I once titled a collection of essays Laughing At The Universe Of Lies. As many of them addressed the many instances of deliberate political and economic fraud, conspiracy and cover-up, it seemed more than appropriate. Our experience of the world, filtered most often through the corporate media, is one of public figures, drawn from the ranks of government, corporations, banking and intelligence agencies, is one of denial, double talk and bare-faced lying, only some of which is later tackled by the forces of law enforcement and justice. We have every right to feel duped by this grinning parade of crooks, fools and feckless greedheads. ‘Stoners with a shiny persona and a good line of patter’ is not so far off the mark.
As law abiding, tax paying citizens we are entitled to be outraged, yet I feel, in the long run, it is healthier to just chuckle at all the clowning, for after the many repeat performances it is all too obvious that is the essence of all the deception at the altar of profit and greed, with wealth and power as the drugs of choice.
But as spirits splashing about in the various pools of the material world, trying to ignore the circus of crazy that we might concentrate on our own inner journeys towards a fuller understanding of the enigmas of our voluntary plight, we can easily expand the prognosis to laughing at all the frailties and follies of humanity at large, including our dear selves.
There’s nothing quite like observing the self as some witless pawn to ego and vanity, robotically reacting to the electric cattle prods of fear and anxiety to convert our view from the dramatic to the comedic: it’s as simple a sipping from a glass of wine. In vino veritas indeed. The ease of the transformation can belie the profundity of its effect. Nothing, of course, really changes but our way of perceiving it. Seeing ourselves as vain clowns trying to, as the teachings tell us, spiritualize matter with the vibration of unconditional love, can be a welcome respite from the diligent seriosity of our daily practice.
Giggling, as most of us know, is good for the soul. The soul, that knowing being who dares to peek over the precipice of incarnation only to be shoved, – by desire, guidance and karmic connections – to that descent into flesh from the astral garden of Eden, shuddering at all the so-called knowledge that would legislate its innocence into the straightjacket of beliefs, and knowing without doubt that it will be cooked in the crockpot of life until tender and moist.