I’ve been meaning to start “the Fool Sez” series for some time now, so—as those of you who know me can attest—since I qualify for that title, I thought I’d write the first installment of “The Fool Sez” for this Christmas season.
Therefore, I wanted to let you know that:
If I tell you that Kansas exists, you are quite likely to believe me. Since I grew up there, I can tell you quite a lot about Kansas—how hot and humid the summers are, how the air becomes crispy cool in October, and where O Zone is on the University of Kansas campus (it’s a large student parking lot).
You might even believe me if I tell you that the air turns a definite green hue when a spring tornado approaches.
Few people have actually been to Kansas, but if you are one of those people, you’ll know that Kansas definitely does exist; you have been there and experienced it for yourself.
If you haven’t been there, you may choose to believe these things about Kansas, because—despite being a Fool—I seem to be a reasonable person. Then again, green air may seem too far-fetched for you, so you decide I’m pulling your leg. Or—in our consumer-oriented society—you might conclude I work for the Kansas Tourist Bureau, and I’m merely enticing you to visit Kansas and experience the green tornado air for yourself, you dare-devil!, and thereby spend you tourist dollars there.
In the end you will probably decide Kansas really does exist, although personal experience of the summer humidity and crisp Octobers will never be yours unless you do visit.
Now if I start telling you similar things about frigid Antarctica, you have probably not been there, and probably don’t personally know anyone who has. So I have a much wider “believability latitude” about Antarctica than I had about Kansas. In other words, I can lie about it and get away with the lie.
I could make the snow glow green before a blizzard. I could say I knew someone who lived in a scientific weather station for a year fifteen years ago who nearly fell into a suddenly-opening crevasse in the ice while taking routine temperature measurements. (Did you see that movie?)
In fact, if I was clever enough I could talk you into believing a race of pygmy Antarcticans lived on the shores of the Ross Sea until 1945, when they were wiped out by Nazis who were escaping Germany in three U-boats—submarines.
I’m just getting warmed up now. Hitler didn’t escape to Argentina as some reports would have it; his subs just refueled there on their way much farther south. The Nazi Colony lasted until 1952, when Hitler died and nearly everyone else sailed one of the subs to Ecuador where it was a lot warmer. All except one of the U-boat captains and a skeleton crew in the second submarine who ran aground off the coast of Virginia and were later recruited by the CIA…
See? I could go on and on.
You have no way to actually verify any of this if I was clever enough—unless you went there to see the third, artfully-concealed submarine the Nazis left behind. Covered—as you might expect—by 30 vertical feet of green-glowing ice…
God Is In Antarctica
I can now state that God is in Antarctica.
So are Allah, Yahweh, Brahma, Spirit and plenty of Goddesses.
And the real Fairies. The Dakinis. The Rishis. On and on. Leprechauns.
If I was clever and persistent, I could make up any kind of being and at least some of you—maybe a lot of you—would believe me.
I could make up anything I wanted about God.
I could make up new beings and stories about them and you would believe me if I repeated them often enough. I could make up, say, Satan. Oh, didn’t you see him the other day?
If I was cruel, I could make up stories about two competing gods—Allah and the Christian God, say. I would tell you that each claimed to be the Only God, and their followers should wage war against each other to prove which God was the strongest. And whose followers were the most gullible. (Oh, just backspace that last bit out of your memory.)
And all the while you would never know which stories about which gods, goddesses, fairies, etc. were true or false, because you never went to Antarctica to see for yourself.
Plainly speaking, if you are a member of a religion—a cult—then you’ve decided to accept a whole range of beliefs about these beings, second- or third-hand, because you’ve never gone to “Antarctica” to see for yourself.
Or, you might even have decided to believe “Antarctica” is completely void of life. There are no Gods, etc. because, having never been to Antarctica yourself, the whole idea of them doesn’t seem reasonable, based on your personal experiences so far.
Spirituality is a DIY Project
You could always go to Antarctica and then you would know for sure. You wouldn’t need stories any more.
You would know.
You would no longer just believe or dis-believe someone else’s stories or doubts.
The difference between religion and spirituality is that in the first you believe the stories others have told you, and in the second you run some experiments for (with) yourself. For example, you could get on a plane or a boat—as it were—or even a submarine, and travel the necessary distance in the necessary direction until you arrive on the shores of “Antarctica.”
Then you would know directly for yourself. You would have had a direct, personal experience. You would transcend your old beliefs, which then become mere wisps of meaningless thin smoke.
There are many ways to travel to “Antarctica,” but they are all “do-it-yourself” projects. You may have teachers—you will need teachers—but you have to put Tab A into Slot B yourself. You have to do the required work on yourself with a will. Make some inner changes. Some new choices, and stick with them.
In some circles this is called Voluntary Suffering—you may have heard of this. It just means you give up your druthers for something greater and higher than yourself. This is a state of being you grow within yourself, which is what the word “Antarctica” refers to, metaphorically.
You “go there” with the right kinds of practices so you can join up with … Well, you’ll know as soon as you start your journey.
The First Step
Every journey starts with a single step, right? So here’s the first necessary step.
Enter the Sun. Or if you like, pull the Sun around yourself. Not the heat; just the light, so there are no shadows.
The light should be a pale yellow or white color—nothing fancy. It represents a condition, even an enclosure you will need on your journey to “Antarctica.”
You can make a big, formal deal of this—sitting quietly with your eyes closed for a while—or it can be a casual intention and visualization. Put a white light around yourself and your car/bus/train/plane before every journey. Just set it and forget it.
Dare yourself to do this, and remember to do it. Sacrifice your lazy habits and start creating a new you. What have you got to lose? Only your old self, that maybe wasn’t always so great.
You’ll be heading for new shores and a new state of being. As Dorothy said (with apologies to L. Frank),
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Toto. We’re in Antarctica, and stuff is green.”
Next time: the second step, which is how to not get side-tracked on your journey by that insidious, evil journey-wrecker: your own mind.
Until then, the Fool Sez let this bright season surround you, and help it along with your own inner light.