Note the Distinction Between Physical and Talking Consciousness
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Notes by TK
The primary job of physical consciousness, as in lesser animals, is to be aware of the environment and the body. In more primitive people, physical consciousness is less dominated by the talking consciousness. Their eyes move more, they stare less. Talking consciousness improves survival prospects in its best modus; otherwise it is mere redundant, meaningless, mechanical dreaming, which nevertheless monopolizes silent consciousness.
Strive for awareness of the two being distinct; such awareness can then lessen the predominance, moment to moment, of the talking consciousness. (41:31) #3269
Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
WHEN PISS IS POURING DOWN ON BOOTS, WHO CARES THE SHOE BRAND?
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The Moccasins That Walk A Mile In Your Feet
MARCH 4, 2005 © 2005: JAN COX
Several people showed up before the announced starting time and their explanation was – now get this – their explanation was: “We’re early.”
(The king whispered to one of his secret neural paramours:
“We can’t go on meeting like this,” and his mental love replied:
“But how can I resist one with such a command of clichés & mundane ruminations.”
If, in searching for what you feel you have lost, you go looking for it in the city, do remember that you imagined the city.)
And a quick-witted reader sends this email:
“A most pleasurable part of reading your Daily News is trying to thread together
all of the epilogues and parentheticals you often add to the stories,
in fact, this right now being a fair example of such.
Keep up the perplexing and enjoyable work.
If you feel you can describe specifically how you awakened – you are still asleep.
At last week’s O.S.A. (Ole Soreheads Anonymous) meeting during their regular:
“Let’s Be Positive JUST For A Moment” time,
one disgruntler in his struggle to come up with something, offered this:
“Well, it’s a good thing that when tractor trailers cross the International Dateline
they don’t toss someone overboard to celebrate.”
You can always kill time – if you hate it that badly.
(In his ongoing attempt to be the contrarian one guy has started stomping on space.)
After a son seemed to display pride over his indifference toward a matter that had those around him excited, the father to him said:
“You should never be proud of not being enthused.”
One guy’s splintered emotions finally said:
“Hey – let’s all get in a bunch and BE somebody!”
Just above the din of the noonday diners, a voice was heard to say:
“As far as everyday conversations go, what I really detest is necessary talk.”
One guy’s challenge to the city & the second reality of man’s mind:
”Okay – if you’re so famous, how come you ain’t great,”
and inasmuch as he was also his own challengee, he had no response.
And that, boys & girls, kings & squirrels, is how things go in the forest of intangibility and its attempted sequencing.
A certain mountain climber says that his best ideas come to him when he doesn’t
have time to think about them. (And I trust the avocation assigned the man in the story did not unduly distract you from the intended and quite marvelous view.)
Whenever it was time to do something new this one ruler would always say:
“What we must first do is exhaustively reexamine our past actions.”
(His full title was: “The Great Defender Of What We’ve Got.”
Or as royalty in Alabama likes to muse: “Those who try to hold on
are soon long gone.”)
A cheap shot taken by a rebel is a most expensive one.
No matter where the special-investigator tries to shoot it always strikes his own foot.
One chap’s mind finally reached such a frenzied pitch that he decided to patent it –
but he couldn’t find the Patent Office –
then he couldn’t find a Patent Attorney –
then he couldn’t find a phone book –
then he couldn’t find a listing for Lawyers, then suddenly he thought: “My god! –
next thing you know I won’t be able to find my own…my…own…my own…”
One man hesitated to enter this new reality until (he said) he could be assured of a continuation of his past steady supply of sad news, and the doorkeeper replied: “Sir,
as long as we have still developing creatures such as yourself – no-o-o prob-lem-o.”
(“I knew I have always felt a certain sadness for all animals, now I realize why:
They experience no sadness.”)
The neural rebels cried out: “The days of all kings are numbered,”
and His Grace shouted back: “And so are yours!”
(Meanwhile down in the valleys & lower regions of the kingdom, kidneys, livers, lungs and stomachs continue their peaceful and quiet glide across their own sequestered dance floor.)
The Eternal Gunfire: It doesn’t come from any where.
Standing on one side of a tree, one man mused:
“The justice-of-things will take your breath away,”
and a chap on the opposite side said: “Yeah, and everything else.”
(The squirrels had nothing to add at that time.)
Sitting at a sidewalk bistro, gazing slyly over his demitasse of expressionism,
a certain well-known city poet said he knew he had reached the pinnacle of his prodigious powers when he discovered he could think as fast as he could type.
The creatures on this one world knew they were in for stormy, or at least highly volatile conditions when the voice of their local reality thundered: “I have decided to become omni-sexual and as my bed partner tonight, I have selected all of you.”
The relentless pressure doesn’t come from anywhere
(not that you can see looking out in that direction).
Tip For The Man Out Trying To Crack-The-Case.
If you get mad at something you run across because of its stupidity,
rest assured that it is no longer the stupidest thing in that location.
An ordinary man with what he accepts as a satisfying conclusion is like a snake
with a philosopher in his pocket.
One guy quit worrying – things didn’t seem to change much –
then he quit worrying about that –
then his clunky five-speed manual turned into a super-smooth automatic.
(“Man! – what would you give to be a race car instead of the track.” There, there.)
One of the typical ole philosophers in city park mounted his boapsox and declared: “First off I want it known that I am not one of the typical ole philosophers in city park,” (after that the crowd quickly dispersed.)
Moral: What the mind does is what the mind’s for – like it or lump it –
what the hell does the mind care (in case you haven’t noticed).
City playground etiquette demands that when it is your turn to go into the coma,
“fatigue” will not be accepted as an excuse for failure to do so.
Do you not find it interesting that the heart of every playground consists of see saws, swings and merry go rounds (picture their limited spatial actions: up & down, back & forth, round & round).
As a joke, one man put his name in with an online dating service –
and gave a faithful description of his self.
(The joke part was that he later read it – and was impressed!)
On the standing easel outside of City Cultural Center was a sign announcing
that evening’s lecture, which was entitled:
“Enigmacy: Proof Of Wisdom Or Of Confusion?” — and a chap sweeping the sidewalk muttered: “I reckon that mostly depends on whether you is the enigma-ER,
or the enigma-EE.”
Even during boom times the ordinary feel in debt to Life.
(“If there was such a thing as pitiful, that would be it.”
[“Everyone should remember that things in quotation marks were not said by me.”])