Excerpt From PRACTICAL OBSESSION: THE UNAUTHORIZED AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A MAD MYSTIC by N. Nosirrah

In this remarkable spiritual memoir, written by one of the most astonishing and enigmatic mystics of the modern era, Nosirrah takes us through the arc of his life from his birth, which he claims never actually happened, to his own death, amazingly described by Nosirrah himself in great detail. He recounts the rollicking events that occurred as this spiritual genius encountered the unfolding of his life and his message for humankind. Scholars will no doubt study this tome to help explain the brilliant writings of a man who so transcended his own existence that he was unable to authorize his own autobiography.

Learn more or purchase at http://sentientpublications.com/shop/all-titles/practical-obsession/.

EXCERPT

I had to be enlightened early because I had a hard time following normal procedures, not because I was rebellious, but because I was often confused by the instructions that seem to keep coming at me. Like when I try to call into one of those big companies and the computer answering system says, “Do you want to talk to the billing department, say Yes or No” and I say “Yes or No” and the computer person says, “I didn’t understand, please say Yes or No” and so I say “Yes or No” and this goes on for hours without much progress. I learned after some experience to start out hitting 2 and then at least I could practice my Spanish. After a while I went for the hearing impaired option, but while I tried to be sensitive to the operator’s impairment, she kept saying, “Stop shouting!” I said to her, “Lady, you don’t have to shout at me, I’m not the one hard of hearing.” It turns out that hearing impaired number is for customers who are hard of hearing. I was just trying to be helpful and really this is the crux of the issue in my life. I am so convinced that I am not, that all that there is left to do is to help those who have the horrible fate of thinking that they exist. You could say I was born with this purpose, except what is not is not born, and come to think of it, purpose would be a gross exaggeration of Nosirrah’s non-existence.

You may wonder what I mean by non-existence, so let me explain. We exist only in our concept of our self; that concept is itself just a form of resistance to the vast nothingness that awaits the silence of the mind. We maintain our busy life of the mind as a kind of anxiety about our emptiness, and that anxiety is what we think of as our self. We say we want peace, but peace is the end of anxiety, and therefore the end of the self. So what we really want is to want peace, not to have it, because wanting peace is more anxiety and therefore more self. To end wanting peace and to simply be peace is to be nothing and that is a fearless state, or rather, a fearless non-state. Nosirrah has known this fearless state since birth. I was without fear and this seemed to make those around me quite fearful. I was taken to priests and rabbis, healers and psychics, psychiatrists and podiatrists, and all other forms of doctors. After much consultation and collaboration, I was not declared enlightened, rather I was declared to have a rare genetic disorder, Urbach-Wiethe disease. I had lesions on my amygdala, preventing me from experiencing any normal fear of terror-inducing hauntings and demons, ghosts and monsters, death threats, being attacked, snakes, spiders, none of these had any effect on me at all and since my childhood was full of all of these things, I had a pretty normal childhood.

But one thing in my childhood concerned me: if I had no fear, then how could I transcend fear and become enlightened? As a spiritual prodigy, at an early age I had read all the religious texts, The Bible, The Koran, The Bhagavad-Gita, Tao de Ching, and all the spiritual classics, over and over. I read in the original Latin and contemplated A.E. Walinbrucke’s Verum Nihilim, which makes all other books on human consciousness look like marginal postscripts, but I read on nonetheless, The Necronomicon, The Book of the Damned, Being One, Tales from the Crypt comics, and more. Later in life, I came upon the spawn of the New Age, books that told me to be in the now, then to be love, to be peaceful, to be mindful. But these books just brought one question to me over and over again: if I was supposed to be something other than what I was, what was I? I realized that this was a question that was neither present nor loving, peaceful nor mindful, in short, I realized that I was alive and was surrounded by the spiritual undead, zombies, spiritual zombies practicing zombie spirituality. You may ask how you can tell if you are alive or a zombie, let me explain.

