(Though: "know" and "forgot" are not the right words,  there are no better ones  --  so: onward.)

Before they are verbally conscious  --  everyone knows a certain something,
but once they begin to have thoughts and to talk  --  everyone forgets it,
and you could dismiss the matter by saying:
“Well, how important can the something be if everyone who ever knows it, forgets it!” which is clearly how life intends men to deal with the fleeting sensation
they periodically experience throughout their lives wherein, just for a moment,
they feel there is something important they know,
but which has somehow slipped their mind,
(and as noted previously: there are a few who, for some reason,
do not entirely forget about their original, pre verbal knowing of the now,
unidentified something, and who are likely to spend a sizable portion of their lives attempting to bring the something into their conscious awareness).
 
 
 
 
 
 

One day (physically a bit out of sorts) a man thought: “I don’t feel at all  like myself,”  then thought: “But I feel SOME like myself  --  for if I didn’t feel at ALL like myself,
I’d have no way of knowing that I didn’t” --
and later mused on the similarity of this situation to trying to awaken from the dream,
(when you are not totally dipped in shit,
it is tricky to locate precisely the source of the smell).
 
 
 
 
 
 

Sometimes (when in a light hearted mood)
one man would deliver to himself, this testimonial: “Using my personal methods,
I have thus far made over fifty thousand dollars worth of inner advancements --
in my spare time --  and without having to once, dip into my existing mental capital,” (see: him referring to this as a, testimonial is a joke.)
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man (while sitting quietly) suddenly said to his partner that as far as
he could fathom, the only reason to ever read what someone else has written
is just so you’ll see what you hadn’t been missing.
 

Legend says that in response to the few men’s interest in this sort of stuff,
life one time declared:
“The mind is intended to do exactly what it does now, and if you think otherwise  --  then do something about it.”
 

During a coffee break in their regular morning meeting,
the First Undersecretary Of Thought confided to an underling:
“Sometimes it seems as though life has packed up man for shipping,
and then has forgotten to attach an address label -- (would you pass the cream please).”
 
 
 
 
 
 

The lead speaker at the conference opened with this comment:
“If those claiming to be working for an expanded state of understanding were indeed making the kind of progress they say they are, they would not still be talking about it,”
and one attendee shouted out: “How about: still thinking about it?”  and the speaker noted that that aspect was more appropriate to a later time in the program.
(P.S. the real later-time in this regard would be an unknown, or non existent time,
for so long as the mind thinks in time  --  the mind understands only what life dictates that man should, within the restricted confines of commonly available knowledge
[no forgotten, special something here.])
 

More About: Seriousness
If you do not recognize when & where to BE serious  --  you are TOO serious
(“too” to the certain man, being always synonymous with: “foolishly”
[the few’s overdoing of anything that life directs ordinary men to do
becomes clearly so with them eventually],
but note: “eventually” exists only in a temporal realm, and we just covered the strangulated condition that thinking-in-time will impose on the neural activity
of a man with the lingering memory of that pre conscious something).
To see for yourself what is really going on requires a nervous system life that functions topside in what men commonly call, real-time which is in operational fact --  no time, which is the reality behind the mortal word, now  --   a place within a man’s, birth-to-death seamless spectrum of existence that presents not the illusion of
having produced a seam therein (in other terms):
when you allow your mental consciousness to be completely filled with
only the thoughts life automatically feeds you,
your perceptions of you, life and the entire human circus is broken up into separate seeming pieces which supports the ordinary mortal feeling of a seriousness to life  --
a foolish seriousness, when seen from a position of expanded comprehension.
 
 
 
 
 
 

More About: Hormones & Neurons
Hormones holler: “Hey --  look at my breasts, my thighs, my butt,”
while neurons have only to say: “Hey --  look at my.....my…..my,
and in desperation finally say: “…at my ideas”  --  which they know to be a specious comment, in that any neurons worthy of  their job description realize that the ideas they have come not from them, but from.....from.....from.....
Some Wagering News
If it is between neurons and hormones,
always put your money where you KNOW it should go
(regardless of what your thoughts say you should do,
for the knowing that leads to correct action is in feelings  --   not in thinking).
And one father so advised a son:
“Kid, on days when you can’t instantly tell the winners from the losers  --  don’t bet,”
(still more reason [would you not say]
for pursuing a policy of as much silence as is possible).
 

And in a single, deft move, one man totally exonerates and separates himself from
his behavior by saying to any so concerned therewith:
“Hey! --  don’t tell ME  --  see my hormones!” (who [coincidentally]
keep no regular office hours).
And now, for the first time ever is revealed:
Man’s Unstated: Stupor Formido  --   (The Supreme Terrestrial Terror):
If man stopped talking about his condition  --  it might go away.
More About Time
If, to explain (at least to your semi satisfaction) something you did in your life,
you must specify the conditions under which it occurred  --
what you seemingly did wasn’t really much OF your own doing,
only that which a man does outside the context of what his automatic thoughts
 say about what he is doing, actually counts in any fashion AS, his doing.
“Pa pa  --  why do not men want to be aware of this?”
      “Because they can’t be.”
 
 

One of the city’s leading cultural-experts stood, raised his glass (and nose) high,
and proposed: “Art without an obvious message
is as dangerous as a priest with a mental conscience,”
then confidently downed his drink, expecting no contrary responses.

And also over in the city, a man said:
“I am not much given to talk,” and an old timer noted:
“Then around here you’re not going to be much given to ANYTHING.”
All voyages over verbal seas are bumpy,
and all explanations of life given by neurons are a President’s Press Secretary conveying to the public the leader’s feelings and plans
when he has never met the man, and has no idea even of what language he speaks,

and while kings have been able to control men’s bodies through force,
priests have done so to their minds with nary a weapon,
(‘course both of them are under the command [like everyone else]
of life’s nervous system network),
 

and during a heated discussion, one local god explained his egregious lack of
personal attention to the mental life of creatures in his charge by claiming it is all:
“A matter of style”  --
           if you are normal: this can explain everything;
           if you are not, then you have the opportunity to pursue that extraordinary: