/lit/ - Literature

>>15109196
Did they fuck?

>raises finger
start from there

>>15109196
ZEN IS JUST A COMMODITY PLEASE IGNORE ZEN PLEASE IGNORE ZEN

>>15109673
Kasan was asked to officiate at the funeral of a provincial lord.

He had never met lords and nobles before so he was nervous. When the ceremony started, Kasan sweat.

Afterwards, when he had returned, he gathered his pupils together. Kasan confessed that he was not yet qualified to be a teacher for he lacked the sameness of bearing in the world of fame that he possessed in the secluded temple. Then Kasan resigned and became the pupil of another master. Eight years later he returned to his former pupils, enlightened.

>>15109196
>The student continued reading: "Ask and it shall be given you, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened unto you. For everyone that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth, and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened."
What does the book advise for when you have resigned and don't want to want?

>>15109745
ZEN IS NOT REAL ZEN IS NOT REAL THERE ARE NO SOLUTIONS NO SOLUTIONS NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING ITS JUST A COMMODITY

>>15109764
Yes.

>>15109754
You are not resigned if you want to want.

>>15109196
based, I liked that story and I agree with Gassan

>>15109196
The Bible isn't Christian and the authors of the Gospels weren't "saints."

Daiju visited the master Baso in China. Baso asked: "What do you seek?"

"Enlightenment," replied Daiju.

"You have your own treasure house. Why do you search outside?" Baso asked.

Daiju inquired: "Where is my treasure house?"

Baso answered: "What you are asking is your treasure house."

Daiju was enlightened! Ever after he urged his friends: "Open your own tresure house and use those treasures."

>>15110281
Fuck you Baso. I don't have a treasure house like happy normalfags. That advise is for temporarily diverted normies

>>15110336
Then you still dont understand.

Buddha told a parable in sutra:

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

>>15110336
Provided he makes and wins an argument about Buddhism with those who live there, any wondering monk can remain in a Zen temple. If he is defeated, he has to move on.

In a temple in the northern part of Japan two brother monks were dwelling together. The elder one was learned, but the younger one was stupid and had but one eye.

A wandering monk came and asked for lodging, properly challenging them to a debate about the sublime teachings. The elder brother, tired that day from much studying, told the younger one to take his place. "Go and request the dialogue in silence," he cautioned.

So the young monk and the stranger went to the shrine and sat down.

Shortly afterwards the traveler rose and went in to the elder brother and said: "Your young brother is a wonderful fellow. He defeated me."

"Relate the dialogue to me," said the elder one.

"Well," explained the traveler, "first I held up one finger, representing Buddha, the enlightened one. So he held up two fingers, signifying Buddha and his teaching. I held up three fingers, representing Buddha, his teaching, and his followers, living the harmonious life. Then he shook his clenched fist in my face, indicating that all three come from one realization. Thus he won and so I have no right to remain here." With this, the traveler left.

"Where is that fellow?" asked the younger one, running in to his elder brother.

"I understand you won the debate."

"Won nothing. I'm going to beat him up."

"Tell me the subject of the debate," asked the elder one.

"Why, the minute he saw me he held up one finger, insulting me by insinuating that I have only one eye. Since he was a stranger I thought I would be polite to him, so I held up two fingers, congratulating him that he has two eyes. Then the impolite wretch held up three fingers, suggesting that between us we only have three eyes. So I got mad and started to punch him, but he ran out and that ended it!"

Tosui was the Zen master who left the formalism of temples to live under a bridge with beggars. When he was getting very old, a friend helped him earn his living without begging. He showed Tosui how to collect rice and manufacture vinegar from it, and Tosui did this until he passed away.

While Tosui was making vinegar, one of the beggars gave him a picture of the Buddha. Tosui hung it on the wall of his hut and put a sign beside it. The sign read:

"Mr. Amida Buddha: This little room is quite narrow. I can let you remain as a transient. But don't think I am asking you to help me to be reborn in your paradise."

>>15110662
Kek. Is this philosophy?

