Greetings,
I'd like first like to say I am a bug with nothing to teach, having merely
opinion like the rest of you. This post is offering the words of, not me, but
a remarkable man. For me, he is saying that for you who would call Lila a
whore, look again.
"... as the lila and the maya of the Self, ..."
"The point is that "the spectacle is so fascinating." For the world is a spell
(in Latin, fascinum), an enchantment (being thrilled by a chant), an amazement
(being lost in a maze), an arabesque of such stunning rhythm and a plot so
intriguing that we are drawn by its web into a state of involvement where we
forget that it is a game. We become fascinated to the point where the cheering
and the booing are transformed into intense love and hate, or delight and
terror, ecstatic orgasm or screaming meemies. All made out of on-and-off or
black-and-white, pulsed, stuttered, diagrammed mosaiced, syncopated, shaded,
jolted, tangoed, and lilted through all possible measures and dimensions. It is
simultaneously the purest nonsense and the utmost artistry.
"Listen intently to a voice singing without words. It may charm you into
crying, force you to dance, fill you with rage, or make you jump for joy. You
can't tell where the music ends and the emotions begin, for the whole thing is
a kind of music—the voice playing on your nerves as the breath plays on a
flute. All experience is just that, except that its music has many more
dimensions than sound. It vibrates in the dimensions of sight, touch, taste,
and smell, and in the intellectual dimension of symbols and words—all evoking
and playing upon each other. But at root—and this is a negative way of saying
something highly positive—it is nothing more than the mysterious utterance of
the old man of Spithead, who opened the window and said:
Fill jomble, fill jumble,
Fill rumble-come-tumble.
"Once you have seen this you can return to the world of practical affairs with
a new spirit. You have seen that the universe is at root a magical illusion and
a fabulous game, and that there is no separate "you" to get something out of
it, as if life were a bank to be robbed. The only real "you" is the one that
comes and goes, manifests and withdraws itself eternally in and as every
conscious being. For "you" is the universe looking at itself from billions of
points of view, points that come and go so that the vision is forever new. What
we see as death, empty space, or nothingness is only the trough between the
crests of this endlessly waving ocean. It is all part of the illusion that
there should seem to be something to be gained in the future, and that there is
an urgent necessity to go on and on until we get it. Yet just as there is no
time but the present, and no one except the all-and-everything, there is never
anything to be gained—though the zest of the game is to pretend that there is."
(Watts, Alan, 'THE BOOK: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are')
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