Category Archives: religion

Thoughts on Death

by in art, humor, life, painting, philosophy, psychology, religion, skepticism, spirituality and tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

I’ve been thinking about death lately.  I know, I know, but it’s winter what can I say.  Anyway, I was thinking if one is healthy and death suddenly appears it really has little effect on the suddenly deceased other than the fact he/she is dead, but, minimal pain is involved; healthy life, then extinction.

But, when I think about dying, anticipate it, I face the existential dilemma of no longer being here, in this my familiar environment which may not be perfect but certainly has pleasant aspects that I will surely miss, which is the reason, I guess, that thoughts of death are generally not thought of  in a positive light.

Which then leads me to wonder what’s next; the idea of a descent into nothingness is pretty hard for most of us to bear, which explains the various incredibly complex explanations and anticipations of preternatural existences man has thought up over the millennia.  There’s the heavenly realm, a Zanadu-like ideal city and Valhalla, the home of the gods. And then there are the more new-agie notions of rejoining the Collective Consciousness and the ancient Hindu notion of reincarnation leading eventually, if one is lucky, to re-unity with the Atman.

I guess some would call this fantastic, even delusional, but when I think of the absurdity of maintaining a sense of our individual significance in a world of billions of people and dolls in a limitless universe I guess entertaining thoughts of an after-life isn’t so terrible.

Mysterious Burial

Mysterious Burial

Winter Doldrums

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The winter doldrums have set in.  Nature lies in dormancy and I must admit I’m affected.  My thoughts increasingly become dark.  It’s like I’m living under a black cloud.

It seems like everyone’s rubbing me the wrong way these days.  I’m getting negative vibes from dolls (and people) I usually co-exist with easily.  Why does it seem they’re trying to impose their values-values that make absolutely no sense to me or with which I totally disagree.  I’m perfectly ok with others having opposing views but why can’t they just keep them to themselves.

And the weather’s terrible; cold, cold, cold.  I’m afraid of being taken outside, my plastic body becoming brittle and cracking; then I’d be in a fix.  I’d be destined for the scrap heap no doubt.

If I was religious I might be thinking about the sweet here-after, but given the mood I’m in crossing the River Styx is the more likely consideration.  I wonder which place houses the more interesting residents.

Oh well, I know it will pass. One morning I’ll wake up to a slightly stronger sunshine which will trigger a change.  I’ll once again be my usual upbeat self with an added bit of residual annoyance.

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A Renaissance Woman

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During the renaissance period in Europe, when artists weren’t painting scenes from the Bible commissioned by the church, they were likely painting portraits of the rich and famous.

Among the rich and famous at the time was the Borgia family whose numerous intrigues, rumors of incest, murder and orgiastic engagements made for great story telling in 15th century Valencia.

Often the future Pope Alexander VI’s daughter (and lover) Lucrezia was the center of attention.  She was by all accounts a captivating young woman, betrothed twice before her teen years and otherwise regularly used to further the political ambitions of the family.

But Lucrezia wasn’t simply a pawn in the Borgia’s game of political domination.  She was a true Renaissance woman, well educated, fluent in a number of languages including Latin and Greek.  She was politically astute and well-spoken at court where she cultivated friendships with leading artists, courtiers and poets of the day turning Ferrara into a center for the arts.

When one’s flame burns strong it’s often short-lived and such was the case for Lucrezia.  She wound up submersing herself in religion and dying at the age of 39.

I wonder where someone like Lucrezia would fit into the contemporary social milieu.  Would she contribute a strong and articulate female voice to the world dialogue regarding politics, feminism and the arts only to burnout in the futility of the endeavor, find religion and end up probably not being an asset to the abbey?

Whatever happened she would most certainly become a media favorite adored by the left and abhorred by the right.

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Cultural Autism

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I was thinking the other day about the significance of the temple guardian figures one finds at the entrances of eastern religious shrines and temples.  The guardian, I understand, is the symbolic protector of the sanctity of the sacred space; he stands as defender against essence or evil threatening contamination or dilution of the truth within.

For many, the temple (or church or other social or economic institution) embodies a culture with which they deeply identify.  So I got to wondering what would happen if that culture was compromised.  What would happen if our sacred cultural space(s) were invaded by a malevolence that convinced us the tenets we’ve always held to be irrefutable were in fact not only refutable but quite false; without merit of any sort?