Is there an emptiness in you that cannot be filled without endless, mindless feasting on the living? Do you have no purpose other than consumption, and yet there is no fulfilling the hunger? Do you stagger, grasping, clawing, irrespective of the damage it does to your own ravaged being, driven to feed, without knowing why, without even the question of why as a possibility? Is the drive to possess, to fill yourself all that you know? Are you a spiritual zombie?

Look around you. Do you see a shelf of books on spirituality and self-improvement? Does your credit card bill reflect enrollment in seminars, workshops, retreats or even on-line meditation groups? Do you feel that your understanding is not enough, that your stress level is too high, that there is something missing in your life, that happiness is available to everyone but you? Are you going to classes where you stretch your ligaments, work on your core strength or pretend to be boxing while jumping up and down? Do you use words from ancient languages, gestures from cultures and religions alien to your own, and read translations of ancient texts as if these are instructions directed towards you?

These are just some of the beginning signs of spiritual zombification, a kind of viral infection that is passed easily from the lurching zombie to you. At first you didn’t notice, a friend gave you an amazing book to read, or took you to see an insightful teacher, or convinced you to do a yoga weekend. This seemed innocent enough. But, soon the virus began to spread to your central nervous system, and the first symptoms began to appear almost unnoticed (one of which was that you began to refer to your central nervous system as your chakras). You began to believe that there was the possibility of enlightenment now, or enlightenment next, or enlightenment in a previous incarnation, but whatever that enlightenment thing was, you wanted it, you deserved it and you were going to get it. The zombie begins to have strange appetites. Sprout salad with a side of tofu begins to look like a tasty meal despite the intensive gas buildup in your third chakra (which is probably just a little energy movement). Books that were written for total morons begin to look profound. Even this book, which was written by a total madman, may seem weighty.

And speaking of weighty, the zombie not only reads spiritual books but also “understands,” although the zombie’s not always holding the books right side up, but for zombies these books make sense. They consist of an amalgam of all philosophies randomly cut and pasted into a chart of quadrants, levels, and fields, although all the fields are left fields (way out in left field) and published in immense volumes (see weighty) with the conclusionary tautology that if you understand and agree with the conclusion then you are at the highest state of consciousness and if you find the writings to be derivative ramblings that are unreadable, unintelligible and jargoned, then you are at a lower state of consciousness and cannot understand the conclusion anyway.

Think of it as astrology for the thinking zombie, or as a kind of technical stock trading system using charts and graphs – both result in a random success rate, but what we like to remember is the successes and what we like to forget are the failures. If you throw enough material in a book, even zombies will recognize something in that mass of information that resonates with their experience and the rest of the material just fades into the background. The trick is to make those books big, and then the zombie master has a career explaining it to his fellow automatons. Those who don’t get the teaching get eaten. Wait, don’t eat me, and then spit me out into the mouths of your followers like a mother robin feeding her young! Yuck.

One of these teachers can produce No Brain Activity at will and has a YouTube clip to show it. He does this while awake! No brain activity while awake – isn’t that great! And he did this with a special and rare form of meditation. It is everlasting awareness. Now that is marketing!

But, let us for just one minute engage our minds and remain awake, and I know this may be difficult for many of you (and no, you cannot turn on the television to keep your mind engaged). This will only take a minute. Engage your mind and follow this deductive reasoning:

All zombies have no brain activity and appear to be awake.

Human beings who are awake have brain activity and consider that quite acceptable, usually even desirable.

Human beings without brain activity are considered clinically dead.

A spiritual teacher has no brain activity when he is awake and has proudly placed video evidence of this on YouTube.

Therefore, the spiritual teacher is a zombie.

Quod Erat Demonstrandum.

For those of you who are not used to dealing with the kind of high level mathematical logic that I have just utilized to prove my point, let me say it in plain language: the teacher is awake but dead and he wants you to join his group of undead.

