To the would-be independent thinker, all advice is potentially lethal --
thus ultimately does the rebel heed only his own head,
once he has shifted the core base of his mental operations from its natural born site in his brain to the one he has privately developed.
In the mythology of the few: even god’s directions will point you to hell;
members of a herd possess no knowledge helpful to other members --
if they did, they would not be members themselves.
The attractive and captious feature of advice is that the embrace thereof,
even if it is completely inapplicable to your situation, affords the meaningless, momentary sensation of you having done something on your behalf.
Bunches of good do psychological theories to goats wishing to shed their beards.
Only one piece of information is of help to the certain man – and only he has it.
(Must the neatness of it all be noted yet again?!)
 
 

Would be city spiritual-leaders are like cows with performing aspirations,
but no talent other than a fishy one -- the ability to carp.
Finding fault is an unrecognized revealing of one’s own personal characteristics,
and the only talents any cows possess are exaggerations of routine bovine ones.
In a herd, you cannot learn-from-your-betters since there are none;
in your own mental conglomerate (if you have that certain potential),
is all the instruction you need.
Ergo, in private does the certain man continually engage in the uncultured act of pointing – and then has the irrational audacity to head off in the direction indicated.
Nothing in this universe but life (if that) -- knows what it is doing,
and no human ever comes remotely close to doing so
save those whose minds they have pried from local-reality-fascination.
 
 

A subtle message all minds are sent when they make their inevitable transition from, Somatic-Eden, to, Mental-Civility is: If you don’t compare,
you get no where.
 
 

If you know how to do it:
one way out of the city’s imaginary-confinement
is to ignore it and forget about it.
“Once I dreamed I was drowning:
then I pretended I could swim,
the result was: I acted like I had saved myself.”
(A song those in the city never hear -- and if they did, they would not take seriously.)
The main thing that holds a herd together
is individual cows having no sense they could survive independently;
to be terminally confused is to accept the fact: “I am confused.”
Only the placidly ignorant die dumb;
the certain man privately passes away long before anyone ever suspects his absence.
“The way I knew I had finally arrived was,
when I looked around -- I wasn’t there.”
“Dear Sir: Much of what you say gives me a severe headache.
Best wishes for the holidays.
Yours,” etc.
 
 

Even with his heavier-than-others brain,
man was still given only two mental feet to carry him about;
for city affairs and routine interests, this is all that is necessary,
but if you are to ever jump from the mundane collective train
you must have a self grown third leg on which to pivot to finally make that fateful leap.
Even working at their best, just Hansel & Gretel can never get you out of the woods -- you need to introduce a wolf to your tale to gobble up the two buggers;
an empty bramble is a peaceful bramble (must it be noted to you again that as always,
in matters such as the instant, bramble, we are talking about the electrical mass that fills your skull?!)
 
 

If you find how to do it: the way out of all imaginary inner ills
is to act like you’re not aware of them, and pretend to forget about them.
No man knows he is dumb and asleep unless he gets up out of bed,
and takes an intelligent look at himself -- solution? -- well -- isn’t it obvious!
....it never struck you that the source of the maxim:
“Let sleeping dogs lie” was dozing dobermans ?
All things in man’s mental-only reality are by nature, aggressively self protective,
with the inherent ability to handily ward off all routine, feeble attacks;
only with the outlaw talents of the certain man’s brain
can one quadrant of a kingdom lay siege to another and succeed in overcoming
while no change -- much less harm -- appears done.
“I originally lived here --
now I do not --
but the part that was initially here, still does.”
 
 

For quite a while does the nascent rebel feel he is on a scorched-earth expedition,
but just as life does itself no ill --
with the realization comes the understanding that neither can man’s mind.
When life hears itself sing in its most glorious voice,
its sound may be much more familiar to you than you now imagine.
 
 

For seventy odd years do ordinary minds apparently stay on the move;
able to incessantly pace up and down the aisles of man’s common train
from whence they never step;
as their confined universe spins, and they agitate therein,
so is spread the sensation of meaningful motion, and the illusion of freedom,
which, when they discuss their existence among themselves,
passengers assure one another are both genuine,
and gladly advise each other on how to intensify their actuality.
Meanwhile, standing in the rushing wind between cars, preparing to jump,
the certain man is deaf to such noise –
aware only of the sounds in that special area of his brain
which he has so long cultivated and nourished,
primarily by being so deaf to the inane cacophony of the cattle train.
 
 

Those who eventually see what is going on are, in the final steps,
led to that inner vantage point by themselves.
“Welcome!’ says the realization, “There is no one here now but us.”