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#Post#: 1957--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: September 29, 2014, 11:14 pm
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Consciously unameliorated cognitive dissonance eventually grinds
everything to powder.
#Post#: 1994--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: September 30, 2014, 9:09 am
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Feeling a little…something I’m having trouble identifying…for
the first time I practiced a bit of ‘audiomancy' with (all 4,
audio) books. In my last few posts I’ve gushed a lot more
descriptively than I ever have about what I’ve only herein
really thought of or attempted to characterise as a
‘journey’…and, even though while having re-read what I posted a
few times -and it seems quite real to me (in the historical
sense) - I nonetheless feel a little …yeah, dunno. Unclean…?
The first two cabs off the rank were (in order... I stopped
after two):
1. (from ‘Incorrect’) “Distrust all honest fellows! Throw them
out! There is no one who is honest in this field. No outside
agency can help you…” (UGK) I get that. I understand about not
deferring to external authority - and that would presumably
include any kind of need for validation. That explains a part of
it. I guess I didn’t expect any dialogue with you, just a space
within which to …monologue. Your (very generous) availability
made me immediately curious about getting a second opinion….so
what does that say? Until I wrote what I wrote, I’d never really
tried to coherently describe what I did, or frame it in any way
as a journey. But you wrote in Damnedest that you need little in
the way of “a simple locator beacon", so that’s what I was
looking for.
2. (from ’Notebook') The conversation with Kamiel, about
plateauing and the kind of ‘dissatisfaction' required to turn
seekers into finders. (one of my favourites!) “Wake up and smell
the coffin, Kamiel…” …ouch…ouch, ouch.
I do smell it -and that stench has altered the trajectory of my
life. This year has been a game changer and shows no sign of
flatlining for the foreseeable future... but that level of
dissatisfaction you describe is not my experience, except in
short, acute bursts and slow-burning periods of parasuicidal
discontent. And we're talking about a much longer period than
one or two years here...is it possible to experience a slo-mo
explosion...? Or to reach escape velocity in stages...? I
haven't the benefit of hindsight to tell, so I'm curious: should
I pray for an explosion then...?
That thing I wrote before about all narrative being a lie…I
don’t know where I got that, but I’m feeling it strongly now, in
the revisionist attempt to thread a storyline in the present
through a past that survives only in this mind -and only by
egoic fiat. The story is part of the fiction propping up self.
I’m not buying it, so nor should I be selling it.
#Post#: 2098--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 2, 2014, 3:25 am
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"All opinions you have of yourself are like the timbers of a
false structure. All must go. All will go. The process has
begun. The less you resist the easier it will be…all your
choices have already been made. You don’t choose whether to let
it all go, only whether to struggle against the process, and the
thing that makes an easier transition possible is death…Keep one
hand on your death and fight your battles with the other.” (More
audiomancy, from Notebook)
An opinion is a belief and all beliefs are false. In the words
of BK, “Is it true?” ...Are "all beliefs false"? That’s one of
those self-destroying questions: any notion to which I subscribe
(or oppose?) without directly knowing it to be true is, by
definition, a belief. Belief is therefore a product of thought
(+ often a heady shot of emotion) and, while thought may or may
not be real, the content of thought can never be real.
I believe what you wrote in your books. And, while on the one
hand it represents a beacon more useful to me than any GPS, on
the other hand my awe has entombed it like the Mona Lisa behind
a sheet of mental perspex that is preventing me from coming into
contact with the actual, purported object of what you
write…stupid analogy.
[glow=yellow,2,300]“Come see for yourself!”[/glow] you beckon,
but I’ve been content to just check out the photo albums of your
journey, from the comfort of my big armchair by the fire, or in
my headphones while I jog.
Every possible aspect of ‘me-ness’ is reducible to mental fiat.
Deepak Chopra walked me through it conceptually 20 years ago,
but you helped me work out the math for myself. In fact, after
an excruciating 2013, 2014 has turned out to be the year of
finding (mostly) fun ways of exploring and expressing the
freedom that accompanies that knowledge in my day-to-day life.
Because I can never know anything beyond “I am”, the apparent
cause-and-effect chain so familiar to the dream world can never
hold up to prolonged scrutiny in a seamlessly interconnected
universe…but even so, here I am getting lost in thoughts again.
