True View from the Correct Direction

One man mused, “I only have one friend: my mirror.” 
And his mirror mused, “I only have one friend: reflection.” 
And reflection mused, “I only exist through the man looking for me.”  
And the man re-mused, “I only exist through looking for myself.” 
(Neither his stomach, nor other somatic organs joined in this conversation.)

When it is hot in Argentina it causes Canadians to shiver, with unhip ones believing this is due to local conditions.  On planets that plainly-see, there are no “local conditions,” (which is to say): no illusions of local conditions. 

In closed universes and boarded up rooms, far corners, (no matter how far from the imagined center), still do not qualify as places of “local conditions.”  Conditions are omnipresent, same as is conscious mind, and not realizing this confines a man’s ideas to dark, stifling corners of a small, closed-up, local room.

The mind can only produce ideas by operating as though it is restricted by invisible walls, which give a little over here, and push back a bit, over there.  The thoughts of a man who understands, resist nothing and accept nothing.  Only childish minds prefer Batman over the Penguin.

An efficient method to increase the odds of your finally finding the understanding, is to immediately cease giving any attention to anything your mind says in reaction to anything that anyone else says.  Begin right now, instead, to swallow whole, with no hesitation, thought or condition, every word that comes from the throat of humanity.  To an ordinary man, this sounds dangerous, but ordinary men have no serious clue as to what mind is.  The Penguin can never harm the Caped Crusader.  (Must the modifier, “actually,” be put before the word, “harm”?  Do only children read this?)


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The One Great Question

“What is this?” No inquiry a man can make of himself surpasses this.  In comparison, all other questions are quackery.

Consciousness lives in the land with no name;
Mind, in The Confusion Capitol of The World. 

A man pondered: 
“Is thought analog, and reality digital, or thought digital, and reality analogue?”
Ask yourself: 
“Do you feel that your relationship to life is continuous, or discreet?
An ordinary man cannot answer this question, and one-who-knows can’t hear it asked.


Language: a load of locusts loosed on the land, (an array of alliterations allowed to attack an area).  Waste of staggering proportion occurs while a man mistakes being entertained for being enlightened. Conceptual brain talks a good game, but the wind is heard without words.


Ordinary men know ordinary things; an extraordinary man knows an extraordinary thing. The extraordinary thing includes all the ordinary things, but they do not include it.


At dear cost to you do you forget that the opposite of every enlightening deal, is itself enlightening. One of speech’s purposes is social; ordinary herds get greased thereby.  Certain strays don’t say much, they just wink and grin.  Remember, the great waste in allowing the mind to confuse its being entertained with it being pointed to a way out of confinement. 

…(and, “Moo” to you too.)

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How Time Spends Its Time


The miracles of life are; the hungry eat, the tired rest, and men think and have no interest in the nature of thinking. (The TRUE miracle is that a few do.)



The brain creates an “I” in man’s consciousness, then proceeds to treat it like a suspect in a crime…(few men do…).


A man with a routine memory
died last month, and just doesn’t realize it.

A man with plans will be dying later today…
and again tomorrow…and the day after that…



If it were somehow firmly determined that Enlightenment was not possible, the struggle to BE so would still be worthwhile…perhaps even superior.


Regarding mind’s relationship to consciousness; with family and one’s own kind, all creatures 
(even vermin), are tolerated.  What sort of D.A. treats his own brother as an unindicted conspirator in some unspecified plot? Where do these creatures come from, who feel that within themselves, they are in conflict with themselves?  They seem to see, hear and think, but did their place of origin somehow render them blind, deaf, and uninterested in instances of the three dimensionally improbable, being unquestioningly accepted as the norm?

A creature in conflict with itself is a creature escaped from mythology.
Ask yourself: “Am I merely a myth?”
Zeus says, “No!” 
The knowledgeable simply smile.


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There is That, Beyond Which

There is an ill that has no cure; it is an ill that is caused by attempts to treat it.  This is not correct, but at first seems so.  There is an ill that has no cure, for it is an ill that is fed by attempts to treat it, and the mind cannot distinguish between ills-from-its-own-dreaming and treatments that come from its dreams.

A clueless investigator in a door-less room: deep in a great emptiness, who got there in a car with no driver, and now struggles to diagnose an illness which no one can see; an illness, which if it did exist, would perforce be imaginarily iatrogenic, (in that he is a hospital with no doctors.)


There is a sight beyond which 
there is nothing else to see.
The sight is the understanding.

There is a sight, after having seen which,
there is nothing else to say,
and the sight itself is unspeakable. 
The sight is the secret.

Where does this leave the matter of


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The Driverless Car


There is a great emptiness that needs to be filled.  A man spends his life doing so.  The emptiness is an illusion, and those things with which he fills it are solely imaginary too.  For all ordinary men, there is a great emptiness that must be filled; with the few, it is later emptied back out…on the sly.

There is an investigator of a certain pressing matter, who has no clue as to what he does.  His sensation is that the case is important and urgent, but his concepts of “urgent” and “important” are faulty. He does not understand what now looks like nor how meaningful smells.  He is on the case – the only investigator on-the-case – and yet he hasn’t got a clue, (which is not the real problem), he doesn’t even suspect that he doesn’t-have-a-clue. Discovering that this investigator never has a clue is the solving of the case.


