Invest in your death!

Saturday 6:51 p.m.
Last summer I was at a gong bashing festival down at the Samye Ling and as I sat there in the temple with my eyes closed, I was becoming conjoined with the disagreeable and separated from the agreeable. The lama appeared in my mind's eye and he said: Why can't you just enjoy being here? Almost immediately, I became conjoined with the agreeable and separated from the disagreeable.

With the body, senses, perceptions, mental formations and consciousnesses, we are a fung miracle. Why be pissed off?

"Them that dies will be the lucky ones!" Long John Silver.

So you die and you leave your gross body behind you, but you still have your subtle body, the one you dream with. You can still do emotions, visions, archetypes, etc., and in this condition your mental powers are vast due to having no gross body in the way. This means if you think you'd like to go to the moon, you're there. Just like that.

Unfortunately, since you are a flatheid and have spent your life sucking sweeties, you are more or less still wandering around with your head stuck up your backside, which is to say, you're still a moron, or like a monkey. You have not trained your mind. When you die, you're completely freaked. One negative thought or emotion ... with the vast mental powers, it's going to be a total bummer, Jack!

At this point, I have to say that I don't think it was a good idea for Aldous Huxley to have dropped the acid as he was snuffing it.

Anyway, in the midst of this horrorshow, suddenly you have a vision of moi, and moi says: Why don't you just go to heaven? You say: Heaven? And voila!

You've thought the thought and immediately you're in there with the old guy with the beard, the celestial choirs, the angels floating on the clouds playing harps, etc. But it doesn't have to be that kind of heaven. Maybe you're kind of heaven is like a wonderful, beautiful garden full of randy virgins. I'm not sure what the female equivalent of this is. Maybe a wonderful, beautiful garden full of strapping men delighted to help you with your luggage.

But will it be real, Hotboy? It's a dream scene, Jack. Even if it doesn't last long, it would be a nice change from the demons sticking red hot pokers up your arse.

If you want this when you're dead, that'll be a hundred grand up front, or ten percent off the top ad infinitum.

Like images seen in a dream; thus must we regard all things. Nagarjuna. The Wall.