“Seamlessly interconnected…” wtf? I don’t know that! I'm calling
the ocean, “seamlessly interconnected”…just a way of needlessly
'over-complexicating' things.
I don’t know that, in the same way I don’t know anything, beyond
“I am”. In fact, even the so-called ‘Truth' of consciousness as
being the bottom-most turtle, as the biggest possible container,
is also speculation from here, because I don’t (consciously)
dwell there and you were just reverse-engineering from
experience I don’t share. From here, it’s an error to assume
that your logic is logical. Your syllogism is a(n albeit
educational) mind toy and cannot hold water for me -as fact-
until such a time as I dwell there myself. Being strictly
honest, “I am” is all I can vouch for. The “consciousness” part
is moot, at least for now.
But that also means something more solid than the rock of
Gibraltar... for which my gratitude feels shoreless. True also,
I may have absolutely no idea what “I am” is, or be able to
assert the tiniest factoid relating to this ‘I-am-ness' I’m
often confused with. But 'I am’ is nonetheless a dead certainty
- in exactly the same way that death is certainty - and so seems
the obvious place to start, if I’m going to get started with the
process of stripping me away to reveal Truth: not in theory, but
in experience.
As is the way with dilettantes, I can see now that I’ve done
bits and pieces of genuine SA before. But never with the
explosive, obsessive purity of intent to get beyond a low-level
orbit- the kind of purity that separates the sticky warmth of
journaling from the white-hot all-consuming flames of autolysis.
This was before I encountered your works. It perhaps helped them
to resonate so strongly with me.
But, excruciating as some of those experiences may have been,
never have I put in a sustained and focused effort... enough
that any gaps thus exposed not become eventually ego-papered
over again - in the same way non-abiding awareness is
non-abiding because after the experience, thereafter one is no
longer that, but merely interacting with a succession of carbon
copies of the experience...ie., desperately trying to claw it
back from memory.
The result has been that instead of relentlessly stripping away
an inherently false belief system, I’ve been reinforcing it,
expanding my self-definition to include a healthy disdain for
any overt expressions of selfness. It smacks of a new religion.
For an entity that knows nothing, I certainly have no shortage
of things to say. But if I truly know that I know nothing, then
I also know that I’m not saying anything here...meaning these
thoughts that are producing this verbal flatulence are not real
thoughts…so what does a real thought look like?
I don’t know. But I know that nothing I’ve been writing feels
comfortable. I feel stupid and ignorant but I also want to keep
moving forward. I’d much prefer those short, pithy koans but
this is what I’ve got for now.
So what do I want? Simple: what’s next? I’ve got a million
fucking keys and would like to narrow it down to the one for the
next door.
#Post#: 2239--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 5, 2014, 1:20 am
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Dear Jed,
If indeed I’m anywhere at all, then it’s where Arjuna fell. I’m
at the crossroads where belief hits truth, on my knees. While I
can proceed in any direction, only one road proceeds from here
and I’m either on it or I’m nowhere…or, you know, the reverse of
that...
I’m not dissatisfied with the elements of my dream. I’m
dissatisfied that it is a dream and for that reason alone I’ve
come to this forum.
“What do I want?” I want to process myself out of the matrix. No
matter how pleasant much of it is, that’s just part of the ebb
and flow of dream life. Today’s ecstasy was yesterday’s agony
and tomorrow’s …who knows?
The thing is: it’s a counterfeit I could be content with, but
only as long as there was nothing authentic it was blocking out.
But I know there is now and I know that my discontent will only
grow as a result of this knowing. That’s context.
I know my little bastard; he was very loud way back when, until
all this life stuff intervened and drowned him out. Now, for the
first time ever perhaps, he’s actually smiling ...and maybe
licking his lips.
And I’m scared to find myself waking up to his voice and
realising that he and I don’t seem to be on the same side
anymore. He knows I’m expendable and I’m gulping to realise that
he’s right. That sounds stupid but it kind of fits.
What’s blocking me? What am I afraid of? Where I’ve found fear,
I’ve tried to make a practice of deliberately turning towards
it, trying to recondition myself. But there's an almost complete
blindness in what I’m doing, a near-total lack of any sense of
direction in this…to the point where I’m seriously wondering if
I’m doing anything at all.
