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March 31, 2003 © 2003: JAN COX
Told a father a story to a son:
“There was once a world with many realms, all ruled (it seemed)
by a visible, vocal monarch who claimed to,
and though they all admitted to some inner chamber conflicts
none there were who directly disputed each king’s assertion to supremacy.
All announcements of public policy and goals of the kingdom came always from
the lips of the titular sovereigns,
and no other figure ever appeared with them on the podium,
or was ever seen counseling them;
as far as a rational observer could glean,
the ostensible king WAS the king.
There was an exceptional realm there, apparently in the hands of one of the same family as the other kings, and which from the outside seemed to run similarly to theirs,
but the presumed prince thereof was different internally from
the aforementioned khans in that he had gradually come to the astounding conclusion that his decisions, and actions did not originate with him;
nay, he neither had corporeal advisors, nor were his strings being pulled by
a behind the scenes figure;
he found himself as alone in the throne room as the other kings,
but solely he, amongst all visible sovereigns,
experienced this extraordinary feeling.
But — how?! —
how can he in charge —
he seen to BE in charge —
he who, without disputation, SAYS he is in charge — not be?!
not when he cannot point to and identify some other entity who actually is?!?
The prince with the unusual experience once asked the other kings
if they were familiar therewith (he asked this only once!) —
no, they were not, and indeed, upon hearing of it, looked at him as if he were insane;
none of the kings would even think about the matter the prince had raised
(truth was, their brains were not able to do so without their minds going into a kind of berserk neural gridlock.)
What a world, my boy: a plethora of individual kingdoms,
each run by its own undisputed sovereign who is conscious of no situation other than of him being the sole source of all decisions concerning his realm.
But then — this one domain among billions — with a prince
who seemingly wields the same power as his kin,
but whose consciousness is filled with the unshakable near certainty that
the energy and decisions driving all his words and deeds originate not with him,
but are being effortless fed to him from some other source —
and that his brethren are in the same arrangement.
O tempora! — O locus!
Once he accepted the fact that he was alone in this affair,
and turned his attention totally to a private investigation thereof,
he began to prosecute two questions:
“What is the power actually driving men’s thinking,
and why do they not recognize that there is such?” —
and since none but he had the irrepressible feeling (or at least could acknowledge it)
there was no relevant textbook, or study guide available,
the only educational assistance possible was whatever he created for himself
as he went along (a most improbable scene:
that of a deaf man teaching himself to hear without having ever heard himself —
but that is a story for another time).
The unconventional prince threw himself totally into the inquiry — and yet —
this is not an honest description, in that, having no precedent for his undertaking,
nor knowledge of the area into which he was venturing,
he in truth could not ascertain to what extent he was actually exerting himself in an unplotted activity, nor how deep or directly he was entering into an unfamiliar territory.
(and with this in mind, and him doing the best he can, we continue the picturing).
Everything the prince did, said and independently thought in this regard
was entirely new and unique to his kingdom and his experience,
(not unlike smoke seeking the factory from which it arose
while having no awareness that it is smoke, nor any idea of what a factory is).
Oh my lad — a gambol which even a gaggle of goose livers would envy.
After considerable time spent in this secret endeavor,
and before he had uncovered the power directing his mind,
the uncommon prince’s consciousness was gradually overtaken,
and partially mugged by a discovery —
that any time he would remember and thus reinstitute the strange sensation of
him not being at all responsible for what normally occurs in his mind —
everything about his consciousness would instantly alter:
as though a previously unnoticed, raging battle suddenly stopped;
like unsought messages ceased being delivered;
a marionette transcended manipulation —
a deaf ear could hear — could hear the noise of the unseen factory from whence
the smoke-in-the-ear emerged.
In naught but the solitary realm of that ultramontane prince could such a feat take foot: a natural born prisoner no longer naturally captive
merely via the unnatural realization of his inherent condition
(simpler put: freedom through recognition of its absence).
How can such a thing be described? — it can’t!
How can such a thing be explained? — it can’t!
How can such an impossible thing occur? — oh but it can my boy,
as you deep damn know — it surely can,
and then, within the boundaries of his own personal domain,
the life of such a prince is never the same —
nor not the same as the inner life of any other man on his world.
Hummmm, wonder on which world such a fantastic tale could take place?”
J