>>15109673
You are just a commodity, yet there is no you so there is no commodity.

>>15110805
the ultimate philosophy

>>15109196

Don't give me your stupid gay sagely stories about stupid gay asian sages/novices.

Here is a picture of six persimmons. It may have something to do with the thread, or not.

>>15110886
The Zen Master Hoshin lived in China many years. Then he returned to the northeastern part of Japan, where he taught his disciples. When he was getting very old, he told them a story he had heard in China. This is the story:


One year on the twenty-fifth of December, Tokufu, who was very old, said to his disciples: "I am not going to be alive next year so you fellows should treat me well this year."

The pupils thought he was joking, but since he was a great-hearted teacher each of them in turn treated him to a feast on succeeding days of the departing year.

On the eve of the new year, Tokufu concluded: "You have been good to me. I shall leave tomorrow afternoon when the snow has stopped."

The disciples laughed, thinking he was aging and talking nonsense since the night was clear and without snow. But at midnight snow began to fall, and the next day they did not find their teacher about. They went to the meditation hall. There he had passed on.


Hoshin, who related this story, told his disciples: "It is not necessary for a Zen master to predict his passing, but if he really wishes to do so, he can."

"Can you?" someone asked.

"Yes," answered Hoshin. "I will show you what I can do seven days from now."

None of the disciples believed him, and most of them had even forgotten the conversation when Hoshin called them together.

"Seven days ago," he remarked, "I said I was going to leave you. It is customary to write a farewell poem, but I am neither a poet or a calligrapher. Let one of you inscribe my last words."

His followers thought he was joking, but one of them started to write.

"Are you ready?" Hoshin asked.

"Yes sir," replied the writer.

Then Hoshin dictated:

I came from brillancy
And return to brillancy.
What is this?
This line was one line short of the customary four, so the disciple said: "Master, we are one line short."

Hoshin, with the roar of a conquering lion, shouted "Kaa!" and was gone.

>>15110886
Shuzan’s Bamboo Spatula
Master Shuzan held out his bamboo spatula and asked, “If you call this a bamboo spatula, you give umbrage
(to the principle of Zen). If you call this no bamboo spatula, you violate the law (of common-sense). What
will all of you call this?”
The Commentary
Should you call this a bamboo spatula, you would give umbrage. Should you call this no bamboo spatula,
you would betray the law. Both to speak out will not do, and no word will be of any use either. Quickly say,
quickly say!
The Verse
Bringing out the bamboo spatula,
Shuzan demanded the order? of life or death.
Being put to either the umbrage, or the betrayal,
Even Buddha and Patriarchs would beg for their lives.

>>15110901
>>15110975

In this world
we eat, we shit
we sleep and we wake up
and after all that
all we have to do is die

>>15109196
Anyone else have a 'glowing and flouting' felling be thinking about universal oneness? Its like a joyful felling but its scares me. Feels unreal.
One time I was in my car and it felt like I was about to ascend but then my breathing cut off and I started choking.

>>15110994

As you use a tripcode, would that you had died.

>>15109196
But would Gasan have known who Solomon was?

>>15110986
Tanzan and Ekido were once traveling together down a muddy road. A heavy rain was still falling.

Coming around a bend, they met a lovely girl in a silk kimono and sash, unable to cross the intersection.

"Come on, girl" said Tanzan at once. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her over the mud.

Ekido did not speak again until that night when they reached a lodging temple. Then he no longer could restrain himself. "We monks don't go near females," he told Tanzan, "especially not young and lovely ones. It is dangerous. Why did you do that?"

"I left the girl there," said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying her?"
>>15110994
once you experience oneness the universe is infinitely small

>>15109196
I love that one.
Great OP post for once.

Finn Mac Cool was a legendary hero of old Ireland. Though not mentally robust, he was a man of superb physique and development. Each of his thighs was as thick as a horse's belly, narrowing to a calf as thick as the belly of a foal. Three fifties of fosterlings could engage with handball against the wideness of his backside, which was large enough to halt the march of men through a mountain-pass.