Inspired by this awesome demonstration of Sahaja Nirvikalpa Samadhi, I realized I have something to offer the world similar to this mind that doesn’t think. I have a flaccid body with virtually no muscle tone and barely the capacity to walk around the block. I did this by sitting around doing nothing. I would like to produce a YouTube video on this but have found a great deal of resistance to filming me with my shirt off , something to do with obscenity laws and local standards. My promise is that you, too, can have everlasting lack of muscle tone with my special meditation, found in my forthcoming book tentatively titled Sex, Ecology and More Sex: A Brief History of Everything Else Except That Too Complicated Integral Stuff . I put the word ecology in there because it is good to be green, although I am not really too ecologically aware myself, except I do collect aluminum cans when I am short on cash, which is pretty frequently, but if you aren’t really green then it is really good to pretend you are. It sells things to other people who are pretending that they are green. Real green people don’t buy things and that makes for lousy book sales.

I put the word sex in there twice because it is twice as important as any other word, even green people will buy something with sex attached to it and I am hoping some really stunning integral lady gets the hint that the word sex and everything it represents on all levels, all quadrants and all positions is important to me (except the position where I am bending over backwards touching my heels, that is a little hard on my back with Ms. Integral bouncing around) and even though I don’t have a cool loft apartment like the hip integralists, I would be OK in the back seat of my car, which is kind of like a loft, lots of glass and steel, good urban street view. I will have to move all my clothes and canned dog food out of the way (no, I don’t have a dog), but it is already set up with a sleeping bag.

But Nosirrah has one teensy, weensy insight, an insight that exists just at the outer edge of Everything, it is a known, so it is part of the Everything, but is paradoxically an unknown and so it is not part of anything. Here it is in summary: what is not known is infinitely more than what is known, and while it is impressive to endlessly rehash what is known, the true explorer heads for the unknown, where few go and the pay is not very good.

See also: Excerpt From “God Is an Atheist: A Novella for Those Who Have Run Out of Time”, by N. Nosirrah

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Excerpt From “God Is an Atheist: A Novella for Those Who Have Run Out of Time”, by N. Nosirrah

atheist_100A profoundly funny romp through religion, spirituality, and the contemporary clash of cultures of belief, with special attention to the human obsession with knowing what can’t be known. Nosirrah provokes just about everyone as he describes a world where God is on the run from Islamic extremists, the Pope announces he shares a bed with Richard Dawkins, and Buddha’s son disappoints by getting enlightened instead of becoming a doctor.

In N. Nosirrah’s words: “To say this novella is strange might give the reader a way to relate to it, but in fact, nothing will shift the burden away from the reader. In its pages, the world is bent around the reader’s mind until either the mind itself begins to bend, or indeed, breaks. A book without plot, characters, structure, or obvious purpose, this is an endless descent into the netherworlds of a dystopian mind. If a thousand monkeys typing endlessly would eventually produce all great works of literature, then God Is an Atheist is their first draft.”

EXCERPT:

I was talking to God the other night, when He told me something disturbing, and truthfully, somewhat baffling. Now, you probably doubt that I was talking to God, and likely think I was delusional, or talking to myself, and you might be right about that, but as I am trying to explain, in a way I don’t care what you believe, or what I believe for that matter. I only care what God believes, and that is what is so troubling. God told me he is an atheist, he doesn’t believe in himself, he doesn’t believe in belief, and he thinks that all the believing that people get into has caused nothing but problems.

The conversation threw me into a paroxysm of paradox and a quandary of conundrum. I had, after all, spent a great deal of my life seeking the truth of God, the ultimate answer to the meaning of life. Now I had, more by accident than by skill, finally bumped into God himself, more or less walking down the street, and the main message for me was to stop believing, not just in God but in anything and everything. It just didn’t add up. Here was God, in front of me, telling me he didn’t believe in God, he didn’t believe in me, He wasn’t, and neither was I.

