Jan Cox

If there is one thing more improbable than, man-being-deluded, it is man becoming un-deluded, and there you are.  If you were natively of a mind to deal only in routine currency, you would not be reading this, now would you.
 
 

And speaking of that, a reader just emailed:
“In the space-time continuum: is the body space, and the mind time?”
Outstanding sir, but for today’s porpoises, replace hormones for space, and neurons for time. Hormones live in the here and now; neurons in the sweet by and yore.  Being in that natural condition wherein your inherent hormonal activity totally oversees your neural makes you dissatisfied with wherever you find yourself internally.  Understanding this gives you a shot at escape from The City.
 
 

And son inquired of father:
“If I study enough and live long enough, will I ever learn anything worthwhile?”
“Two responses: one is that you’re nuts, and the other is shut up – before your jig is up.”
 
 
                     In the world of second reality, if you keep repeating an idea long enough,
                                  you will eventually believe it actually means something.


 “Pa?”
 “Yes?”
“Was everything just explained?”

J.

The ordinary go in search of The Secret atop a noisy agenda mount, while the few ride astride an unseen silent steed.  No one can know about your Quest.  If they do, you are not on one.  Be not concerned about not letting your left hand know the actions of your right.  Do not allow your consciousness to take seriously what it hears itself say.  For the few, there is someone who appears to be your friend – who is not!  It is the same one who also speciously seems to be your foe.

On one planet, if you are going to talk about things non-physical and transcendental, you have a decision to make.  You must either speak in terms of total stupidity, or of routine consciousness. (Guess which is most popular.)

Someone said that man’s most distinguishing feature is his desire to take medicine.  Close, but better seen: it is his desire to be sick.

Personality is resistance to one’s hormonal temperament.  Personality is attempted resistance to what one’s hormonal balance has made one be.  Only Bette Davis has Bette Davis eyes, and only she the birthright to object.

Fact:
A clarified man does not necessarily avail himself of all his birthrights.

Thoughts: The dye that causes the consciousness of the ordinary to show up under the microscope of inanity.

J.

One man’s feet were on the ground, and his head in an airplane, but in the plane there was no pilot, which seemed not to matter – the plane flew on just the same.

A reader writes:
“I initially believed you were being too harsh on the mind, that is, until it struck me how harsh it is on me.
Thanks, (I think?!).  Yours,” etc.

“And sir, it is probably good to limit assaults to neurons and not hormones.  ‘Tis one thing to gripe about the thoughts you have, but quite another about your feelings, or is that backwards?”

                            How do you spot an important question? It’s about you.

The Song of The Ordinary Man:
“Oh, I’m at my best, when I’m at my worst.”

If it proves to be, (as it increasingly appears), that antidepressants actually cause depression, then what should you be prepared for regarding efforts to awaken?  Hummmm?  (A case of looking-for-the-light causing diminution-of-sight?)

Hormones are muscular and action oriented.
Neurons, (their sissy city cousins), are given to mopey, meaningless, pseudo self-reflection.

J.

One man cried out: “I need drugs!  I need stimuli!”
and his mind added: “Me too!  Me too!”
and he said: “Who the hell do you think I was speaking for!”

Even though man is born to change his environment, no one actually has any personal complaint with physical reality. It is only with his own concocted second reality that he wrangles.

Fact: There are two ways to be dissatisfied.
Real Fact: There is only one and you dreamed it up.
 
 

Consciousness is programmed to look for problems, thus do men come to think of being alive as a problem.
 

“Pa, when should I, be concerned about Paris skies?”
“When you are under them.”
“Pa?”
“Yes?”
“Are you actually talking about hormones?”
“Jeeze!  You’re developing a suspicious streak.”
 

 
The trouble with listening to someone else is that they have already listened to someone else also.  And the name of the song is: “On and On It Goes” aka: “Civilization The Beautiful” and sometimes: “My Second Reality ‘Tis of Thee.’”

Another distinction between the ordinary and a man with Open Plains Eyes is, that not only does he not listen to anyone else – he doesn’t even listen to himself.  (And the name of his tune is: “On and On It Goes ‘Til It STOPS!’”)


J.

One day a man long engaged in the Great Struggle looked upon the ordinary and mused:
“Just think, every morning when they wake up, they are as conscious as they are going to be all day!”  …And you should realize by now that “Looking upon the ordinary” means, looking at your own ordinary consciousness.

“Pa, is he trying to take up for ordinary people, there at the end?”
“Why I’m not sure son, but they sure don’t need it, now do they.”
“Ahh, well what am I supposed to say?”

In one form or the other, all non-essential human activity is a neural resistance to one’s hormonal temperament.  What men label as their personality is one part of their brain objecting to operations in other parts.  In all ordinary humans, the neural activity in the cortex that produces consciousness is inherently dissatisfied with what the person non-consciously is, and this alone is the motivation for religion, the arts, all the life sciences, the  beverage and drug industries, and the Great Struggle.

Ordinary men are driven to look for someone to blame, or some other reason for their perceived failures and so-called, self-loathing.  While a man who has broken through the struggle engages in no such, in that he can no longer fail.  At least not at the one thing of importance to him, and he has no self for to loath, (or love for that matter).

