"Parasites on the holy"

I've been reading a bit in Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz' Thirteen Petalled Rose, a surprisingly approachable book. (At least after having rammed my head against the walls of Schuon and Aurobindo repeatedly...) Some things, I can see, are not right for me. But other things seem quite helpful. Anyway, I came across a drive-by mention in his chapter on holiness, that there exist entities that are parasites on the holy.*

At this point, of course, my thoughts went to One Cosmos Under God (another fairly easy read), where Robert Godwin uses the phrase "mind parasites" to describe the unhelpful complexes that plague our species. Given that Rabbi Steinsaltz considers the human being a line or ray that stretches all the way from the Holy One to the material plane and beyond, or that humans are said to be in the image of God, it makes perfect sense to have parasitic entities swarming us. This is not a purely religious observation: The very fact that we have creativity and imagination is what makes it possible for us to also play host to all kinds of weirdness.

(* Steinsaltz believes that approaching holy places or times without proper preparation, or at the very least proper attitude, may be worse than nothing. The New Testament expresses a similar view in regards to the Eucharist, to the point where indifference to its spiritual nature may even be life-threatening. In light of this we may surmise that Jesus' warning to not give dogs what is holy is also an expression of concern for the dogs. On the Internet, nobody can see that you are a dog, so take care.)

A long canvas to bleach

That is a common expression here in Norway, or at least it used to be, back when patience still was considered a virtue. It means a project that takes an inordinate amount of time. (Bleaching canvas was presumably a familiar drudgery back in the age of sails.)

Analects of Confusius, Book 2.

The Master said, "At fifteen, I had my mind bent on learning.

"At thirty, I stood firm.

"At forty, I had no doubts.

"At fifty, I knew the decrees of Heaven.

"At sixty, my ear was an obedient organ for the reception of truth.

"At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired, without transgressing what was right."

Confusius died at the age of 74 according to one history book (or 71-72 according to Wikipedia). Was it worth it? I think so.

When someone is transformed into his highest aspiration, something is created that transcends time. That's what I mean when I say, you have to open the present to open the future and the past. The only way to make our past better is by making progress in the "reception of truth", so that the things that made no sense begin to make sense.

I hope to also live to an age where I can follow what my heart desires, in every way, without transgressing. But in any case, whenever our journey comes to its end, I believe we will not regret a single step of it. We may however regret the steps we did not take. In fact, I do that pretty much each night.