For the existentialists, the nihilists, the non-dualists, the atheists, and the secular humanists, this is probably seen as good news. For the religionists of all kinds from fundamentalists to universalists, ritualists to quietists, this may seem like a kick in the collective kneeling keister. But it is not exactly what it seems. Because as God explained it to me, if he is an atheist, then there is no God, he disappears into the mists, but so do all the anti-God beliefs. When insurgents win, they become the thing they fought to destroy; when God joins the atheists, will the club have Him, and then what will they do, what will they call themselves? An atheist who meets God is a believer who has lost his faith forever.

As He explains it, when you give up belief, you give up all belief, that includes the anti-belief, the belief of not this, and not that. Atheists are forced out of their certainty, and really there is nothing more pathetic than an uncertain atheist. Maybe there is something worse: sitting at an Atheist Alliance meeting having a serious discussion about life, with God as a member of your group. And that seems to be where this is all going. God is an atheist, atheists now have to admit that God is one of theirs, and really the whole structure of belief and anti-belief collapses into confusion. I for one am entirely confused.

I had a dream last night (I think it was a dream in any case) and in it I was reading the TMZ.com website where there was an account of Richard Dawkins and the Pope as secret lovers revealed, with photos of the two grinning in bed with their morning cappuccino, apparently listening to Puccini. They couldn’t reveal to the world their illicit love, both careers ruined, and yet they couldn’t live without the intense draw to the intellect and the passion of their belief and anti-belief. It was an erotic dream, I suppose, but not in the usual sense, only in the sense of the union of beliefs into something transcendent. I awoke with a start, somehow realizing how shocking and inappropriate the imagery was, Richard Dawkins wasn’t the problem, but the Pope should be beyond these kinds of twists of the mind. But in that moment of waking, I saw the beauty of possibility where the two would be forced to admit in a press conference, broadcast live just about everywhere, that they really weren’t sure if they had it right philosophically, that truth is pretty illusive, but that when Richard saw the Pope in the full outfit there was something so clear in the fluttering of the heart. They held hands throughout, and Richard looked radiant, which he never really did as an atheist. The Pope always looked good, but now he looked a little worried, human, even nervous, but happy in that rottweiler kind of way, still ready to go for the throat, but only if you weren’t nice to Richard. The reporters pushed in for the story, but they couldn’t figure out what to ask once they realized that neither of the two had any beliefs left, just each other and Puccini. I have to apologize for the account of all of this, to the affront to those who find these images insulting or worse, but I do think there is something instructive in the dream world, and in a way it prepared me to meet God.

I mentioned that I ran into God, and it was almost literally so, more like I almost ran over God. You know the feeling when you sit at a complex intersection, you try to turn right-on-red, and there is suddenly a pedestrian almost under your wheels. That was me and God. Usually the pedestrian curses you, slaps your car hood or makes a face suggesting you are a low-life undeserving of substantial insight into the nature of existence. But when I almost ran over God, he didn’t do that. He also didn’t look kindly at me or with forgiveness or beatifically, He didn’t do anything but pause, then return to the curb so I could complete my turn without taking out the Creator of the universe. I figured this guy was different, although I didn’t realize how different, of course, so I pulled over and jumped out to apologize. Now you can apologize to your wife or husband, you can apologize to the person you bump into at the post office or the caller you kept waiting on hold, but when it comes right down to it, it is just about impossible to apologize to God. I tried, but I couldn’t even figure out where to start. If God is the one running the show then what’s there to apologize for, it is His omnipotent hand that moves through all of reality and all of that. Plus, when it comes right down to it, if you have sinned, how do you really have the audacity to face God anyway? This is the Sinner’s Paradox. If you don’t make any mistakes in life then you don’t understand what all the sinners are moaning about, how they are so weak, what the big deal is about temptation. You think everyone should be good like your little spotless self. You know that you could apologize to God because you are so pure it would go easy, humble person that you are. It is just that you don’t have anything major to atone for.