Well, I’m not, am I? As long as I’m trying to protect any of the
dream than I’m protecting all of the dream. All this writing has
been bullsh1t, but it has to be outside so that I can see it for
myself. Strange, but true.
Is it because this is all so unfamiliar and unpredictable?
What’s the next step? How can I work that out?
With gratitude...
#Post#: 2262--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 5, 2014, 11:10 am
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"I request that members, if you haven't already, write a
summary…” - Jed
Didn’t see this til just now…jeez, I’ve just been dumping and
regurgitating your own work back at you. Thanks for patience.
Sorry for not keeping up. I’ll start with the question:
'What is your one, single, most important question that you
would ask of me, or for that matter, the universe?’
What must I do to kick-start the self-digestion process?
Reading, Meditations, etc.
(In approximate order of engagement and only mentioning those
that made some kind of impact at the time of reading. Looking
back I barely recall reading most of them…)
Age 11: Learned and began practicing TM (as a family bonding
activity, shortly after arriving in Aus, experienced a couple of
non-abiding moments of transcendence in my mid teens before I
had any idea what they were).
Age 18: began practicing a Shotokan derivative style of Karate
in college after hearing it described as “moving meditation".
Progressed to Wa-dou Ryu style in Japan and two years of
Kyokushin before calling it quits at age 35 after busting up a
finger.
Age 19: Impressed with the zealotry of the missionary ladies,
became a practicing Mormon (lasted 6 months before voting
instead for sex, cigarettes and coffee). Credit the church with
sparking my interest in philosophy.
History of Western Philosophy - B. Russell (a reference book for
the next decade)
Plato’s Republic (hated it), Nietzsche’s Twilight of the
Idols and the Antichrist, Kafka’s The Trial, Huxley’s Brave New
World, Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling (I really admired his
pugnacity and scorn for the outwardly 'churchy’) Tried but
couldn’t make head nor tail of Kant and a bunch of other
Europeans)
Siddharta - H. Hesse (I just loved this story and Hesse’s
writing)
The Bhagavad Gita - (Don’t remember whose translation it was)
Walden and Civil Disobedience - HD Thoreau
Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance - R. Pirsig (the first
time I re-read a book immediately after finishing it)
The Dancing Wu Li Masters - G. Zukav (multiple readings)
Civilization and It’s Discontents - Freud
Zen - Alan Watts (re-reading this one currently)
Zen Buddhism - C. Humphreys
Buddhism - D. Suzuki
(a small handful of Zen retreats over the decade I lived in
Japan, lots of zazen, sticks and chanting sutras)
The Tao Te Ching - Lao Tsu (I still like to browse this
occasionally)
The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying - S. Rinpoche
Lila - R. Pirsig (this has the most margin notes of any book
i’ve ever read- and many times)
The AA basic text (helped me to stop smoking: the helplessness,
surrender, higher power stuff was great when I read it)
Conversations With God - ND Walsche
The Power of Now - E. Tolle (sat on this one for a long time)
A Thousand Names for Joy - BK
Illusions - Richard Bach (the prologue especially resonated)
A Course in Miracles - (Non-stop study for 2.5 years + Many
Wapnick and other commentaries)
Gateless Gatecrashers - I. Cuinaite, E. Nezhinsky
Theory of Everything + The Trilogy - J. McKenna (recursive,
obsessive, non-stop reading & listening for 11 months)
How to Read - C van Doren, M. Adler (on your recommendation and
a great conclusion to the above list: made me understand how
shallow a reader I am. Am determined to do better, starting with
“How to Read”. Have been using it as a reference for a couple of
months, in conjunction with my other studies).
#Post#: 2275--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 5, 2014, 7:06 pm
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I’m looking in the greasy bathroom mirror in the flickering
light of the single, naked bulb swinging above my head. I grab
the fitting and swing it closer for a better look at something
catching my eye. A vile, dark and sticky substance is oozing
from a massive boil I never realised I’ve been hosting, right
between my eyes. Like Gary Oldman’s Zorg in 5th Element, where
he’s getting the pressure put on him by Mr. Shadow and that
black shit erupts down his face.
