One of the more salient chapters in the invisible history of mysticism concerns the number of men who undertook the quest, only to eventually “give up,” only to then become “teachers of the mystical.” Just like any good marketplace, a little something for everybody.
(And just like any good warrior will say, “I don’t want no ‘somethin’!”)
While alone and in a seductive mood, one man said to himself:
“How’d you like me to give you some head?”
And his mind replied, “Jeeze, I thought you’d never ask!”
After considerable observation of his rhetorical output,
one man concluded that he suffered from a “verbal bladder-control problem.”
One man’s pet name for his thoughts was “yeah, yeah.”
And a viewer writes:
“I was going to write and say that I wish you wouldn’t “patronize” me…but upon further reflection, I’m not sure that’s possible (considerin’ my present position and all).”
A couple of thugs were plotting to do away with a certain mystic, and one of them said, “What should we do? — kill him?” And another of the nefarious countered, “Naw, just make him take a name.” And all of ’em had a good, hearty, and really aggressive laugh at that one.
Awakening, unexpectedly in the middle of the night, a chap suddenly sat up in bed and exclaimed, “Mein Got! — I’m full of thugs!”
Shortly after the carnival had opened for the day, one of the showmen cupped his hands and cried out, “I want to invite any in attendance here today who feel they have any interest whatsoever in my personal life and affairs to feel free to step into my tent over here and take a royal bite of my ass.”
Without any warning, one man suddenly awoke one night, and leapt from the bed screaming,
“Mama mia! — my insides are a flaming midway!”
‘Tis alleged that on one world they think of the mystical as being kind, caring, and all-around charitable. ‘Tis further alleged that this world is a sham, shadow version of their real one.
Upon close examination of himself, one man concluded,
“Yes, I smell exactly like myself…in fact, too much so.”