THE SECULAR SADOO

I am a sadoo—not a sadhu—and this blog is the imaginative wandering of this particular sadoo.  Let me explain.

I am not a sadhu because:

• I was born a Jesus-thumping Christian near the epicenter of the West, not a Hindu in poop-mad India;
• I do not believe in liberation, renunciation, or asceticism;
• I experience yoga’s practitioners as gummi worms thrashing in a sea of processed sugar.

I am a sadhu because:

• I am a mystic;
• I am a wandering monk—attached to no cause but wandering—which in the language of the West might be called a flâneur;
• I am adept at curses.

This condition I-am-not-I-am I name a sadoo—vile, sensuous, amoral and apolitical, cosmopolitan, aesthetic, religious, skeptical, gleefully intelligent, verbal, and witty, detached, happily and acutely judgmental, raunchy.  I name this combination of attributes holy, for it sets the sadoo apart both from the common fawning hordes overtly or covertly seeking money, fame, power, reputation, security, admiration, and pleasure and the sadhus—and their spiritual relatives across the religious world—who strive (or pretend to strive) to transcend (or pretend to transcend) the bloody, schizophrenic, bound condition of flesh.

As a sadoo, I do not believe in striving, for there is nothing to strive for.  The world is perfect in its imperfection and this thought—that there is no other world—is the one thought that is anathema to civilized humanity.

So I wander in the world, watching its possible demise through the human clambering for progress, and blow bubbles of words in the greater bubble of blog.