The filthy, encrusted toilet I can see from the corner of my eye
has no lid and no seat and the plumbing has been slow for as
long as I can recall and exudes an odour I’ve long been used to.
It’s backed up now and is making a deep, rumbling sound and the
stench is getting worse. Something grey and oily, with the
consistency of porridge, has begun bubbling to the top of its
rising waters. I turn back to the boil, seeing inflamed, red
hands with dirty fingernails close in for an exploratory squeeze
and, in the swinging light, notice the telltale shadows that
reveal my entire face is littered with boils. My gaze zeroes in
on the eyes and they’re likewise puffy, encrusted in goo
and…flatline. Nothing is looking back.
This is so not good.
This is exactly what I came here for, absolutely not what I
expected but kind of what I feared. As I lay in bed this morning
trying to pinpoint it, this is in the vicinity of the feeling
I’m getting from the things that I’ve been writing here. I hate
it, I hate what I’m seeing, what I’m writing makes me gag in
hindsight, every time- and it just keeps coming, seems to be
gathering momentum.
This is the lie. I am the lie. My assumption was that it goes
down as far as there is to go, but I had no idea that I had no
idea. Not even scratching the surface. It spreads out as far as
the eye can see as well, and likely beyond.
My first thought was, “Well, if it’s really as bad as that then
I’ve no time now to take this any further!” But realised Maya’s
signature immediately. I’m fucked. This is bad.
There’s been no movement at all, all this time. Just thought
bubbles. I came here, stood in front of the crowd and asked for
acknowledgement of my fine clothes. But in the deafening silence
that followed, Nelson stood up with that laugh of his, pointed
and said, “Hey, he’s naked!”
I want the pink mist. I want out of this. I have to get out.
It’s like an oily, oxygen-sucking film that covers me from head
to foot, made from random, typewritten words. I don’t know what
to do. Yes, I do: everything tells me to run, so I’m going in. I
don’t know how, but it’s all there is. I’m dead anyway.
I don’t expect you’re still reading any of this shit anyway, but
somehow the possibility that you might is extracting this
‘+alpha’ I-know-not-what from the process, as I was hoping for
when I came. This has to happen. I have to know what’s true. I
need to do the math for myself…now, let’s just see if it’s a
fact when I append, “…and nothing else matters” at the end here.
#Post#: 2317--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: Jed McKenna
Date: October 6, 2014, 7:07 am
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Dear B:
Yes, I did read your writings. Quite entertaining and you are a
good writer. So what?
Al right Bambi, let's cut to the chase. You know exactly what to
do next, I know you do because I am you.
NOW, off you ass and do it. NOW! I don't care if it's big or
small. You aren't doing it to impress me and nothing impresses
me any more. Do it for you, but just do it.
Love ya, Jed.
#Post#: 2377--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 6, 2014, 7:13 pm
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I readily admit that it’s a feel-good if it’s readable to the
end. But I only ever really write for me, to try and express as
effectively as I can. So what? (God forbid it might also perhaps
entertain others as well…?)
I’m looking to sever the spine of this thing. Think Brad Pitt as
Achilles, right at the opening of Troy, leaping up to to take
down that monolithic monster warrior with a single, masterful
stroke, straight to the heart.
My enemy’s critical weakness is not insignificant: she doesn’t
exist.
Nor do I, though…at least not in the way the heady c0cktail of
thoughts and behaviours that arise in this
experiential-interface thingie believe I do…so maybe that puts
us on an equal footing.
I have got awareness on my side, that immutable “I AM” thing
that defies description. And, when I focus real hard and pay
real close attention and get really quiet inside, that awareness
seems to intensify. And when the presence of mind arises to say
to the universe, “You decide,” that motion includes the
associated grace to notice how face-palmingingly “of course!”
everything just is (even though I can’t say that the “I” part
always likes or even appreciates it). It doesn’t go that way
because I let go of the tiller: my reward is that I just get to
notice it ...and maybe the great parking spot that may come with
it.
...But I’m still carrying these rocks and those spaceless,
timeless moments seem so far apart sometimes…
I know that I am powering this whole thing; that my tanks are
being drained just being me…and she’s not even an enemy at all.
