July
3, 2001.
One
of the son’s favorite times with the father was playing,
“Scorched”
-- wherein, with an unrelenting rhythm, (once he started),
the
elder would spontaneously talk off the top of his head about
that
certain subject which was the true raison d’ètre for their relationship:
the
desire to get out of these old, wet, baggy, ill fitting clothes,
and
into something new & exciting;
so
since it was a holiday (somewhere), they took their drinks,
and
chocolate cigars out on to the west terrace, (facing the mountains),
propped
their feet up on the wall,
and
the old man’s mind & tongue took to unruly flight.
“Perhaps
the most ridiculously embarrassing thing the human brain has ever caused
men to say they believe is that
they
can have, ‘objective knowledge’
of themselves. Listen to that!
The
knowledge of yourself that you are going to obtain
will
be had BY
the very self you are studying.
Realizing
that men will accept this is all you really need to know regarding their
actual intelligence, for once you clear headedly
ponder
the matter – even for a moment -- it is patently ludicrous.
Any
knowledge your self may have of itself cannot help but be UN
objective;
sincerity,
honesty, and good intentions do not enter into it,
for
every observation your self makes of yourself will inescapably
contain
a piece of the self making the observation;
you
can only see what your eye sees,
and
what your eye sees is what it is physically constructed to see,
and
nothing else.
Men
heap coals of blistering condemnation into their own trousers
as
proof of their unbiased knowledge of themselves, that is: of their own
self-accepted, short comings,
but
publicly confessing to your ill temper is objective knowledge of
nothing
useful, or previously not known to all acquainted with you;
what
men who promote the idea of objective self knowledge have in mind is secreted
knowledge of what one is psychologically;
a
sane fat person knows they are fat;
such
a matter is difficult to hide
from
others and oneself, and admitting to it , even shamefacedly,
is
not a step forward in any known direction.
No,
what men mean by, ‘objective knowledge
of oneself’
is
the normally unrealized, un-thought-about, plain, harsh reality of
what
one is Internally: in their mind; in their thoughts; in their beliefs;
in
their strictly private, personal, and individualistic -- personality
self.
Just
listen to that gibberish my boy,
while
remembering that it constantly flows from the mouths of people passing
for intelligent, insightful & extraordinary honest & dedicated.
As
they used to say down in the country: If it weren't so funny --
it
would almost be humorous.”
The
elder paused as he perused his fictus,
delictus panatela
to
his apparent pleasure;
shifted
his buttocks to his seeming satisfaction,
then
continued:
“At
first you might think that a man must have objective knowledge of himself
to ever achieve a different state of understanding;
it
just by god -- sounds right -- and by god it damn near IS
right;
just
-- not quite,
for
the only thing even approaching, ‘objective
knowledge’ that you can have of yourself
is the personal realization that you can have none.
Without
the necessary experience yet,
those
still struggling with wanting to,
Wake-up-from-the-routine-dream-life-of-everyday-man
think
of those who have achieved it as possessing complete,
objective
knowledge of themselves, but this is wrong:
such
people have NO
knowledge of themselves --
--
not in the sense that the sleeping understand the term --
for
indeed, having, knowledge-of-yourself,
(in the way they mean it),
is
precisely what, being asleep
is all about,
for
the so-called, ‘knowledge’ THEY
have of themselves is the
unavoidably
tainted knowledge I have already described
that
is the only kind of knowledge that a thing, (your self), CAN
have of itself.
No
one takes it into account, but:
everything
your eye sees -- contains a bit of your eye;
everything
in a man’s sight contains a bit OF his sight.
Or
as they used to say back on the farm:
those
who shovel-the-shit-outta-their-head realize this,
and
those still full-of-it -- never do.”
The
father engaged in an all out stretch from toes to fingertips,
sighed
audibly & delightedly, and added:
”Isn’t
that a great relief my boy, to finally realize that
you
cannot objectively know anything about yourself,
(which
means you can’t ever know anything useful).
Is
that not an unbelievable relief?!……. assuming that
you
don’t choke to death on it
before
you get around to understanding it.
But
hey -- what would be the fun in trying to, partially-re-create-yourself
if
it wasn’t dangerous & exciting.
Puff
up boy -- puff up and away!” cried
the
old man,
as
he wiped cocoa syrup from his chin.
The
father was silent for 2 measures, (in 4/4 time),
then
picked back up his improvisational solo:
“In
fact, since you brought up the subject:
There
is a type of ordinary man who hungers for more sensual stimuli than life
normally provides, and who becomes a physical thrill seeker;
and
there is another type of man who is not
ordinary,
and
who also longs for excitement not normally found in the lives of man
--
--
but of a non-physical nature:
he
becomes a --
seeker of Enlightenment.
The
thrill they ultimately receive is:
after
years of reading, hearing, and accepting the idea that
man’s
routine inner life is little more than a dream,
to
finally see for themselves that it is so
….then
they are awakened from
this unreal realm.
Ahhh,
just savor it, my lad! To see that dreams are not real,
and
to realize that dreams are all your thoughts ever had --
until now!
Nuthin'
-- that all those lazy sons of bitches ever had was --
nuthin'!
But
-- ahhhh! now that you are loosed from the dreams in
your head,
you
find a new way to use the brain's ability to, think,
and
what your thoughts now
are about is -- nothing again! --
but
now the nothing of but: What
is.
Just
roll that around in your mouth: ‘The nothing
of but what is’ –
what
else could taste so sweet;
so
refreshing;
so
invigorating -- so liberating.
Yes
sir, son: waller-in, and, glory-in our fine family’s tradition of:
knowin’
nothing,
and damn well -- knowin’
that we don’t.”
He
raised his cup for a toast with the son,
waited
as their combined hearts beat eight, then soloed some more:
“There
is a restless sea upon which many ships sail;
due
to the ever moving waves, and their own individual structures,
the
ships bob & weave; rise & fall; go to & fro,
and
oft seem out of control, taking uncharted courses.
The
ships are of various types, for specialized operations,
but
each thinks it is better suited for one other than it now has,
and
believes that its construction characteristics can be altered.
Note:
ALL
ships sail this sea;
the
sea is life;
the
ships are men,
and
all come, fresh-from-the-factory -- deluded,
(as
concerns, what they are).
Sail
on, young nipper -- sail on!”
shouted the old salt.
(One, two, three, four, five….)
“Man
has achieved his unique position on top of everything here by his
chasing
impossible carrots,
dangled
in front of him on imaginary sticks --
--
dangled in front of him by his own brain’s thoughts.
If
men didn’t keep attempting to jump off, flap their arms, and fly,
we’d
still be renting rooms from ants.
You
do realize, don’t you,
that
it is morons who say that man cannot change,
while
upholding the contrary position has been assigned to imbeciles.
Even
if you don’t, or can’t ever objectively know
what
man is really like,
you
can know what he is really NOT
like --
just
listen to men’s descriptions of what man is like.
That’s
why I always say, my boy:
never
listen to anyone but me -- and if you heard that:
then
what the hell are you doing ignoring what I just told you?!”
The
old man did one of his brief, four beat imitations of umbrage,
then
picked the tune up again:
“There
is an old proverb that says that:
‘Death
acquits us of all obligations’ -- but so does, Waking up,
in
fact there is some labor news that might interest a lazy sort like you:
He
who dies now is finished for the year,”
and
upon saying that -- the father leaped off the wall.
J
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