Jan Cox Talk 2929


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Jan’s Posted Daily Fresh Real News

Better Than A Finger In The Eye Is A Daily Fresh Eye To Your I
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December 18, 2002 © 2002: JAN COX

Ideas abstract and reflective of the universal bewilder philistines,
and other important people –
ordinary men have no interest in thoughts that do not center around them;
to locally confined minds, the only things worth thinking and talking about
are anecdotes from their personal lives.
The first surge of creative thought in man was the cause of his departure from
the original edenic garden of quiet and peaceful predictability;
a second, self induced burst leads a few to a new one.
Nothing that other men think and believe is of any use whatsoever to the certain man, other than as expedient study materials;
sizing up things local as prep for seeing the universal.
With thoughts that stay centered around one’s personal life,
a rebel’s potential is squandered;
to realize it, he need put his full attention on the nature of thoughts —
which essentially have nothing personal about them.
Those who doze do so in dreams set entirely in local experiences;
the few who awaken to what is really going on
have their minds released into the universal;
for them, a new paradise: quiet, peaceful and eternally exciting.
To the certain man — to just, be-alive is to just barely be alive.

A son asked a father:
“Do you have to actually know what you are talking about to sound like you do?”
“Certainly not — you just have to sound like you do.”
In the city, whatever paper planes the mind conceives and can verbally describe
will fly —
no matter how improbable, irrational, insane or grotesque —
if they are conceived in the city — they will fly — in the city.
(“Come on Hubert — let’s get out of here!”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for forty years.”)

All descriptions of how to achieve the realization are flawed
in that no one knows exactly how it works.
A speaker so said to listeners:
“The life expectancy of man continues to increase
which gives him more time to suffer — I mean: to be serious — no: foolish — wait:
to expand his understanding.”

Confession is good for the soul — particularly if you do not have one.

In cows’ feeble attempts at independent thinking,
the arts can be considered at least one step above being in a coma;
some even accept displays of what the majority of the herd may deem as insane to somehow be an example of a bovine’s, exceptional individual insight.
Only with creatures who will defecate while talking to one another
are such things possible.
(A curious related side note regarding common city residences is how, from the certain man’s non standard view, the bathroom is too close to the kitchen [need you be reminded that we are actually speaking of minds and not houses.])

As long as we are here, a simple fact might be noted:
even an independent minded cow is still a cow;
a man who understands the inherently polarized nature of all herds
can privately smile at all of their displays of both pompousness and humility,
and do so (it might further be noted)
without his tongue necessarily knowing what his lips are grinning about.

After effecting his escape from the city,
the freed area of one man’s brain took a full survey of its other
older, established and fragmented parts and mused:
“All in all: a thoroughly good time was had by all.”
One thing about the inherently and inalterably unenlightened is that
not only can they never be aware of their condition,
but even being told about it does not bother them
(and as you are so given to note: “Neat, huh?!”)

A previous story revisited:
A land with two rulers will never be free,

but one with three — might be;
but find a place with even more than that,
and you can hand bovine — thought its hat.

The effort to think-independently is like the world’s largest private joke –
not largest in the sense of many people being in on it,
but largest as in so few being so.
When hippos swallow gnats, and in a man’s mind the universal takes over the local,
the concept of largest acquires a wholly fresh and personal meaning;
in his brain, the certain man’s independently generated thoughts find their true home,
and to his final, great relief — there is in this one — no one but them.

This is why the realization cannot be described;
its appearance obliterates everything else —
including any ideas, this way or that,
regarding it.

On certain obscure holidays one man would gather up his independent thoughts
into a traveling neighborhood choir, and go around to more partisan areas of his brain, and sing under their windows at midnight just to annoy them —
I mean: to remind them — of their potential — the basis of neural celebration.

If shame had any independent validity, the brains of ordinary men for example,
would be ashamed for having so distorted what they have had to say about themselves under such pseudonyms as, God and I —
to be dazed and imprisoned is to be mentally indirect;
the impotent champion celibacy — those with distended livers, sobriety.

(“So what else is new — what else is new?!”
“Not much by me — how’s by you.”)

To be distracted and unaware of what is going on
is to depend on the thoughts that naturally appear in your mind, which,
when about the world of your mind, are always indirect;
the realization arrives when the certain man’s mind comes
suddenly face-to-face with itself.

The continuing fore-smell of mental death always present amidst the herd
should spur a real man’s thoughts to say:
“We must think more — more for ourselves — more about ourselves” —
this is the active basis for the certain man’s life long private celebration.