Father and son were both now beating themselves uncontrollably on their knees, and whooping with wide-eyed joy. “How thoroughly magnificent can one human hobby be?! For the first time in your sorry ass mystical life you realized clearly what it truly is to ‘be asleep and living-in-a-dream.’ It is thinking that you know what that means! Yikes!
It certainly means SOMETHING! There certainly is a condition in your head that you find fits the description. But the plain, simple, glaring fact that only you can realize inside your own consciousness,is that even if the mind is living in a dream, it can never understand the concept of: living-in-a-dream.
Remember how, once you saw it,” (nod, nod, nod, went son, even before hearing the rest of the question), “You fell to the floor, amazed at how it took you, (okay, us), decades to see the very floor we were standing on, the treasure chest we had been sitting on. Whoa! Bless us sweet Bourbon Street! I can still hear you shouting up from your prone position: ‘Everybody who’s trying to wake-up would finally have a real taste of what it is if they could just realize that they have no idea what it is! That would do it for them!’ you said,” and father reached over/up and patted son on the head.
“And once again: the universal singularity of This Marvelous Thing shows itself. The only activity known in which recognition of failure IS success! (A crude way of putting, but hey, this can be a crude universe.” (said he, pointing to his head). “Have you ever, seen the Gulf bright early morning, after a long, dark night of frivolous, neural carousing?”
The son comes up, but this one never goes down.
J.