Most Men’s Words–Meaningless Save Those That Feel Good to Say
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Notes by TK
More about the intersection of the Blue and Yellow Circuits. It is impossible when in the throes of strong emotion not to give oral vent to same; i.e., to whine and rant. There are words that men think and say that give them great pleasure. Consider why profanity is so pervasive and such a satisfying verbal spice to the speaker of it. Ditto: ‘love’, ‘god’, ‘beautiful’, ‘money’, ‘hate’, etc.
Virtually all man’s words are meaningless save those that feel good to say. These words give an impacting sensation to consciousness when uttered; to wit: pleasure. People enjoy talking simply for the expression of pleasurable words. Sentences, complete thoughts are meaningful purely as vehicles for pleasure-words. (45:26) #3219
Jan’s Daily Fresh Real News (to accompany this talk)
PRISONERS DON’T REALIZE WHAT TO DO WITH THEIR SLEDGEHAMMER
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Directions For Unchaining The Inner Prometheus
NOVEMBER 1, 2004 © 2004: JAN COX
A father said to a son:
“You are not trying to wake-up if anything is in your consciousness except
you and waking-up.”
“How about other people’s awakening?”
“Other people’s sleep?”
“How about how other people interfering in your waking-up?”
“The fate of the world?”
“Is there nothing else for real?”
“What else is there that IS for sure real?!”
Colloquialism Conceptively Reemployed.
The man-who-knows doesn’t have a dog in any fight.
Taking a cue from a government agency, one man now refuses to affirm or deny
any accusations made by his consciousness about him.
“Everybody’s favorite song to sing is: ‘You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone.’”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re correct, it’s really: ‘You’re Gonna Miss Me When I’m Gone – Right?!’”
It is easier for those of ordinary consciousness to believe they have a grasp of
the nature of man when he is taken collectively:
as part of a culture, a nation, a religion, a social class, rather than an individual.
(Which actually works out okay – since amongst the ordinary,
true individuality does not exist.)
“The great thing about city hobbies my boy, is that you can fill your stamp album
with coins and it matters not.”
“So a psychiatrist could have just as well been a priest?!”
“Or a comedian.”
“God! – I so love it here in the city, dad!”
“I know – and it scares the bejeezus out of me.
(Never mind boy, just a little surreal suburban humor.)”
Any time you manage to get out of town, let your byword be a hearty shout of:
“Spare no expense!”
Travel & The Nervous-System-Rebel.
The Exhilarating News: Every map is now out of date.
(Side Note: You’re not allowed to say or think that in the city.)
When something unfortunate happens to people of ordinary consciousness,
they take it personally and rail about injustice:
fact: fish get wet.
When you get your sea ears, people sound like they’re singing under water.
“Nobody enjoys hearing a person talk as much as they do.”
“I bet that goes double for the awakened man.”
“That or half.”
On planet X was a man who knew about things on planet Y,
but since people on his planet were not interested in the other one,
no one ever knew how much the man knew.
Lifting a leaf from the play book of political candidates when they’re under attack
for past acts, one man treats everything his automatic-consciousness has done
with a backhand wave and the dismissive words: “That’s old news.”
(“If my dog did it – it doesn’t interest me – plus I’m not responsible —
take it up with him – and good luck finding him while I’m here talking to you
about him like this.”)
Note: This previous sentence tells a super alert man all he needs to know to get-to-the-bottom-of-things (that is): to the-essence-of-consciousness.
There is a certain hard-nosed attitude about oneself that is necessary for waking-up – not for thinking about what waking-up may be like – but for actual waking-up.
(“I don’t like the sound of that,” said a crab disturbed by the prospect of
hitting the beach.)
Those who allow their automatic-consciousness to protect itself as per its instinct – ultimately flounder.
A father advised a son:
“The only trick to being civilized is A.A. – Act Agreeably.”
“There’s nothing else?”
“Not anything else you need do?”
“Not a thing.”
“It sounds too simple to be true.”
“You could be right.”
In his own private, internal Court Of Appeals,
one man’s consciousness finds everything it dislikes to be unconstitutional.
A Second Bundle.
At least once a day one man shouts to his McDonald consciousness:
“Don’t make me come in there.”
It doesn’t matter whether you have talent or not as long as you
remain in the priesthood.
“If other people don’t know what you’re talking about – you may be Enlightened.”
“Or something else.”
The man-who-knows is subtle with everyone else – implosive with his self.
A duck doesn’t care if it rains.
It’s all right to be The Mad Hatter as long as you know that you are him;
you don’t have to know what a Mad Hatter is– just have to know that you are one.
You’re either: a man with a dog – or:
a dog who’s momentarily swallowed a man, rendering him unconscious;
the first is being-awake, the second is being-asleep.
(“So there’s nothing else I need to know?”
“Arf. [That means don’t listen to anything I say when I’m speaking in this voice.]”)
“Okay Pop: then what’s our goal: To be a duck when it rains?”
“That, or the other furtive possibility touched on in your sentence.”