In the wake of the explosive news about Sogyal Lakar (previously known as Sogyal Rinpoche) put forward in The Letter of the 8 one hears a lot of people confess that they have been, or still are, completely taken in by the man. They have been, or still are, so impressed and overwhelmed by his appearance, his kind attitude, his humor and last not least his wisdom – which speaks directly to your heart.
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When I see such a post in my FB-timeline it passes my filter and I investigate. Although, of course, knowing the workings of the academy one is skeptical at once – to say the least. Is this not just another fruitless lesson in how to exercise intellectual desktop skills? I mean the contemporary intellectual can make something out of everything (you know the pizza joke the Dalai Lama loves? Make me one with everything! That’s it), from a profound looking but unintelligible and senseless aphorism to thousands of pages amounting to less than nothing. So when one reads the blurbs about Richard Kearney’s Reimagining the Sacred one is less than convinced if this is something to spend time on. When will publishers learn that the blabla of the blurb is obnoxious for any serious reader? But at least one can take a buzzword and google. The cant in this case is Anatheism. Just another highbrow sales pitch? Not so!
At least for me, he makes it that I question many things I thought to be true.
I’m curious to dive deeper in Laruelle’s thinking.
Evolved out of my rudimentary understanding of François Laruelle, I am now in a kind of condition of non-truth, a condition which accepts that it is not possible to grasp the truth. The truth of the Real is inaccessible and indivisible.
Beware of truth-tellers.
I am ashamed. I am embarrassed. I live in disgrace. Forced to watch what happens.
These days remind me – once again – about the fulminant lie at the heart of what happens to be me. Once when I was young it was SS 20 and Pershing impressing me with an ultimate paradox (of this life). Later, one of many instances, there was the pocket of Sarajevo (and Tschechnia, and Ruanda, and) when you would shoot randomly mortars from the surrounding mountains. Today it was a market in Shejaiya, in Gaza. Killed 17, buying food, hearing the screeching sound of the incoming bomb. And the thump of thy voice of death: […]. A second later the screaming of the living.
I don’t believe. The horror of Treblinka is. It is all there is. The righteous tell me otherwise, but I don’t believe. You are a lie. And we live in disgrace. You – the G20, the WEF, the Capital, you fuckards, all the determining institutions – tell me otherwise, but the Real is: we all live in disgrace!
And therefore I must burn my self. Sitting in silence burning this me you constructed. Becoming a heap of smoldering ashes. Praying nothing will remain of this errant pile of shit you are.