“Alright Bambi, let's cut to the chase. You know exactly what to
do next, I know you do because I am you.”
Fuck. I know you’re right…so I must be right too…what would I do
if I were…me? Well, without trying to second guess, the obvious
seems to be …to… start cutting?
...I needed the prologue to get me into the zone here, but it’s
0140 and I’ve got work to do tomorrow, so I must sleep now…will
cut in the morning.
Wow…as always nowadays, instead of panic I revel in those first
few moments upon awaking, before I reboot into me.
It’s getting like that old Vicki Lawrence song that I had on an
8-track loop in my head when I was about 8 years old…it was on
the radio a lot and I liked the tune, even though the lyrics
made me feel uncomfortable when I listened to it. it played for
days and days it seemed and I thought at the time it would drive
me crazy. Until I eventually purged it from my mind. Of course,
whenever it came up on the radio again I would think, “Aw,
crap!” but it didn’t hang around anymore. It was always just
“that Vicki Lawrence song”. I realise now that it’s still there
because just writing about it and it’s back, nagging at me a
little, just below the surface.
Ok, so even though you wrote,“You know exactly what to do next,”
I didn’t. Not in working memory. But I just kinda willed my
weight forward, confident my foot would take the next step
rather than let me fall flat on my face. It wasn’t in my mind
before sleep, so rather than lay there awake when I was pretty
tired, I decided sleep would let it out.
I really do need to know what I'm straining so hard to avoid
here. So after I rebooted and it still wasn’t there, I imagined
myself walking into the kitchen, deciding that what to cut would
be in the microwave. No particular reason: it’s a container with
a (drum-roll, please) door and it was what popped into mind.
I had no idea what was inside. When I opened the door it was a
big (I understand that’s a relative thing) pink, fleshy dildo.
Gross.
I think it’s pretty clear the analogue to which that particular
appliance pertains…not the place I like to even think about
cutting, but hey…fuck, they’re together now. This is awkward.
:-[
#Post#: 2397--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: Jed McKenna
Date: October 6, 2014, 10:44 pm
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Thanks for sharing that... story...
BTW, I'm curious how you came up with 'pink mist'. Care to
share. If not, no problem.
Yes, that next thing is always in front of you, even if it's
a.... toy... yeh, a... toy.
Now, can you remember where you put that camera.
Love ya, Jed.
#Post#: 2417--------------------------------------------------
Re: biisuto
DIR By: guest89
Date: October 7, 2014, 2:40 am
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[ASIDE]: ‘Pink Mist’ arose from a dialogue with a beloved
(though much-projected-upon) mentor, whom I must one day slay.
He enquired about the “why am I here?” part intended to lay bare
my motivation for doing this. When I compared myself to the
antagonist in Apocalypse Now in some truly teacup-rattling
achievement I was relating, it was masterfully judo-flipped into
an invite to step up and “get Col. Kurtz-like” in my efforts to
reveal the hidden: to settle for nothing short of making a ‘Pink
Mist’ of myself in that quest.
It’s the most rocking metaphor I’ve read in ages - all the
better because it pertains to two things for which I have much
affection: one of literature’s great stories... and myself.
[/ASIDE]
…Especially awkward now, a few hours later, when I think of
this: when I saw the dildo, the very first thought-cab off the
rank was, “Oh, dear…<insert partner’s pet name here>!” Made
total sense to me, in that context.
30 years together makes her much more significant than my
parents (combined) who, as I mentioned before, were pretty
effectively neutered over a decade ago (thanks, Dr. Susan
Forward).
That thought-cab turned into a train and the next car was, “Not
her: you - you dick.”
Not only is it your dick, but the now seemingly inevitable
cutting, slicing and nutri-bulletting around the idea of both
this dick and the idea of that person you just superimposed over
it will still only take place in the emotional blizzard from
which you are indistinguishable.
And how …interesting…that the first thing I would attach to what
is (presumably) my dick is her and not the thing that’s actually
swinging it… unless maybe that’s exactly the case…? Maybe it is
her dick…? ???
Awkwarder and awkwarder.
"Less BS: more cut" my internal Jed admonishes. "OK" I reply.
(I’m doing this during my lunch break, so can only function in
snippets…like Dickensian Pickwicks!)
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