March 28, 2003                                                                     © 2003: JAN COX
 
 
 
 
 

Matters of technology excepted, when men talk  --  they talk about themselves  --
no matter the ostensible subject, when men talk  --  they, in verbal subterfuge  --
talk about themselves.

By not being normally programmed to perceive this fundamental fact,
men’s minds are urged off into a multitude of seemingly imprecise and commonly conflicting directions:
an arrangement that serves well the physical vitality of the species, but which
(from a certain non commercial, minority perspective) is the root of all non material related confusion singularly present in the consciousness of the individual.

Exempting survival pertinent matters of technology,
when men talk  --  they talk about themselves;
no matter what they seem to be talking about  --  they are unwittingly  --
talking about themselves  --
their consciousness at least is programmed to make them appear to be unaware of what they are actually talking about;
when ordinary men talk about god, politics, truth, justice, society  --
they are strictly and entirely, talking about themselves,
and regardless of their intelligence, education or sophistication,
the routine running of human thinking is  --  operationally-seems-to-be  --
absolutely incapable of processing this clearly so info.

A man whose nervous system is wired such that the conscious operation in his brain has an innate interest for instance, in what men have given the name, cultural-influences,
is not able to see  --  no matter in what manner the fact may plainly to him be noted  --  that when he talks about (which will be primarily in the form of criticism)
the detrimental (or at minimum, questionable) influences of culture on individual men,
he is talking solely about himself (same with political, social or economic ideologies; movies, fiction, history, divinities, and all psychological explanations of
the nature and thinking of man);
no matter how respected, experienced, nor facile of tongue or pen may be
a social commentator-cum-critic,
whatever activity he talks about is but talk about himself  --
he cannot help it anymore than he can tell anyone what he will think or say next:
the process is as totally automatic as is the flow of blood.

When men are in a relaxed, recreational state,
and their thinking --  apparently  --  cum-talking,
turns purely to matters which have no direct essential relevance,
but rather in which they simply feel a personal interest,
the conscious activity of the Homo Sapien nervous system is so programmed
to immediately institute talk about the human from whom the words are coming
(more accurately): programmed to immediately attempt engagement in talk about
the mortal medium that will produce fresh understanding thereof.

Men in their free time are wired to talk exclusively about themselves
in their mind’s instinctive hunger to grasp a fuller reality of man’s nature  --
or at the very least to make-better-sense of his life and words:
this verbalized, disguised, on going attempt at enlightening self reflection
has a several thousand year recorded history  --
its measure of satisfying success is salient to those who can see.
Its movement toward the intended goal is clearly operating at its own pace
vis a vis collective humanity  --  with which they are observably content
(as dictated by man’s standard neural programming),
but a few men with uncommonly strung nervous systems find this in no wise satisfying or useful in the pursuit of what proves to be their unique personal interest.

Such a man’s mind is not pseudo placated by him incessantly talking about himself under color of whatever apparent subject;
a man driven to get to the bottom of things senses correctly that he must first somehow get to the bottom of himself, not physically,
and not psychologically in its commonly conceived form,
but get-to-the-bottom of his instinctive desire to forever talk  --  and to be
forever doing so about himself without the common awareness that he is so doing.
 
 
 
 

A would-be rebel’s first notable sensation is that
there is far more talk going on than is to profit,
expanding into the unshakable feeling that
the talk is not really about what it purports to be;
the very heart of mankind’s cultural and spiritual world seems to him one of:
endless, meaningless talk  --  and not even honest in its claimed subject;
like shooting blanks at what your words say are dragons,
but the dragons being in fact, your word-producer.

A realized-man lacks any interest in ordinary talk,
knowing it to be only about ghosts, shadows, genetic echoes --
a never-completed, work-in-progress that is man’s routine consciousness.
A man who knows what is going on, if he does talk, talks of frogs as frogs, fog as fog, and rainbows as optical illusions  --  and not metaphysical messages.
He who has gotten to the bottom of things  --  if he sees the ground,
and if for some reason was moved to speak of the matter,
would speak of seeing the ground, with no verbal embellishments;
to a man who knows  -- dirt is sufficient unto itself,
as is an ordinary man who says he sees it as a supernatural sign of a divinity;
dirt is dirt and believers believers  --   no difference,
save in the quality of the reality in which the two exist;
down the hole, The Mad Hatter is just as real as is magnesium topside.
 
 

Consciousness with but standard wiring & programming is confined to operations concerning itself wherein it is not allowed to make a clear distinction between
matters which exist in and of themselves, and those which exist only because men talk about them (that is): which only exist IN men’s talk;
for a man with uncommon eye/I sight, this could not be clearer, nor can he fail to
soon see its full bore relevance to men’s relentless talk about themselves --