The hunger for enlightenment, liberation, awakening is nothing less than an extreme form of neural objection, and resistance to one’s inherent hormonal balance and controlling temperament.  No normal, sane person is satisfied with what they are internally.  In the few, this has simply been taken to extreme. 

(And the Mighty Few Chorus sang out: “Praise be!”)

J.

To exit neural City Life one must be able, from a dead stop, to mentally jump flat footed fifty feet in any direction at any time.

When you are going nowhere, nothing, nothing can stop you. (This sentiment is sound and applicable only to those who have already distanced themselves somewhat from The City.

Neurons are City Life; hormones are its infrastructure; the open plains outside of town are on no anatomy chart.

“Pa, why do you speak in metaphors and symbolism about hormones and neurons, and primary and secondary realities, and about being in The City or out on The Plains, instead of just saying  directly what you mean?”
“Do you understand now what I am talking about?”
“No, not fully.”
“Well, you would grasp even less if I described things to you, plainly as they are.”
“How do you know?”
“Because life does so constantly and you don’t get it.”

“Pa?” ”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I axed.”
“I know.”

And now for today’s grand prize:
Why, amongst the ordinary, do the few have such a shifty reputation?
 
                                             Because they deserve it.

J.

Hormones have no questions, which are the very ones routine neurons spend their life trying to answer.

“Pa?”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes I think I almost have it.”
“Sometimes you do.”
“What happens?”
“You start thinking about what it was that almost made you have it.” 
“Pa?”
“Yes?”
“Ain’t life a…”
“Don’t say it son – don’t even think it.”

The Choice Is Yours:
You can either pick on other people or, pick on yourself, either way will put you in the finals for the, “Mr. I Missed It” title.

“Doctor, can you tell me what is wrong?”
“Yes, but you would not hear me.”
“What?”

The Choice Is Yours:
You can either listen to others, or to the voice in your own head.  Either way will keep you firmly on the road to success in The City.  (Well, firmly on the path of dreaming about success.)

“Pa, did someone actually say that the great thing about knowing-what-is-going-on, is that you then do not care what is going on?”
“Where do children, pick up such astounding notions?!”

J.

The faux knowers of the world are distinguished by their knotted brows and underwear and nothing else.  (Unless there proves to be a special afterlife refuge for those in whom life placed an overabundance of fear hormones.) 

When the ethereal voices fueled by the juices speak to you of doom, remind them that when you go – they go, and pull some of your higher-ground neurons from the overflow, headed-nowhere sludge, and you will have no interest any way in matters of coming-or-going.

 

In the University of Life, the required primary reality courses confer the satisfactions.  Second reality activities are electives, things to yack about over a pitcher of beer.  Hormones and primary reality are places of necessities; off campus neurons and their second reality lives
are a never ending popularity contest.
 

Question:

How can you spot a true Neural Knight?
He is the one who, once fully engaged in The Quest,
you cannot tell which way he is headed.

 

                      “Pa, how do you know you are there when you get there?”
                      “You no longer have such questions as that one.”

J.

The ordinary mind is forever hungry, but only for food it recognizes.
The few would rather starve to death.

 
 

Those on the trail of dung need no tracking assistance.


 

Ordinary mind is one of the universe’s outstanding examples of a self-fueling mechanism; neither a nova nor black hole be (‘cept in the case of the few).

Here today and apparently here tomorrow – but it is an illusion.
 

The one prospect that the would-be-ers care not to hear more about is the question: What exactly is the difference between?  Is it knowing-what-is-going-on, and not-caring-what-is-going-on.

A man of clarified consciousness is either:
(1) empty where others are full, or
(2) full where others are empty

J.

Everybody is an internal handful, but the minds of the ordinary are instinctively drawn externally.  Their minds are programmed to believe that the minds of others need their help, and that they need the help of others.  It is an ongoing family reunion of the familiar minded.
(Tip: Don’t attend – keep walking.)

Ordinary consciousness is interesting…in a meaningless sort of way.  But you should get an eye full of its ceiling, up-top where it seems to stop; where it meets the down pouring of hormones; where the ordinary never look. Now there is where the enlightening action is.

Small problem:

Getting the little eyes of neural cells accustomed to looking directly into the relentless cascade of hormones, is at first blinding and disorienting.  Consciousness gets dizzy, (hell, it stays dizzy, you just don’t normally notice it), but if you struggle to turn your inner eyes on this place, the reward is indescribable.  
 
 

One of the tricks to ever actually leaving The City Of Dreams for the Open Plains outside of town, is in grasping the nature of the area designated as the City Limits.  You can stand where you are and look at City Life while thinking dismissively thereof.  You can look out in the other apparent direction away from town, and muse warmly thereabout.  But both are just white noise.

 
What would profit would be for you to look down at the spot where you now stand.  That is your City Limits – where hormones meet neurons; where vis vitae becomes vivida vis animi.  There is your ceiling of consciousness.  There your gateway to freedom and a new life of consciousness.

J.