Since so much of who we are, how we identify ourselves to ourselves and others is tied to these now discarded cultural tenets do we become ‘culturally autistic’-blank stare meeting blank stare as we pass on the street unable to relate in any way to our neighbors beyond basic physical functioning?

I’m really not too worried about this happening to us dolls as we’re pretty tightly united by our vulnerabilities.  Here in the playroom, we have managed to maintain our basic values even with a fairly steady influx of new and diverse members.  The rules we set for ourselves focus on maintaining a mutual respect for each other’s self-worth as well as a collective sense of strong group participation that leaves no one out.

So, I think we have pretty good control of the sanctity of our playroom space and I guess we probably don’t need a symbolic guardian figure although there has been some discussion about forming political parties.  Is two too many?

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The Post-Modern Man

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I-Ron, the post-modern man, was telling me the other day he never misses church on Sundays even though he doesn’t believe in God.  He said he enjoys the company of the faithful while knowing he will probably never and, anyway, had no interest in experiencing the faith himself. Then, he said that, come to think about it, he didn’t really believe in anything particularly other than those immediate impressions that allowed him to go about his daily activities.

So, when he found out one of the members of his congregation had taken his own life recently and how unsatisfactory that action was in the eyes of the congregation and the church, all he could think of was the scene from Dante’s Inferno where the suicides are imprisoned in trees and are constantly pestered by the nasty Harpies landing on them, breaking off limbs and causing much pain and distress.

Although he felt a bit guilty about not feeling any remorse and pretending concern, I-Ron could only see the story as colorful and not the least bit disturbing.

Well, even though I do lean toward a moral relativity myself I had to feel a bit sorry for I-Ron; how can one really enjoy life without having strong moral feeling of any sort?  I wondered to what level of Hell Dante might assign I-Ron.

suicideand harpies

Dr. Freud and the Superego

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Dr. Freud said if you have a strong superego it will help you subdue those baser instincts and depraved inclinations (which he called the id) and keep you on the straight and narrow.

I guess my superego must be pretty good because I’ve pretty much avoided participating in any of the seven deadly sins very much.  As I think about it, I’m pretty modest, my desires are nearly non-existent, I don’t eat very much, am generally pretty good natured and I really try to keep my room clean.

So I guess maybe I might be thought of, in all modesty, as a good role model for the younger dolls, you know, someone to look up to.  They might even find me admirable even saintly, after I’m gone; someone they can place on a pedestal as the paradigm of virtue.  And then maybe they’ll build a temple for me where I can be forever held in the highest esteem-even worshiped.  Maybe the Church will canonize me and actually make me a saint.

Boy, what a thought!  I wonder what Dr. Freud would say.  I hope he wouldn’t think I’m suffering delusions of grandeur.

temple of babydeidei

The Tribulation

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Sister Chloe was telling me the other day that she thinks given the pain, suffering and general turmoil so evident world-wide; given the catastrophic storms, the genocidal tribal conflicts, the unrest precipitated by lust for power and material gain that the Tribulation is at hand.

The Tribulation, she explained to me, is that period of time before the Rapture (or during or after depending on one’s reading of the book of Revelations) of extreme discomfort, suffering, mass psychoses and neuroses and the poisoning of our earthly environment leading to, among other things, congenital mutations (and probably anything else one could imagine as being really, really bad).  She made it pretty clear it would not be a good time to be around, and provided the rapture did indeed occur before the Tribulation, better to be raptured than left behind.

The idea of being Raptured I found a bit hard to take seriously.  Although I did see on the news the other day, plans to offer space flights to the moon in the not too distant future.  Maybe the comforts of a modern space station and the freedom to bound about in the relatively light gravitation could seem a sort of Rapture.

Well, back to reality, I think about the beautiful places, good people and beneficent actions that do exist and are happening every day: the relief efforts, the enormous energy aimed at resolving sectarian differences and violence all driven by our inherent understanding that, in the final analysis we all need each other.

I do think, though, I might inquire into possible interest of a would-be space traveler in the companionship of a friendly doll.

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At the Marae

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Do you think that there’s any chance there may truly be a unifying essence or ground of being that is shared by all mankind?  You know, something buried deep within our psyches that we’ve somehow lost track of these days when divisiveness seems so prevalent.

I was thinking back recently to a time a few years ago when I was among the Maori people in Aotearoa (the long white cloud) which is the name the Maori have for the islands of New Zealand.  Before these folks were inundated with western materialism and capitalistic pursuits (not to mention Christianity) they basked in the natural beauty and mana (what they call spiritual power) around them.

