A Bit of Explaining


Supernatural wisdom is the thing that tells car-lot mystics that what they are thinking is correct, even when it’s not.


In one galaxy, there are two classes of creatures:  those whose presence speaks for itself, and those who feel as though their presence requires…well, a bit of explaining.


Something that could prove to some people during extended inter-stellular travel:  if you ever find yourself too wide awake, just turn to the person next to you, or to your own listening mind, and start talking about yourself – that’ll do the trick every time.


 

If the same thing happens to two different men, and one of them expected it, and the other didn’t, then even though it was the exact same occurrence, it will seem like two entirely different things to the two different men.

 

A man who understands what is going on is often the only one who understands his descriptions of what is going on.

Is it too hot for you?

J.

 

                  

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Progress

The short-lived, (such as locust), can nevertheless do extensive damage to a location, but another thing that is long-lived, (human thought), can do even greater damage – and on such a gigantic scale that the damage becomes indistinguishable from the location it has harmed.  Cute, huh… ‘course what’s double neat is that life shields your basic farmer from directly realizing what has happened to his mental fields. 
                            

                                            Are you comfortable in that position?

Oh, one more thing about the raising ofcertain food stuffs:
Abundance does not spread – only scarcity.
(Don’t guess I need to point out the neatness here, huh?”)

                                             You sure you wanna lay like that?

Although history records many great wars, the most significant one is carried on, goes on, unnoted:  the conflict between men primarily of the first, physical reality, and those of the mental, second reality.  One reason you do not hear mention of this is because it goes by another name: “progress.”

(Let me ask you something in private:  Have you ever given real, deep consideration to the question of just what exactly constitutes, “progress” in your own personal life?  Weird how everyone talks about wanting to “improve themselves,” and how few have an individual definition and understanding of what it is that their neurons are causing them to say.)

Oh yeah: there is this other world where whenever anything quite expected pops up, someone, sure as slime mold will say: “Ain’t that weird!”  (Weird, huh…and free.) 

                You want another blanket to lay on…oh, you’re gonna sit up?

J

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The Expected Unexpected

Wake up!  It’s Sunday, and we’re almost there!  Ah, come on, you’re not gonna ask me, “Almost WHERE?” again are you?

Just how many times HAVE you almost, “been there”?  Don’t wanna talk about it, eh?! I guess it can be a bit embarrassing to be standing around a strange bus station clutching a tattered ticket to an unknown destination, while never being quite certain that you’re actually hearing departures to real places being announced off in the distance.

Don’t’ sweat it, at least there will eventually be ONE day when there will be no uncertainty; the day you hear your name called along with your assigned hearse number.  But, (as you would say):  why dwell on pleasantries? We’ve got to:  knuckle-down, bite-the-bullet, face-the-facts, kick-the-piper, and like that, huh!

Okay, just calm down, stretch out here on the blanket, and I’ll tell you some of those stories you like to hear whenever you get like this.  There was a land where everyone answered to the name, K, but a few, (to themselves), rejected it, and believed they deserved another name, (though they were not certain what it was).  They undertook an assortment of unusual activities in the effort to gain their imagined, proper name.  Most never succeeded; a few of them made an unexpected discovery:  that names don’t matter.

There is a planet where, every time something expected occurs, everyone talks about how unexpected it was…are you starting to feel better?

J.
 

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There are Two Ways of Looking at This

One guy became so taken with the concept of “being civil” that he would go out of town whenever he had to spit.

There’re two ways of looking at this.

Every time this one guy with ears would hear the term, “superfluous sarcasm” he would think, “What a waste of perfectly good words.”

Those not born to the sorehead life ofttimes marry into it.

All wars are inevitable, all wars are necessary.

I ran across this other fellow who sometimes made sounds that had a vague whiff of the revolution about them, and what he’d do was periodically jump into wild pig shit up to his neck, and then not mention it.

All labels are nutritious, especially those men help attach to themselves.

A chap, just over that-a-ways, complains that his brain has finally and completely “eaten him up”.

Once you’re dead, EVERYone can speak Latin.

Part of being properly intellectualized in City affairs is in the ability to promptly reject any easy, obvious solutions.

Even after all these years, this one guy still faithfully places flowers at the site of his last thought.

Those who can refrain from checking their progress can probably do well.

The mediocre tend to find much of what happens as “highly un-called-for.”

One ole gent offered this terpsichorean truism for a Tuesday:  “In that ubiquitous City ballroom, we all dance backwards to someone else’s favorite tune.”

An ordinary thought with “staying power” also has disMAYING power.

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Where Such as This Cannot Be Said

If the active pursuit of a mystical system does not lead to its explosion,
then the system leads nowhere.

In one legend, the greatest knight of them all was Sir Forgot-A-Lot,
while in most, of course, it was good King Always-Remembering.*

*(You untangle it!)

A father said to his son, “Let me, in conclusion, say this to you; there is a place within a man’s nervous system where such as This cannot be said.”

Interplanetary Warning:
Never trust a machine with one eye.

One man says, “Probably the absolutely hardest thing in the world to do
is to describe what this kinda effort is all about.” 
And second man says, “You mean to others?” 
And first man says, “Hell, to yourself!”

On one world, life subconsciously tells everyone the moment they’re born that,
“Okay, I expect you to be good and brain-dead by twenty — you hear?”

A viewer writes:
     “I notice that sometimes you refer to what you’re involved in as ‘this kind of thing,’ and at other times as ‘this kind of effort.’ What is the distinction?”

     (Ultimately, it is the supreme distinction.)

Question:
What’s rarer than finding a fifty-year-old mystic with all his own teeth?
Answer:
Finding a fifty-year-old mystic.

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Thinking on the Cutting Edge

The reason that the ordinary are forced to think about all the meaningless things they do
is so that the future will have a chance.

