The Superman Concept of Reality
by Jerry Katz
So I’m sitting in a restaurant and Superman walks in wearing his cape and tights and a shirt made in Bangladesh with a big s on it.
He walks toward the counter and moves so fast that by the time he takes a seat he has put on ordinary clothes and taken the form of a guy named Joe.
A moment later Superman — moving faster than a speeding bullet (which we know he can do, as we’ve learned from the comic books) — assumes the form of another guy, Bill, who is sitting a few seats away at the same counter.
So yeah, Superman is moving so fast that he is going back and forth, pretending to be Joe and Bill, two ordinary guys inhabiting planet Earth, two guys with lives.
I go and sit between Joe and Bill. I ask Joe, “Hey do you know who you really are?” Joe ignores me and gets aggravated about something he reads in the newspaper.
I ask the same question to Bill who responds, “Good question.”
“Have you ever considered that Superman is actually pretending to be you?” I ask.”
“Maybe Krishna. Or Allah. Or God. But if you want to call it Superman, be my guest,” Bill says.
So I say, “How come Joe over there doesn’t have a clue?”
“Well,” Bill says, “How do you know for sure he doesn’t? And why would it matter? His lack of awareness of what he is doesn’t change anything. Nor does his awareness of what he is change anything. He is what he is. He’s Superman, as you call it. He’s absolutely nothing other than Superman.”
Now a third form of Superman has appeared at the counter. I lean toward her and ask her if she knows who she really is. She says she’s searching for the way to be who she truly is. Bill looks at me and raises his eyebrows as if to say, “You’ve got a live one there.” Meanwhile Joe is aggressively slapping the newspaper with the back of his hand and calling something or someone a bastard.
The woman, who introduces herself as Doris, says that what she really is, is a bliss-being, not this everyday world with all it’s problems. She says she’s had glimpses of her bliss-being during fasts, acid trips, sex, sudden appearances of rainbows, and in various other experiences.
“Would you say you’re this bliss-being right now?” I ask.
“No I’m not. I’m a bliss-being on a higher plane. Right now I’m having breakfast, then going to my lousy job.”
I don’t say anything else to Doris. Bill and I exchange looks which say that there’s no difference between Joe and Doris. Seconds later the look changes. It’s a look of indifference. Judgement gives way to indifference as we remember that Doris and Joe are only Superman playing roles, pretending to be something else. There’s no need to get involved in their apparent struggles.
“And who are you?” Bill asks me.
“Whoever or whatever walked into this restaurant in a Superman costume and created you, Joe, and Doris.”
“It gave you a glimpse of its nature,” Bill offered.
“Yes. But why?” I ask.
“No reason. It could happen to anyone, anytime. If it’s named and owned, it becomes something called higher consciousness or mystical experience or spiritual insight. It might get packaged as evolutionary destiny or used as the theme for a self-improvement book. Some call it grace, too, which isn’t such a horrible term, but it too comes out of ownership and naming of an experience.”
“True,” I say. “In reality it’s only another event, like Doris’s lousy job.”
“Actually it’s only Superman.”
“Yeah, right. It’s so easy to forget.”
“Well, that’s Superman too.”
“Yeah. See? I forgot again.”
“That forgetting and reminding is called the nonduality game,” Bill says.
“It’s not a bad game.”
“No it’s not, but it doesn’t change anything,” Bill says.
“What’s there to change when it’s all Superman?”
“So why do anything?” Bill asks as a challenge.
“There is nothing to do. It’s all Superman. See? I remembered.”
~ ~ ~
(This is an interesting concept on which to build further writing and I may or may not. Or rather Superman may or may not. That bastard.)