Of the musics you have ever got, asked Conan, which have you found the sweetest?
I will relate, said Finn. When the seven companies of my warriors are gathered together on the one plain and the truant clean-cold loud-voiced wind goes through them, too sweet to me is that. Echo-blow of a goblet-base against the tables of the palace, sweet to me is that. I like gull-cries and the twittering together of fine cranes. I like the surf-roar at Tralee, the songs of the three sons of Meadhra and the whistle of Mac Lughaidh. These also please me, man-shouts at a parting, cuckoo-call in May. I incline to like pig-grunting in Magh Eithne, the bellowing of the stag of Ceara, the whinging of fauns in Derrynish. The low warble of water-owls in Loch Barra also, sweeter than life that. I am fond of wing-beating in dark belfries, cow-cries in pregnancy, trout-spurt in a laketop. Also the whining of small otters in nettle-beds at evening, the croaking of small-jays behind a wall, these are heart-pleasing. I am friend to the pilibeen, the red-necked chough, the parsnip land-rail, the pilibeen mona, the bottle-tailed tit, the common marsh-coot, the speckle-toed guillemot, the pilibeen sleibhe, the Mohar gannet, the peregrine plough-gull, the long-eared bush-owl, the Wicklow small-fowl, the bevil-beaked chough, the hooded tit, the pilibeen uisce, the common Corby, the fish-tailed mud-piper, the cruiskeen lawn, the carrion sea-cock, the green-lidded parakeet, the brown bog-martin, the maritime wren, the dove-tailed wheatcrake, the beaded daw, the Galway hill-bantam and the pilibeen cathrach. A satisfying ululation is the contending of a river with the sea. Good to hear is the chirping of little red-breasted men in bare winter and distant hounds giving tongue in the secrecy of fog. The lamenting of a wounded otter in a black hole, sweeter than harpstrings that. There is no torture so narrow as to be bound and beset in a dark cavern without food or music, without the bestowing of gold on bards.To be chained by night in a dark pit without company of chessmen - evil destiny! Soothing to my ear is the shout of a hidden blackbird, the squeal of a troubled mare, the complaining of wild-hogs caught in snow.
Relate further for us, said Conan.
It is true that I will not, said Finn

With that he rose to a full tree-high standing, the sable cat-guts which held his bog-cloth drawers to the hems of his jacket of pleated fustian clanging together in melodious discourse. Too great was he for standing. The neck to him was as the bole of a great oak, knotted and seized together with muscle-humps and carbuncles of tangled sinew, the better for good feasting and contending with the bards. The chest to him was wider than the poles of a good chariot, coming now out, now in, and pastured from chin to navel with meadows of black man-hair and meated with layers of fine man-meat the better to hide his bones and fashion the semblance of his twin bubs. The arms to him were like the necks of beasts, ball-swollen with their bunched-up brawnstrings and blood-veins, the better for harping and hunting and contending with the bards. Each thigh to him was to the thickness of a horse's belly; narrowing to a green-veined calf to the thickness of a foal. Three fifties of fosterlings could engage with handball against the wideness of his backside, which was wide enough to halt the march of warriors through a mountain-pass.

