Article: 179075 of talk.bizarre From: firstname.lastname@example.org (chutzpah) Newsgroups: talk.bizarre Subject: why I am tamasic. Date: 5 Dec 1994 15:37:30 -0600 Organization: UTexas Mail-to-News Gateway Lines: 76 Sender: email@example.com Message-ID: <Pine.3.89.9412051625.A23117-0100000@gwis2> Status: O I am tamasic. At least, a very wise old man once told me that I was tamasic. He said that that was the root of all my problems--that my outlook on life was too tamasic, and at best it became rajasic. What I needed to do, he said, was learn how to become satvic. ("But why would I want to become Satvik? He's my cousin in L.A.") He explained how I could change my outlook on life--a simple regimen of prayer, meditation, and karma yoga (selfless service to others). I was sceptical at first, but then he began to talk about atoms. He claimed that the cube was the building block of the universe, and that this was reflected in the atom, which was itself a cube. He pointed out the cube-faced lattices of molecular bonding as his proof. He talked for hours about the cube shaped atom, and when he was done he had me convinced of its truth. And then, once he had me hooked, he reeled me in. "You are tamasic," he said. "Like the round atom you so want to believe in, you are tamasic. If you are lucky, the power inside you will come out, and you will be rajasic, but that is not enough. You must surpass all of that, the tamas and the rajas, and instead find your moksa in your inner satva--you that are now a sphere must become a cube." I thanked him for his advice, and returned home to begin my new life of satva. I gave up meat. I donated all of my belongings to the poor. I meditated, I prayed, and I found my inner peace. The world raged around me, fiery and untamable, but I was unperturbed. For I had found the truth--that the world could _not_ be tamed. So I did not try. Instead, like the uncarved block of which Lao-Tzu spoke, I sat in the middle of it all, untouched, and contemplated the vastness of the universe. Then, one day, as I was making my daily pilgrimage from one end of town to the other, begging for alms and casting my blessings on those who needed it, I saw that wise old man, sitting contemplatively on the side of the road, unbothered by the loud traffic that roared past him. I smiled at him, and he smiled back; between us I could feel the unbreakable bond of true satva. Suddenly, a truck lost a tire, careered out of control, and ran over the wise old man, killing him instantly. I froze. I knew I should feel some sorrow, but the satva which I had found had no room for such mourning. Then again, I realized, the satva which I had found had no room for dodging rajasic trucks, either. I calmly continued down the street until I found a poor, innocent young man standing at a crosswalk. Without a further thought, I grabbed him by the shoulder spun him around, and lay a vicious backhand across the bridge of his nose. I grinned as I heard it break, blood spurting into the air. A quick jab with my other hand knocked out a few teeth; as he stood there, dazed, I grasped his hand, laying my palm across the bridge of his knuckles. I flipped his hand over, so that his palm faced up to the heavens, and wrapped my other hand around his as well, letting my fingers curl just over his. Exhaling forcefully, I felt my ki flow out of my hara and down through my hand; I pushed my arm forward, curling my fingers up as though they were drops of water flowing over a waterfall. He crumpled to the ground, like a wilted petal from a long-dead lotus. Locking elbows with him, and bracing his hand in my armpit, I slid behind his prone form, straightened my own arm, and leaned forward. With a sickening crack, his shoulder popped out of the socket, and his humerus broke as well. He lay there, whimpering in pain, blood dripping from his face and his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. I reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and continued down the road. Spying a pair of Golden Arches, I walked inside, ordered three Big Macs and a McRib sandwich, and paid with my recently-won cash. I used what was left of the money to send out a few hundred of those pyramid-scheme get-rich-quick chain letters; within a few months I was richer than I could imagine. I bought back all of my old stuff, got a new car, and went back to my old tamasic ways; I stayed that way for the rest of my life. But something always bugged me. So last night, I dug up an old chemistry book. Sure enough, there it was, in black and white, a diagram of the electron shells of an atom: polar bulbs, spheres, and toroids, all overlapping at odd angles. Square atoms indeed--what a crock of shit. satvically violent, sweth. <firstname.lastname@example.org> dark, fruity, nutty... vague smoky overtones... sweth--a refreshing beverage, and a way of life.