JAN’S DAILY FRESH REAL NEWS
                        © 2001: Jan Cox
                                       ***********************************************

As the morning sun began to dry the mourning dew,
and the father & son waited by the Over-Time-Goal-Line 
for the croquet ponies to be brought from the stables,
the former said to the latter:
“Those who most need to wake up are those for whom primarily 
the ancient myths, metaphorical legends & allegorical religious tales were writ, and yet they are the very ones most in need of direct confrontation with plain reality
and not more symbolism.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

As the son warmed up with some inverted, deep knee bends, he said to the father:
“How do you continually come up with these stories about us?”
   “I just sit down and start writing --  and they come to me.”
“Not unlike our consciousness, huh Dad?!”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The father demonstrated how shifting his weight to his younger foot would 
improve the son’s chances of avoiding the Queen’s unassisted, triple play gambit,
as he continued his comments.
“Even though when brought down to the crudest common level,
the persistent archetypical myths of mankind are enjoyed by many,
(particularly in religious contexts),
their true patrons & fiercest aficionados are those people
who feel that man is not fulfilling his proper destiny;
that he lives a disingenuous life, somehow almost, 
cut-off-from-himself:
lying to himself and to others;
pursuing meaningless goals while promoting vacuous values;
that all in all, men live lives that are closer to dreams than to the real lives that they should be living.”
The elder tried a few practive strokes with the newly arrived, Walton mullets.     

“These are the people who individually will hold a deep affection,
bordering on fascination, 
for the fables & legends that populate the world’s literature,
and on a good day, if in the Key of C, with low hum-I-ditty.
and their little engines running on all two cylinders,
they are thoroughly convinced that these tales contain a great secret message,
the correct analyzation of which 
will answer all of their questions & light up their brain bulb to the max.

Such people solemnly, (but initially with much pleasure & excitement),
scrutinize the stories of Gilgamesh, Krishna, Zoroaster, Hermes & Moses for their true, Intended metaphorical lessons;
they ponder the lives of Plato, Buddha, Lao, Pythagoras & Rumi 
for hints of what behavior will cause the ultimate truth to them, 
to be eventually revealed.
They sense symbolic, coded message everywhere;
suspecting the Mass, as publicly practiced,
to be but a poor imitation of its secret purpose;
believing that all enduring human rituals have a hidden, initiative core
that men have either forgotten about, or else is being withheld for only those who deserve to know of it.”
The father effortlessly sank a forward guard in the side pocket as he added:
”The days you spend, motivated by this belief in secret symbolic escape messages, and believing you see them everywhere,
can be some of the most exciting times in a man’s life --
just remember the period when you were so caught up,”
the younger smiled and agreeably nodded.
 

"In a time before man’s consciousness had become so 
overweight & lethargic that he had to write things down to remember them,
everyone heard a certain music played throughout the world,
which made every day of existence even more enjoyable;
the music was in fact, at the very heart of the pleasure of 
being alive & human,
a fact that men did not realize & appreciate until 
someone finally said something about it, 
and everyone else began to discuss it.
Since then, men do not hear the music  --  yes, they hear it – it is still there  --   but, due to the various conversations & debates that its original notice spawned, 
men are no longer aware THAT they hear it ............and yes, you are correct:
in spite of everything  --  a few still do.......................who know where to look."
 
 

The father picked up the rowing bags as the ponies were brought on the field and confided:
”The way that certain humans are put together at the factory
they end up on Earth – conscious, (that is, 
their brains are properly putting out thoughts),
but unlike the majority who are programmed to go-with-the-flow,
these, from the outset, twist, fidget & seem to struggle with some unseen restrictive agency, and never accept that things, are-as-they-seem.
These are the true, un credited authors of the Gita, the Analects,
the Odyssey, Aesop’s Fables, The Bible, the Books of The Dead;
the real creators of the fictional heroes: Rama, Socrates, Abraham, 
Alexander & Jesus:
they are both the source of such striking stories  -- 
and also their most passionate audience,
for just as soon as such an artist tells one of these stories 
that miraculously appeared in his head,
he is instantly convinced that there is more to it than it sounds like 
on the surface ---  are you hearing me, boy?
The very person who made up the tale, 
(the medium for its transmission),
immediately believes that there is more to the story than even he  -- 
--  its ostensible author   --   realized while telling it.

If any ordinary man was hearing this, 
he would dismiss the words as being from a fool,
for how can a person totally make up a story, 
and as soon as he tells it, believe that it has a secret message;
that it is actually a metaphor for something other than 
what it verbally seems to be about.
How can such a thing be?”

The father asked the line judge for a fresh divot & drove forward:
”I guess you now expect me to tell you how this can be.
           All stories are written by brains,”
          (he took a mighty swing);
            “The brain is shy,”
            (he hit one on the wing),
            “And doesn’t like to hear itself                                      talked about.”
 
 
 

                                                            _______
 
 
 
 

In the beginning, everyone looks in the wrong place --
it seems like the right place, and it cannot be avoided.
When they start, everyone looks in the direction that is the most fun --
it is not the ultimately profitable place, but at the time, it seems so.
Well into this adventure, (at least time wise), it becomes clear that
few people are programmed to ever look in the right place;
even though they are born with some interest in this affair,
they are not given an interest strong enough to finally look there,
nor perhaps, a stomach strong enough 
to take what is to be seen there,
but it does not matter:
the great machine continues to receive current & run,
and the music that secretly makes life what it is for man still plays,
and those who get it  --  get it,
and those who don’t  --  don’t,
and no harm visits anyone. *

                                                    J
 
 
 
 

 * …unless you were born with a ticket to Istanbul, 
and you keep getting off the train in France to look at the local scenery.