I am a bark for buffeting, said Finn, I am a hound for thornypaws. I am a doe for swiftness. I am a tree for wind-siege. I am a windmill. I am a hole in a wall.
On the seat of the bog-cloth drawers to his fork was shuttled the green alchemy of mountain-leeks from Slieve an Iarainn in the middle of Erin; for it was here that he would hunt for a part of the year with his people, piercing the hams of a black hog with his spears, birds-nesting, hole-drawing, vanishing into the fog of a small gully, sitting on green knolls with Fergus and watching the boys at ball-throw.
On the kerseymere of the gutted jacket to his back was the dark tincture of the ivory sloes and the pubic gooseberries and the manivaried whortles of the ditches of the east of Erin; for it was here that he would spend a part of the year with his people, courting and rummaging generouswomen, vibrating quick spears at the old stag of Slieve Gullian, hog-baiting in thickets and engaging in sapient dialectics with the bag-eyed brehons.
The knees and calves to him, swealed and swathed with soogawns and Thomond weed-ropes, were smutted with dungs and dirt-daubs of every hue and pigment, hardened by stainings of mead and trickles of metheglin and all the dribblings and drippings of his medher, for it was the custom of Finn to drink nightly with his people.
I am the breast of a young queen, said Finn, I am a thatching against rains. I am a dark castle against bat-flutters. I am a Connachtman's ear. I am a harpstring. I am a gnat.
The nose to his white wheyface was a headland against white seas with height to it, in all, the height of ten warriors man on man and with breadth to it the breadth of Erin. The caverns to the butt of his nose had fulness and breadth for the instanding in their shade of twenty arm-bearing warriors with their tribal rams and dove-cages together with a generous following of ollavs and bards with their law-books and their verse-scrolls, their herb-pots and their alabaster firkins of oil and unguent.
Relate us further, said Diarmuid Donn, for the love of God.
Who is it? said Finn.
It is Diarmuid Donn, said Conan, even Diarmuid O'Diveney of Ui bhFailghe and of Cruachna Conalath in the west of Erin, it is Brown Dermot of Galway.
It is true, said Finn, that I will not

The mouth to his white wheyface had dimensions and measurements to the width of Ulster, bordered by a red lip-wall and inhabited unseen by the watchful host of his honey-yellow teeth to the size, each with each, of a cornstack; and in the dark hollow to each tooth was there home and fulness for the sitting there of a thorny dog or for the lying there of a spear-pierced badger. To each of the two eyes in his head was there eye-hair to the fashion of a young forest, and the colour to each great eyeball was as the slaughter of a host in snow. The lid to each eye of them was limp and cheese-dun like ship-canvas in harbour at evening, enough eye-cloth to cover the whole of ErinSweet to me your voice, said Caolcrodha Mac Morna, brother to sweet-worded sweet-toothed Goll from Sliabh Riabhach and Brosnacha Bladhma, relate then the attributes that are to Finn's people.
Who is it? said Finn.
It is Caolcrodha Mac Morna from Sliabh Riabhach, said Conan, it is Calecroe MacMorney from Baltinglass

>>15110662
kek
eastern mythology BTFO

I will relate, said Finn. Till a man has accomplished twelve books of poetry, the same is not taken for want of poetry but is forced away. No man is taken till a black hole is hollowed in the world to the depth of his two oxters and he put into it to gaze from it with his lonely head and nothing to him but his shield and a stick of hazel. Then must nine warriors fly their spears at him, one with the other and together. If he be spear-holed past his shield, or spear-killed, he is not taken for want of shield-skill. No man is taken till he is run by warriors through the woods of Erin with his hair bunched-loose about him for bough-tangle and briar-twitch. Should branches disturb his hair or pull it forth like sheep-wool on a hawthorn, he is not taken but is caught and gashed. Weapon-quivering hand or twig-crackling foot at full run, neither is taken. Neck-high sticks he must pass by vaulting, knee-high sticks by stooping. With the eyelids to him stitched to the fringe of his eye-bags, he must be run by Finn's people through the bogs and the marsh-swamps of Erin with two odorous prickle-backed hogs ham-tied and asleep in the seat of his hempen drawers. If he sink beneath a peat-swamp or lose a hog, he is not accepted of Finn's people. For five days he must sit on the brow of a cold hill with twelve-pointed stag-antlers hidden in his seat, without food or music or chessmen. If he cry out or eat grass-stalks or desist from the constant recital of sweet poetry and melodious Irish, he is not taken but is wounded. When pursued by a host, he must stick a spear in the world and hide behind it and vanish in its narrow shelter or he is not taken for want of sorcery. Likewise he must hide beneath a twig, or behind a dried leaf, or under a red stone, or vanish at full speed into the seat of his hempen drawers without changing his course or abating his pace or angering the men of Erin. Two young fosterlings he must carry under the armpits to his jacket through the whole of Erin, and six arm-bearing warriors in his seat together. If he be delivered of a warrior or a blue spear, he is not taken. One hundred head of cattle he must accommodate with wisdom about his person when walking all Erin, the half about his armpits and the half about his trews, his mouth never halting from the discoursing ofsweet poetry. One thousand rams he must sequester about his trunks with no offence to the men of Erin, or he is unknown to Finn. He must swiftly milk a fat cow and carry milk-pail and cow for twenty years in the seat of his drawers. When pursued in a chariot by the men of Erin he must dismount, place horse and chariot in the slack of his seat and hide behind his spear, the same being stuck upright in Erin. Unless he accomplishes these feats, he is not wanted of Finn. But if he do them all and be skilful, he is of Finn's people

