To Continue to Grow, Life Must Be Populated by Imperfect Creatures
The following recordings are from Jan’s final years, when his voice was diminished and he spoke in a low whisper. Some listeners may find these tapes hard to listen to, or difficult to understand. Thus, as another option, transcripts are being made and will be posted.
Otherwise, turn up the volume and enjoy! Those who carefully listened to Jan during this period consider that he spoke plainly and directly to the matter at hand, “pulling out all the stops,” as he understood that these were to be his last messages to his groups, and to posterity.
Summary = See below
Condensed News = See below
News Item Gallery = None
Transcript = None
Key Words =
Notes by TK
Humans have a sense of not being perfect, of not living up to a more balanced standard required by Life. It is a feature of the talking part of consciousness and underlies all written teachings. Only the study of your own consciousness will effect liberation in your own lifetime. (39:22) #3274
Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
THOSE WHO DON’T KNOW STILL AREN’T HESITANT TO PONTIFICATE ABOUT IT
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Tacit Inner Message For The Active Outlier Man
MARCH 16, 2005 © 2005: JAN COX
Much Of What Comes Out In An Investigation Only Makes Sense To Those
Who Are Themselves Trying To Crack-The-Case
Whenever it became clear – even to him – that he didn’t understand what was going on, this one man would then whip out his plans and begin to palaver thereabout in great detail with mucho gusto.
(“This train may not be going where I said it was, but damn! –
ain’t we makin’ good time!”
What’s sillier than what’s waiting for you at the end of the line!?)
As they watched one of the boy’s friends walk frustrated away from them,
a father said to a son: “Some people can be pushed too far, too quickly.”
“But not real people,” thought the son.
Said one god to another:
“Seems to me you made a mistake: instead of winding up your creatures –
you whined them up.”
Wherever there is movement – there is complaining,
ergo the constant grinding of civilization.
How Things Are In The City.
When will be honored, the tolerance of the timid?
One man thus described a certain cycle’s attempt to complete itself:
“Just before the bottom fell out – the top fell in.”
Mechanisms constructed by words automatically defend themselves.
One attraction of man’s second-reality is that it is filled with matters that are more agreeable to be believed than they are to be proved.
Even the most staid of adults secretly wish they could go down the snow hill
on their tummy, headfirst — squealing all the way.
Local conditions in one place said to the creatures in its charge:
“I just love it when you talk dirty to me,” and one of them mused:
“Well – that’s not why we were doing it.”
One way to get yourself off-the-hook is to decide that the hook you’re on
doesn’t know anything after all.
The son can always flee the father – except in the certain-man’s head.
At odd times in his life, one chap would suddenly get the urge to
water his plastic plants.
The ole man proclaimed: “Our family tradition has long held that a fable that makes instant sense is like dead oatmeal,” and the kid said: “Who cares!”
and the elder replied: “Exactly!”
As the real rebel soon realizes: “If you don’t keep up the pressure –
nothing is possible.”
You could never get-the-best of this one chap –
he would always arrange it so that he didn’t have any.
A reader writes to say that he is certain he is the true author of all that appears here each day; he admits he doesn’t know how to prove it & asks for my help in doing so.
Another chap has written to all those he knows and considers important,
to tell them that his keyboard has no letter “T”
and that if they ever hear from him again, they should keep this in mind.
When you don’t know anything, it then seems important who you know.
The principle behind every species that singularly excels is:
“Let’s make there seem to be more to our lives than there really is.”
One man describes trying-to-solve-the-mystery as:
“Painting yourself into a corner with non-stick latex.”
Words Still At Work In The City.
There’s a chap who (if you ask him directly) will say he has one copy of every book ever written and if you say you don’t believe it, he’ll reply: “Prove it!”
An elderly warrior says that all during his memorable life his greatest fear had been that he would be captured and held by yesterday.
One father’s tip: “Don’t take drugs that are prone to have fits.”
“To me,” notes one fellow, “those who say they are their own best friend simply give evidence of their indisposition for normal psychological intimacy.”
(No one can slip-it-to the certain-man like the certain-man can.)
One guy’s common reply to anything resembling censure is:
“As I’m sure you already know…”
(A comment that all normal men and possums like to hear.
And when that one doesn’t do the job he pulls out: “It comes with the territory,”
which generally puts all city-ites quickly into quiet, passive mode.)
In the grand realm of man’s second-reality, it is nothing short of shocking what you can get by with using only words; yes, yes! – it doesn’t seem it should be so –
but there it is. The world that is uniquely man turning on the turn of a phrase.
(“No wonder words are so important to the gods.”
And possums, don’t forget.)
Says one man: “When in the city: everyone else’s attitude is my attitude;
after careful study, I have adopted this position for lack of any useful alternative.”
(“Pa pa: is this why being a nervous-system-rebel can’t be taught!?”)
In the second-reality: guns don’t kill people, people shouting: “Bang!” do.
Loafing in the tall grass, one lion said to another:
“Aren’t you glad we don’t have an inner world?”
“You know – there’s no way to tell.”
After red riding hood gets to grandma’s house it’s too late to decide whether you want to see the old woman or not;
once the inner voice of consciousness first calls out, the Blue Circuit is forever captivated (if not contaminated) by the Yellow, and spends the rest of its days doing its imitation of thinking: Believing: the fountainhead of man’s second, inner reality.
One ole sorehead (when doing his lame imitation of a city kid) will often chant:
“It’s nature’s fault,
it’s nature’s fault;
when e’er we talk,
it’s nature’s fault.”
Sighed one elderly chap: “What would we all not give to regain our hubris.”
When one man wants people to feel sorry for him, he will act more like his self than
he normally does.
One exemplary city progenitor so directed his scion:
“A true sophisticate never stoops to defend his self from verbal assault,
(unless of course he has been caught red-handed).”
Those without much to do in life will be delighted to do it all over you.
(Oh yeah, men’s most desired position after god is being a spokesman-for-god.)