During the process of checking out several mystical schools, to see which one he might like to join, a man asked the head of one (with which he’d found some favor), “Are you sure you don’t have just a small cancer?”

A man wrote the Glaring Doctor and asked:
     “Can’t the mystical itself fall into the trap of excessive ‘self-reference’?”
But the doctor found this far too self-evident to bother responding to.
(Well…either that, or he just couldn’t come up with a response.)

One man said, “Thank God it’s Friday.” 
To which his brother countered, “Nay, premature, merely preparatory; you really mean Saturday.”
And a second brother demurred, “No, you did not go far enough, it should be Sunday, a time of respite and repose.”
Then their father stepped in and said, “You all missed it — your attention should be on Monday, the beginning of it all over again.”

You don’t live on the “cutting edge” unless you think on the cutting edge.
And someone asks, “What would be ‘thinking-on-the-cutting-edge’?”
(Any thinking done beyond your present range.)

 When one man learned what had happened to him, he wrote and said:
 “I’m just sick about it!”

 Then there was this other guy who sent himself a get-well card…in care of life.
 Life didn’t think it was funny.

One man got all his ideas from somewhere else — one man is all men;
One man got all his ideas from somewhere else — all ideas are from somewhere else;
One man got all his ideas from somewhere else — you’re surrounded by “somewhere else.”

J

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Smelling Too Much Like Yourself

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.”


J

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Avoiding a “Mental Yeast Infection”

A man and a crow were sitting on a log, and the man said to the bird,”What d’ya figure’s the advantage to being in a fable, as opposed to real life?”
And as the crow was suddenly and miraculously able to understand language, it replied,
“You picked a helluva time to ask me.”

The ring announcer declared, “Let all in favor say ‘yea,’ and all opposed, ‘nay.’
Now shake hands and go back to being one.”

News From the Kitchen:
After all’s been thought, chewed, and swallowed
talk’s the automatic dishwasher…(or is that food disposal?…)

Now for some Good News: As long as you take life, as you find it, to be serious and important,
you’ve got nothing to worry about.

                       “Answer-Me-This” Addendum:
                       Just who would find the above to be “good news”?
                                                               Him?
                                                               Her?
                                                               Them?
                                                                Surely not you?

After many years of sampling various mystical systems,
one man says he now has a “mental yeast infection.”

When this one man knew that he wasn’t going anywhere, he’d sometimes make sounds “vud-en! vud-en!” like a revved-up motorcycle. His mind loved this! (Since what I is talkin’ about was not going anywhere mentally.)

Whenever he’d think about it, this one guy’d think, “What a shame.”
(I assume you know that he was thinkin’ about his thinkin’!)

Okay, extreme form of a previous definition:
Intellectuals — people who want to stop the merry-go-round with no idea what they’d do after that.

One guy told another guy, “You sure do annoy me.”
And the other guy said, “Yeah, but not half as much as I do myself.”
And the first guy said, “So, is that supposed to make me feel better?”
And the other guy said, “Yeah, but not half as much as it should me.”

J

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All Measurements Eventually Mislead the Mind.

No measurement the mind can ever make is large enough to encompass man’s full nature.

Although you can physically take an inactive posture,
The Great Stillness is still an internal matter.

Compared to the demands of instinct,
everything the mind does is entertainment.

That which is done and then forgotten may endure,
but that which must be remembered confesses its finiteness.

 The agitated mind is addictive…it’s supposed to be.

It is not accurate to say that man has “lost” his true nature, but rather that it has
been partially “overridden.”

The human mind is the primo example of “alleged responsibility.”

One guy kept buggin’ a mystic to tell him The Secret, and finally insisted:
Well, just give me a hint — is it terse?”
“Yeah.”
(“Thanks.)

 Who but the liberated might have a mind as still as a lazy man’s body?

When you consider the search for The Mystical Way, consider this:
Man’s instinctive nature has no way, but rather is a way.

Things are arranged as they are so that man will think as he does.
(Or the way things are arranged is the way man thinks.)

                             All measurements eventually mislead the mind.

J

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“What is the Profit in Setting Free a Wild Horse?”

One man has presently come to this point:
“If I am to get anywhere new with my thinking,
I must take it outside the confines of my head.”

The body is indeed a busy place — but not the busiest in town.

According to legend, a guy once asked a mystic, “If you’re awake to the point of realizing that there’s no one else more awake than you are, is that as awake as you’re gonna get?”
But the mystic said he didn’t answer questions like that.

The only worthwhile prophet is one who can prophesy his own demise.
Now, for “prophet” substitute the word “mind.”
Now, that makes the information worthwhile.

In yet another untold version of the creation myth:
Life did not drive Adam from Paradise — but the other way around, when Adam discovered that life had let the drugs run out.

Or, (as he brushed the dust from his wings) said Wrong Way Corrigan:
“Sometimes it doesn’t seem to matter which way you turn….”

And a viewer writes:
     “Would you please repeat the one you read about a man who named his thoughts, ‘Yeah, yeah’?”
    

     Yeah, yeah.

According to history, there were originally two types of mystics:
agitated mystics, and calm mystics.
And one of the two eventually absorbed the other.

“Hey, Hubert, what ‘chu reckon they’re talkin’ about now — actual, two types of mystics?
Or are we back to just inside one guy’s head again?”

                         The Rule Of The Sea
                         for the mystical salt:
                         Don’t let your boat be rocked.                      

And one man’s come up with this idea:
“It doesn’t matter so much what you think, just as long as you don’t.
The great thing about being a mystic, once you’re ready to leave,
is that there’s no one there to see you off.

A certain mystical equestrian pondered:
“What is the profit in setting free a wild horse?”

J

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