What advantages are to Finn's people? asked Liagan Luaimneach O Luachair Dheaghaidh.
Who is it? said Finn.
It is Liagan Luaimneach O Luachair Dheaghaidh, said Conan, the third man of the three cousins from Cnoc Sneachta, Lagan Lumley O'Lowther-Day from Elphin Beg.
I will relate three things and nothing above three, said Finn. Myself I can get wisdom from the sucking of my thumb, another (though he knows it not) can bring to defeat a host by viewing it through his fingers, and another can cure a sick warrior by judging the smoke of the house in which he is.
Wonderful for telling, said Conan, and I know it. Relate for us, after, the tale of the feast of Bricriu.
I cannot make it, said Finn.
Then the tale of the Bull of Cooley.
It goes beyond me, said Finn, I cannot make it.
Then the tale of the Giolla Deacar and his old horse of the world, said Gearr mac Aonchearda.
Who is it? said Finn.
Surely it is Gearr mac Aonchearda, said Conan, the middle man of the three brothers from Cruach Conite, Gar MacEncarty O'Hussey from Phillipstown.
I cannot make it, said FinnRecount then for the love of God, said Conin, the Tale of the Enchanted Fort of the Sally Tree or give shanachy's tidings of the Little Brawl at Allen.
They go above me and around me and through me, said Finn. It is true that I cannot make them.
Oh then, said Conan, the story of the Churl in the Puce Great-coat.
Evil story for telling, that, said Finn, and though itself I can make it, it is surely true that I will not recount it. It is a crooked and dishonourable story that tells how Finn spoke honey-words and peace-words to a stranger who came seeking the high-rule and the high-rent of this kingdom and saying that he would play the sorrow of death and small-life on the lot of us in one single day if his wish was not given. Surely I have never heard (nor have I seen) a man come with high-deed the like of that to Erin that there was not found for him a man of his own equality. Who has heard honey-talk from Finn before strangers, Finn that is wind-quick, Finn that is a better man than God? Or who has seen the like of Finn or seen the living semblance of him standing in the world, Finn that could best God at ball-throw or wrestling or pig-trailing or at the honeyed discourse of sweet Irish with jewels and gold for bards, or at the listening of distant harpers in a black hole at evening? Or where is the living human man who could beat Finn at the making of generous cheese, at the spearing of ganders, at the magic of thumb-suck, at the shaving of hog-hair, or at the unleashing of long hounds from a golden thong in the full chase, sweet-fingered corn-yellow Finn, Finn that could carry an armed host from Almha to Slieve Luachra in the craw of his gut-hung knickers

