Words Can Act Catalytically In Tracing Non-Auto Consciousness
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Notes by TK
What goes on in consciousness is a non-ending, automatically running, string of words and pictures. But there is another modus of consciousness: non-automatic. When in the auto mode there is no way to realize it…except by the memory trace of it when in the non-auto mode. It is a puzzle how consciousness ever gets a clue in the first place that it is entirely an automatic, mechanical process.
There can be a third position: a kind of combination of the two; it comes about by bringing on the non-auto mode repeatedly and developing a memory trace of it before slipping back into the auto mode. Thus a kind of intermediate corpus of experience builds up, facilitating somehow, the non-auto mode.
Consciousness can only operate via words; words exist– re: awakening, thus providing possibilities toward that end, acting, as it were, catalytically, toward the third mode status. In themselves, however, the words are irrelevant to the fact of awakening. (52:48) #3176
Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
BEING FAST ON THE DRAW
MEANS LITTLE — IF YOU’RE UNARMED
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The Guide To Getting The Drop On Yourself
JULY 21, 2004 © 2004: JAN COX
The most recent shoot out at the Cogent Corral arose from a disagreement over
the best antonym for the word: variety,
the Ole Timer insisting on: uniformity,
while the New Kid In Town slapped leather in favor of: death.
In the incorporeal realm unique to man: only by the fashionable going-out-of-fashion
can fashion survive;
only from dead striped pajamas is thinking-in-the-nude possible.
After he rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes, one man realized the most efficient path to self birth is through shooting your bed coverings —
crying as he fires: “Take that! – all of you inner intangibles that would make me feel
at home and comfortable in my natural born condition.”
Ordinary children just feel an indiscriminate urge to run away from home;
the rebel sprout is driven to run to a specific place new:
one that is inconceivable to settled minds.
There’s a theory going ‘round that says the giggle of a beautiful young girl
is the closest thing you’ll ever hear to the sound of an awakened man’s thoughts.
(“Ah! – lovely theories! – so round, so firm, so attractively packed.”)
The certain man struggling to bring the non imprisoned part of his consciousness into preeminence over the ordinary areas is like a battle of the bands – with one of them playing under water.
Among men’s endless attempts to explain why they prefer this or that thing
over others, only the nervous system rebel understands the matter aright:
“I like it because I like it – I like it because I was born me.”
Hormones accept this naturally; neurons almost never.
Those who talk about their personal life feel theirs is inadequate.
In men’s intangible affairs, the proof of a thing is not in the pudding,
but in their willingness to yammer about it.
The air men breathe in prison is all captive air;
as long as they wear their stripes: all zebra thoughts are zebra.
Standard man is born scratching — and departs itching.
First was the silent awareness that 4 = 2+2,
but once amidst the noise and bustle of the city, man’s consciousness perceived
the proper telling of it to be: 2+2 = 4, a shift in emphasis caught only by a few.
Those who live in the city secretly ridicule their neighbors. (They can’t help it.)
After finally coming to his dollars: one man bought all of the basic supplies
he would ever need — then never went shopping again.
In rebel territory there is a difference between book-burning,
As he tightened the noose around his own neck, the unconventional resistor declared: “I am pleased that I have but one mind I must strangle
for the benefit of my consciousness.”
A villager with (shall we say): a certain uncommon interest,
who on several occasions had had run ins with the king’s sheriff,
had it suggested that perhaps the lawman was out to get him,
a notion he immediately waved away, saying that even if true, he had much larger problems than could ever be presented to him by all of the royal resources combined.
Moral: ‘Tis good to know where the rats, maggots and skeletons are buried.
Son Of Moral: Though not so appetizing to realize they are stashed under
While standing in the serving line one man said:
“I am prepared to be reasonably sociable as long as they don’t ask me
what I want and why — or tout the prices of things I don’t.”
One guy who was initially a stranger, eventually went back to being one.
On one world, soon after each creature is born,
a place opens up wherein they can hide their self away;
the area is unusual in that it is contained & confined —
yet at the same time, open & infinite.
It accomplishes nothing to know where you are
if you have no interest in knowing where you are.
Intergalactic Pin Pointing.
Expending effort in self-protection is a suitable operation under but two conditions:
one regards the body, and the other the mind,
(if in your head you still think of you as having a non physical self).
Beyond the civil pale and pallor of western towns, fictional outlaws cannot be slain – and awakened outliers don’t even try – that is what defines their nonstandard state.
The zebra with real eyes/I’s flees only predators who breathe real air,
and the consciousness of a man who has come to see, ignores all ideas built of air.
Thus in rebel territory: he most materialistic understands best the metaphysical.
(If what town folks call the irrational had wings, they wouldn’t have to ride the bus.)
In prison: the most meaningful introductions are violent ones;
those who’ve escaped however, need no new acquaintances.
Ditty from another city:
“It ain’t what you do it’s the way how you do it,”
“It ain’t what you do and it ain’t how you do it either.”
“What are you waiting for?! – there can be no verse after that!
Not grasping this fact is what keeps you dazed and distracted.”
Anyone who has a hero – needs one.
Those who feel they have something-to-say – need to have something.
There is either: no such thing as self-knowledge – or: nothing but.
You can’t live on the pale line: you’re either in or out of town.
More Words To Live By (If You Don’t Live By The City Dump).
What you don’t say can be just as unimportant as what you do say.
As they rode toward the daily sunset the ole timer said to the kid:
“Even after you begin to find just the awareness that you’re alive to be a big deal –
you still ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.
For the few: thinking the thoughts that naturally appear in the world of man
is not the biggest deal possible for consciousness,
but ride up to the very edge of internal reality,
then spread out before you as far as the eye/I can see is a whole other one —
wherein exists naught that you do not understand.”