when she finally spent the night with me, I had stayed over at her home many times, I woke up in the middle of the night and she was gone, and I ran outside in my sock feet and caught her at her car, and she said God had told her in her sleep, “You are not the one”, and she was terrified and fled. I was all torn up inside, because I really loved her, and our passion was not of this world, and when we were alone and getting along, we went to a place together, which was not of this world, and it was so wonderful there are no words to describe it, and it happened many times, and she called it “the space”, but I never felt it that way after that night. when we talked, nor did I feel it with later women in that way,, whom God or an angel had brought to me, and they knew God had brought them to me, and me to them, and they heard from God or an angel all the time, and, well, you have much to look forward to someday, if not on this world, then in the afterlife. I’m not going to tell you any more of which you know nothing, but if you get visited and want to talk about it, I will talk with you then.

sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com