Good for telling, said Conan.
Who is it? said Finn.
It is I, said Conan.
I believe it for truth, said Finn.
Relate further then.
I am an Ulsterman, a Connachtman, a Greek, said Finn, I am Cuchulainn, I am Patrick. I am Carbery-Cathead, I am Goll. I am my own father and my son. I am every hero from the crack of time. Melodious is your voice, said Conan.
Small wonder, said Finn, that Finn is without honour in the breast of a sea-blue book, Finn that is twisted and trampled and tortured for the weaving of a story-teller's book-web. Who but a book-poet would dishonour the God-big Finn for the sake of a gap-worded story? Who could have the saint Ceallach carried off by his four acolytes and he feeble and thin from his Lent-fast, laid in the timbers of an old boat, hidden for a night in a hollow oak tree and slaughtered without mercy in the morning, his shrivelled body to be torn by a wolf and a scaldcrow and the Kite of Cluain-Eo? Who could think to turn the children of a king into white swans with the loss of their own bodies, to be swimming the two seas of Erin in snow and ice-cold rain without bards or chess-boards, without their own tongues for discoursing melodious Irish, changing the fat white legs of a maiden into plumes and troubling her body with shameful eggs? Who could put a terrible madness on the head of Sweeney for the slaughter of a single Lent-gaunt cleric, to make him live in tree-tops and roost in the middle of a yew, not a wattle to the shielding of his mad head in the middle of the wet winter, perished to the marrow without company of women or strains of harp-pluck, with no feeding but stag-food and the green branches? Who but a story-teller? Indeed, it is true that there has been ill-usage to the men of Erin from the book-poets of the world and dishonour to Finn, with no knowing the nearness of disgrace or the sorrow of death, or the hour when they may swim for swans or trot for ponies or bell for stags or croak for frogs or fester for the wounds on a man's back.
True for telling, said Conan.

>>15109196
Like seriously I get it, I'm one with the universe, I am apart of the universe, I am the universe seeing its self from this point of view. Now what?

A famous quote from Harada, cited in Zen at War, is: [If ordered to] march: tramp, tramp, or shoot: bang, bang. This is the manifestation of the highest Wisdom [of Enlightenment].

[If ordered to] march: tramp, tramp, or shoot: bang, bang. This is the manifestation of the highest Wisdom [of Enlightenment]. The unity of Zen and war of which I speak extends to the farthest reaches of the holy war [now under way]. - Harada Daiun Sogaku

based O'Brien poster

>>15111179
>Like seriously I get it, I'm one with the universe, I am apart of the universe, I am the universe seeing its self from this point of view
No

>>15111179
>Now what?
You don't get it.

>>15111179
now you move from conceptual understanding to inner understanding

>>15111179
words words words

>>15111286
How does Zen fall between free will and mind control?

>>15111450
Mind control makes free will possible

>>15111450
Where is this mind, that can be controlled?
Where is this will, that can be free?

>>15110986
Ha that bottle has three tiddies

>>15110336
The seething of the unenlightened is immense. The funny thing is that the more hardship you experience, the more Baso's treasure house, or what I would call the Kingdom of God becomes the most evident thing in your whole reality. Paul said “We are often troubled, but not crushed, sometimes in doubt, but never in despair; there are many enemies, but we are never without a friend; and though badly hurt at times, we are never destroyed.” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9) Truly the more hardship you receive, the more you can take, until you can endure the removal of every mental comfort.

It becomes a strange paradox, spiritual people who believe in God end up acting like skeptics, because they have their imperishable treasure, whereas un-spiritual people cling more and more tightly to ideas and never get free. Ironically though, your anger is not at normies, it's because you're probably a quintessential middle-class normie.

>>15109196
Too bad Christians decided to go for a universal imperial church and spoiled all of this.

>>15110336
The treasure house is inside yourself, anon.

>>15113000
As a Christian, I object to eastern spirituality. Not because of the teaching, but rather because I know that the teaching of Daoism, of Zen etc. are good teachings. That Daoism and Zen teach humility, the vanity of human affairs, and the necessity for freedom in a more seemingly straightforward way.

What I do not understand, and what I'm inclined to believe is due to sheer carelessness is why these good teachings have been shut up in monasteries in the east. You see in the west, esoteric Christian ideas were an unstoppable force, while the kings and popes were a moveable object and were thrust aside in the long run. In the east, the opposite is true; rulers were unstoppable and esoteric ideas never gained traction.

Explain to me why this is please before bashing Christians

>>15113107
>esoteric Christian ideas were an unstoppable force

I wonder what are you trying to imply by this? Explain further.