The mana the people inherited from their revered ancestors extended to Tangaroa (the sea) and Tane (the forest) and all of nature in a beautiful Cosmic Unity.  As long as tapu was respected everything went along pretty well.

Tapu is spiritual power like mana that everyone has and some objects and places have but some people and places have more tapu then others.  Everyone understands that when strong tapu is encountered it is important to act with deference so as to keep you spiritually strong and not upset the delicate cosmic balance.

While in Aotearoa I was allowed to visit a Marae, which is a sacred meeting place were tapu is particularly strong.  Upon entering tribute was paid to the ancestral spirits in recognition of the origins of the mana or life force shared by everyone in the iwi (all the people).

So, after thinking about it, I’m just wondering, if we’ve lost track of the mana around and within all of us and the tapu of our neighbors and acquaintances, maybe we should be searching for a sacred place where we can all come together and find our common ground.

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Dreams

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I had a dream the other night in which I became human; or rather I multiplied into five human children plus my normal plastic self.  We were all standing in front of Notre Dame Cathedral.  St. Francis was there.  The human DeiDeis seemed sort of mesmerized-focused intently on their surroundings as if they were anticipating an imminent occurrence or contemplating some sort of action.

When I awoke the next morning I couldn’t stop thinking about the incongruities in the dream.  I wondered what Dr. Freud would say but then I figured it would probably have something to do with sex and considering the presence of St. Francis and young naked girls I thought it best to just leave that alone.

Then I remembered reading about Carl Jung’s idea that deeply embedded within our psyches are primordial forms or archetypes common and meaningful to all self-conscious beings.  Certain situations like the Hero’s quest or the fall from grace, dichotomies like good vs. evil and light vs. darkness, and character types like the evil figure, the scapegoat and the outcast are just a few of these common archetypes Carl believed we all share; and he thought that sometimes these forms crop up during sleep when our unconscious is in charge.

I had to wonder if there could be archetypal meanings in my dream.

Being generally pretty upbeat about things my first thought was the dream must be about rebirth or renewal.  In this sense the saint might be the archetypal magician or Christ figure who transforms me: the many mes representing naked innocence seeking and discovering goodness and truth.

But then as I thought about it further the pragmatic me took hold; my ambivalence regarding structured religion suggested a darker aspect; maybe the dream was about evil overcoming good.  The saint becomes the archetypal devil casting a spell and creating six of me (six being the archetypal number of evil) to carry out the vile edicts of a corrupt church.

Well, the investigation was all very fascinating and I do think Carl’s got something with his notion of collective subliminal meanings, but  I’m going to be pretty careful who I talk to about my dreams and their meanings.

dreams of freedom3

Beyond the Grave

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I see by the calendar Dia de Muertos, the Day of the Dead, is approaching.  Death isn’t something dolls, particularly plastic ones, think about very much but at this time of the year, with nature racing toward dormancy, the topic tends to come to mind.

In medieval times death was on everyone’s mind daily.  The Black Plague invited Death to be a regular visitor if not a live-in house guest.  She became so well-known she starred in a regularly performed play called the Danse Macabre.  In the play the Black Angel would appear and along with her spirit helpers the psychopomps  invite victims to accompany them beyond the grave; the beyond being, I guess, a promised land of paradise.

Throughout history (and even earlier than that I bet) people have sensed an existence beyond the grave:  The ancient Egyptians conceived of a Ka or immaterial double that would live on after the demise of the physical body so the deceased would be able to keep doing the same fun things they had always done when alive.

The philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer was inclined to believe that, upon death, an individual’s will or essence of being would be reunited with it’s Cosmic origins: a sort of collective world soul (Plato called it the anima mundi) from which all life originates and subsequently returns; it’s a pretty cool idea of togetherness even though one wouldn’t really be aware of it because one’s memory and ego would cease to exist.

The Hindu people understand the universe to be eternal and that rebirth will continue to happen until enlightenment of the soul propels a leap into the infinite, which, I guess must be a bit like Arthur’s cosmic origins only they call it the Atman.

Contemporary Trans-humanists anticipate a situation in which one’s brain activity is downloaded to a computer and since the brain is where one’s being resides one can expect to live on forever provided someone is around to keep the batteries charged.

I’m sure I’m like everyone else in hoping the Black Angel stays away for a while but when it does come time for me to leave the realm of the physical, wherever  I end up, I hope I will have left behind a reasonably positive image for my friends to remember me by.

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