Men commonly rib, chide and clavicle one another about
living luster lacking lives; being unadventurous, dull and predictable --
all around --  creatures-of-habit;
the references are to the life of the body,
yet the most deep rooted example of this is in the mind,
and not just the more vocal redundancies regarding your favorite sports teams, songs, movies, or political views,
but the private, ever running subtle thoughts you have about you
that are the on going support system for your vague sense of you.

The efficiency of the body and all forms of non thinking life is habit;
eagles, ants, ferns and fungus are nothing if not creatures of habit,
indeed risk their existence should they not be,
and clearly, by audible evidence, are man's recreational thoughts exemplary of habit; upon a momentary modicum of introspection any reasonable person would admit to being sometimes repetitive in their speech, and thus they would surmise,
in their thoughts --  and after admitting same, would instantly forget about it.
But the focus of today's News is not on this obvious (though ignored) example of mental habit, rather on the all-the-time, never shared, repetitive conversations,
and scenes centered around you which run relentlessly through the conscious part of your brain, and which (if you expediently analyze it from a certain perspective)
seem to be the well spring and foundation of the thing each man takes to be
his own personal self  --  his internal individuality.

These day dreams (to employ a vernacular which is not here ill fitted) are not consciously noticed by men; they are aware that their brain is continually churning out thoughts, words and pictures day and night, but the habitual ones
that would seem to be the framework for their private feel of what they are
are so habitual, so incessant and fleeting, and.....well --  so habitual that
an ordinary man's consciousness pays them no more attention than would he
a life long eye twitch, or nervous throat clearing.
 
 

Neither good or bad; this or that; neurotic or otherwise,
your mind in its free time is filled from corner to corner, top to bottom with your voice engaged in imaginary conversations with you forcefully proclaiming the kind of person you are; the kind of crap upwithwhich you will not put,
and the types of descending wool to which your eyes and keen insight
will not succumb;
the fragments of scenes  --  the snatches of sentences flow though your thought
viewer ceaselessly  --  from one view, continually forming and reinforcing your inner concept of you, and like everything else about the mind in its spare time pursuits -- this is both valid and also foolishness;
to routine minds it is a reasonably drawn verbal picture of the quite personal and private sources of each man's inner individuality;
also do psychology, psychiatry, religion, political science and sociology
rest thereon, and no everyday mind can comprehend any alternative thereto,
but from that certain minority, non standard view presented here,
the entire affair can only but stand if not at all examined
(and as always, life has it arranged for maximum efficiency in that ordinary men have not minds able to make such examinations [plus, they are born with no interest in the matter]).
 
 

The conventional conclusion is that what goes on in a man's brain-mind
dictates the nature of his personality and general temperament,
a schema which, for minds that go out no further, flies,
but a mind born with that CertainInterest will instinctively be drawn to look into
this matter --  which is to say: look into itself  --  an endeavor,
thoroughly impossible (which may be one reason ordinary people shun it),
but one that is the tuba section to the CertainMan's marching band.
 
 

From his perspective (right up at the very edge of the ravine)
the particular words, thoughts and scenes about him which endlessly fill up
an ordinary man's free time mind are of no significance whatever --
they literally mean nothing in themselves --
it is their relentless repetition alone that matters --  and even it does not --

Does what you are cause you to day dream about you as you do? --
or do your day dreams about you cause you to be as you are?
the answer is yes, no, and get-a-grip --
the mind off-duty is a plaything, but for a few there is a type of play that will damn near eat the universe's lunch (it'll damn sure eat yours, that is: your old mind's).
Men --  intelligent, educated, sophisticated men --  are made by life to perceive there be something non physical about them that accounts for who they are,
and which makes them do, think and say what they do --
but the only people who know what their motivations are,
are people who know nothing  --  absolutely nothing  --  nothing --  point blank.
Every man's brain weaves dreams in his mind of why he is as he is --
yet no man's natural born mind ever has the slightest comprehension of how this came to be (his liver knows --  but his liver ain't tellin');
the substantial heart of mentally centered civilization, culture,
and the totality of man's inner reality is based on this ignorance --
and its structure framed with verisimilar assertions to the contrary;
men are made to say they know what commonly goes on in their minds  --
and they do not;
they are led to profess that what is going on therein forms and directs their individual personality and private selves  --  and it does not,
and they are forced to claim that they by & large know what motivates them personally in a particular circumstance  --  and they do not;
what a game --  what a pastime, and just think: it's free.