>>15113132
I mean things like the concept of equality, the reforms of Martin Luther, the Protestant Bible, Deism, the Enlightenment, Rousseau's assertion that man is born free, yet everywhere he is in chains.

Everywhere Christianity has gone, it has been followed sooner or later by massive social upheavals in the name of freedom and sometimes Communism (regrettably). Buddhism and Daoism, while very right in many doctrines have never produced any compulsion to improve the world. It's always been for initiates and monks. No Zen master has said something like "everyone in society must attain Buddhahood in this life, because having an enlightened society would reduce suffering and vice, therefore we must set up schools where everyone must attend and learn how to read and write the Sutras." Like some kind of Buddhist Martin Luther. Nobody Buddhist has seen the 8-fold path traditionally as the thing that will revolutionize human life by being better understood, or more widely understood. Instead Buddhism says manana, manana, they can all learn in the next life, whereas nobody can get a hard-on for Daoism, because hard-ons aren't Daoist enough.

>>15113440
christianity is low effort religion while others require serious practice . Just believe bro and vaguely follow few principles and maybe you will get a reward in afterlife the classic mind trap of future salvation that never arrives and cant be disproven since you know its in afterlife and all

>>15113440
I honestly fail to understand how any of this can be considered esoteric Christianity. In my mind I can only come up with Gnosticism or the Theosophic schools, which have always been closed societies that faded in time.

Although in the core teachings of Christ you may do find a lot of space for the self, Christianity as a religion is highly socialized entity that is absorbed in creating or recreating society as a whole for the "Christian ideal". Men are inflicted by the original sin so your individual intentions are always evil therefore you need the Church for salvation, and they'll lead the path to the better life and the better future. So you have a Church that is both spiritual and social solution and it is indivisible from one another. There's hardly any way around that other than combating Churches themselves but that makes you an enemy of said Christ's teachings. That is probably the root of the social upheavals.

>>15109196
Gasan confirmed for retard if he thinks Jesus was enlightened.

>>15113662
>While others require serious practice.
You're just ignorant, Christians practice religion just as seriously as any eastern. Many Christian practices are so taken for granted they aren't even considered Christian anymore, such as charity, whereas Buddhists despise the poor.

>>15113691
>How are these esoteric ideas esoteric?
Gnosticism isn't esoteric Christianity, it's exoteric Gnosticism, it's an entirely different religion with Christian elements. Deism, Liberalism, Lutheranism and Jacobinism are all esoteric Christianity. They follow with some additional assumptions from the hidden teachings of the 4 gospels. For instance, egalitarianism is just Pauline Christianity; there is no slave or free, no Jew or Gentile, all are one in Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:28).

Also you're wrong about the Church; you'd be right if referring to a brick and mortar building, but the Christian church theologically means the body of believers. All believers are bricks in a metaphysical and metaphorical temple. "You also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 2:5). Therefore there is no real hierarchy in the Church; everyone who believes is a priest. The guy standing at the altar with a cassock on his back is there to lead us in public worship, someone who we authorize to speak on our collective behalf. Martin Luther's whole struggle against Roman Catholicism was on the basis that Roman Catholicism didn't speak for Christians anymore.

>>15110336

Maybe the real treasure house is the friends we make along the way?

>>15111029
>"I left the girl there," said Tanzan. "Are you still carrying her?"

Literally the 'living in your head rent free' meme.

https://discord.gg/FFwRXKq

>>15113902
>Buddhists despise the poor
citations please

>>15114951
>Thus a saint of the eleventh century angrily declared: "I looked into Hell, and I saw that most of its inhabitants were those donning a patched frock and carrying a food-bowl"

>>15114951
They literally do, poverty, failure, and sickness is due to bad karma from previous sinful lives.

https://newhumanist.org.uk/articles/4021/the-dark-side-of-buddhism

Source is atheist, but analysis is good.

>>15115104
those were monks

>>15115118
>which she described coming back from a near-death experience as comparable to having to "return to a sewer where you do nothing but subsist on human excrement."
I dunno, sounds about right