‘…although “Western Buddhism” presents itself as the remedy against the stressful tension of capitalistic dynamics, allowing us to uncouple and retain inner peace and Glassenheit, it actually functions as its perfect ideological supplement.’
For Slavoj Zizek, Western Buddhism is sold as a cure, or at least a solution for the stress of the capitalistic society that is our world. But he argues that in fact, through Buddhist practise, we as individuals are able to take more on and therefore contemporary mindfulness does not hel to diminish the problems thrown onto us, yet in fact allows us to take on more. Zizek has rightly put Western Buddhism within quotation marks, as his issues are not that of Western Buddhism, yet that of the contemporary mindfulness movement that is rippling through the Western World; embodied in apps, literature and classes; any sellable product in fact. Mindfulness, in this sense has become a product, a product that can be promoted with being both Buddhist, yet often not religious, and with great medical benefits. It has become a spiritual pill that the Western World has become eager to consume. Continue reading “Capitalistic Therapy”
being does not dictate culture
Culture dictates being
Has been anethisised
Self-absorption of the grandiose
a stray grain thrust into obscurity
the great tide of being draws the obscurity into perspective
the solitary grain is not alone,
the polytonalitic rhythm resounds the solitary plight
Let the waves draw you together.
The bleached walls, reflect nothing. Nothingness is everything.
The void, an abyss, limbo or a corridor. You choose.
A small figure perched behind a basic desk.
‘Are you on time?’
‘Join the line’
Stooped figures become prominent. Previously unseen, breaching the haze of nothingness.
Crooked shapes uninterested in anything other than the swipe of a thumb.
Nausea strikes amid the sea of nothingness.
The bleached walls penetrate a plethora of senses.
Is this hell?
Soaring on tattered wings. The ever-pulling currents of the landscape plucking at my feathers, landing to lie with my brainwashed brothers and sisters.
Crisp mountainous air pierces my lungs, the life-force of liberty. Solidarity provides vision of the hell below. The hell that is forever swamping, forever pulling. My tiny heart floods with pain as I watch my beloved companions enticed by shallow dreams.
Outstretched fingers under the guise of trees. Illusions of the changing seasons. All entailing false hope.
Entrapment and forbidden fruits all for the taking.
Careful my brothers, careful my sisters.
Protect your tattered wings.
Upon reading Being and Time, my interpretation of living has been affected, Martin Heidegger has introduced me into the realms of possibilities as appose to a world only filled with actualities. After coming to an understanding of the concept that Heidegger enforces, death becomes beautiful, and the reaper is no longer as grim. Continue reading “Death as a tool to shape the way in which life can be lived”