What you can’t realize is that you are just a sinner who hasn’t met up with your sin yet. You’ve got the murderer, the philanderer and the thief all wired up and ready to go, along with hypocrite, gossip and liar. Then you hit your sin, your mistake, the moment that you can’t get back to and change, the history that will haunt you the rest of your life, and you are a sinner, and now you know what it is all about. You realize what a fool you have been. The feigned humbleness of your life before the sin was just an idea of how to be holy and pure. You are a sinner, and so fallen, so far down, that you know that you are not worthy of taking a moment of God’s time to apologize, let alone having the gall to expect forgiveness.

To ask for redemption is just not in the purview of the real and undeserving sinner. The pure need sin to find humility; the sinner needs redemption to rediscover purity, that is the Sinner’s Paradox. And here I was on the sidewalk, trying to find some words for God, who didn’t even look like He needed to be placated.

God seemed to find my brain freeze amusing, and I can only speculate that there was an imperceptible shift from cosmic equanimity to what? Not curiosity, not really relish, maybe something like anthropological interest with a touch of bottomless compassion. Whatever it was that moved in the cosmos, it resulted in God and me walking to the nearby coffee shop for some direct talk, some mano a mano philosophical grappling with what the universe is all about.

You probably are wondering how I knew it was God, an important plot point and the kind of thing that skilled editors point out to their hoped-to-be best-selling authors. But since you are not my editor and I am not a hoped-to-be anything, and certainly not best-selling with a story like this, let me get to the point directly. In a novel, you have knowledge of elements of the tale because of something that occurs before in the story. There are important parts of the narrative dropped in skillfully by the writer so that the reader instinctively moves with the protagonist as he realizes something. But, in life, you know something because you do. It is non-verifiable. It is the feeling that goes with the thought, the emotive holism that envelopes the fragment of knowledge that is the Aha! It is the ipso facto on which we build our whole reality, and we assume that this knowing is somehow agreed upon by each other of our brethren on the planet. On reflection, we can see that it is not. Our knowing is as singular and unrelated to each other’s knowing as the occurrence of the writing of this sentence is to the occurrence of your reading it.

How would you know it was God if you met Him? You have no real image of God other than the religious icons, the movie actors with booming voices, the New Yorker cartoons. You wouldn’t recognize God by the long white beard or robes or any of the other hackneyed images. God doesn’t wear a special uniform like the priests, and He is not one of us, despite what Joan Osborne says. He doesn’t have to be pious, devotional, sincere, or even loving, since there isn’t any cosmic deal to cut for salvation. You would recognize God only if you weren’t looking for God, or more precisely, if you were not looking from the idea of God that you have imagined, surveying the world for a match to your ideas. How do you recognize the God that doesn’t fit your expectations, how do you see something that you didn’t already know to look for? Are you even looking for God, or is an iPhone close enough?

But, I am digressing from the real story here, which is not the philosophical conundrum of knowing anything at all, let alone knowing God, but is just the simple occurrence of bumping into God. That is the interesting thing, not the who, what, why, when, and how, but the thing itself. We can leave the explanations to the journalists and scientists, and stay with the narrative just as it occurred. This is magical existentialism, replacing no exit with an exit that opens onto an entrance, a world of all exits and entrances, no content, no history, no explanation, just the decay of what is as the introduction of what is next. When you meet God you meet God, there is nothing to verify it, nothing that caused it, and certainly no explanation. Sorry, religionist, God is not what you thought. And sorry, atheists, it is not nothing. God is something—really something.

***

N. Nosirrah is a writer and philosopher who asks his readers to question their existence, God’s existence, and in particular, Nosirrah’s existence. He is the author of the three books: God is an Atheist; A Novella for Those Who Have Run Out of Time, Nothing from Nothing; A Novella for None, and 2013; How to Profit from the Prophets in the Coming End of the World

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