There is a vehicle that has no driver.  It moves, and does so with apparent intention; but it is a trompe l’oeil.  It is a vehicle that moves, but its intentions are only revealed after the fact.  An apparition of a driver seems in the seat, and when queried, speaks as if knowledgeable of the requirements for vehicular movement; but it is a specter – there is no one driving-the-car.  He who sees this – sees the road.  Then he understands.


There is a room, quite popular with men, which has no door.  The room is most unusual, and affords experiences available no place else.  Some men prefer it above all others, and all men frequent it some. The room has no door and no one seems to notice.  There is no way in, and no way out…yet no one questions how they arrive there. There being no ingress, obviously nothing can be brought in, yet the room is both filled-to-the-brim, and also constantly replenished…yet no one is curious.  Men are troubled by the room; some seek to simply avoid it, others try to clean it out.  A few struggle to permanently close it up, but none succeed…yet all remain troubled by it.


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The Short Cut

There is a way around everything in all mental journeys.

Men unknowingly undertake such adventures solely for the reason of there being obstacles in their proposed path.

Mind only desires to go where difficulties will exist;
mind can only go to places it has imagined;
this being so, consider that mind is naturally drawn
to areas in which impediments to progress are a certainty.

Mind can only go to places it creates, and all areas it creates come with impediments, so ask yourself: “What the hell is going on here?  And why do I keep falling into this?”

…(Hint:  from listening to idiots.)
P.S. The short cut can be found in the body of today’s Daily News.


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The Selection of Fruit

Since men do not, alone-by-veggies-live, the selection of fruit is extremely important. Vegetables are for the sustaining of life; fruit is for the enjoying of life. Veggies: all business – fruit: strictly entertainment.

Everyone is born with the hunger-for and knowledge-of the proper vegetables to consume, (which are common to all), but the taste for fruit is an individual matter, based on personal preference, and thus entails a learning experience.  The number of veggies is finite and known; the varieties of fruit increase daily, thus making the proper selection a constant and vexing challenge.

Life without fruit
would be a painting without color;
woods with no bird songs.
Life without fruit
would be livable but drab. 

All fruit is imaginary, thus are all of your preferences meaningless.  Everyone understands this, yet, no one is encouraged to remember it.

.…Whether you do or not is strictly up to you, but it is a costly confusion to mistake mere entertainment for real information.


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All you need remember regarding expertise in matters strictly human is: anyone can whistle Dixie in the wind as long as it is your mind producing the breeze, and conjuring images of the south.

The good news is that things are not objectively as bleak as the supra descriptions sound; everyone’s mind is not the voice of an idiot – except when unnaturally compared to mind’s full potential; THEN is every man’s automatically-running inner voice, the voice of a one eyed, frustrated, constipated pinhead, (read: “standard issue”).  Ergo, since the mental situation into which all are born, and all are surrounded, is the norm, it is not a sea of idiots in which you bob, but rather an ocean of idiocy in your own head, if you never recognize the natural conditions of your watery environment.


Realizing the above shifts your inner position from one of simply bobbing to potential swimming.

It is none save the voices of idiots heard to cry: “Everyone out of the water!  ‘Tis foul and dangerous in there!” “Out-of-the-water!”??  Where, instead, do such voices suggest men retire themselves?

(Amidst their critical responsibilities, neurons can be forgiven for lightening things up now and then with a bit of humor, acting like an idiot, and all.  I mean, who ever imagined that men would take it SERIOUSLY?)


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Day At the Beach

Freedom Tip:

The closer to home the better. 
Oh,I say: What time is it?”  What other time could it be?

Where the sea meets the beach
 is a spot where the beach feels
the sea is overly encroaching;
the tide gets too high.

Brain-consciousness-mind-thoughts – thoughts-n’er-settled;
Day breaks and consciousness peeks out from under mind.

                               …All becomes well on the beach.

                               …No voice saying: “Who dat?”         


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Listening to Idiots

About matters that men say matter most; everyone listens to idiots.

The matters that men say matter most are not matters to which you can put a wrench:  ‘Tis not a man’s car that really matters to him, but his picture of him driving it.   Thus, what a knowledgeable mechanic tells him about the machine is not as important as what his thoughts do about his feeling of self, relative to it. He merely hears the mechanic, but he listens to the idiot.

Men say they dread and do not understand death, and seek advice regarding its avoidance.  Their mind, which will never comprehend, says this:  their body, on the subject, is already knowledgeable, and thus uninterested in discussing it.  Their mind leads them to consult with the minds of other men with no experience in being dead.  Idiots listening to idiots. 

A man wanted a frail table repaired; he consulted a cabinetmaker, who told him it could be made right.  The man asked if, once the work was done to the table, it would then always be laden with an inexhaustible feast.  The cabinetmaker wondered what kind of idiot the man had been listening to.

To periodically give his attention the yapping of someone else’s dog to distract it, one man would read.  Someone recommended that, instead of flimsy fiction, he read something substantial such as History.  He did so, but then realized that everything written down concerning things that can’t be SAT down is all fiction anyway.  Upon recognizing that he had listened to one idiot’s recommendation of another idiot’s work, he asked himself: “What kind of idiot am I?!”


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