Men are born with the charge: “Keep your eye glued to the factory line”  --
upon which passes through men, their feelings and thoughts,
but to be civilized, life also gives them the ability (when circumstances require,
and it is emotional/hormonal widgets involved) to look away from the line,
but man is not normally programmed to do so when it is thoughts on the line.

To live in stable herds, men must be able to unglue their eye for the moment from
the emotionally charged, survival related hormonal matters such as food and sex,
while there appears no need for them to do so regarding the endless,
mostly meaningless mental matters that pass through their brain on life’s factory line;
only the man trying to get-to-the-bottom-of-things has the interest, need and ability to do this, and it is in fact the unrecognized aim of the various methods men have historically pursued in their attempts to achieve enlightenment,
and awaken from the dream.

In the womb are men charged: “Keep your eye glued to the factory line”  --
out of the womb do only a few strike against this in matters mental.
Let the dog of your attention stare at passing cars,
and forever your consciousness remains chained in the yard of your birth.

All thought is contrast:
in the physical world, contrast between how things are and how they could be;
in the intangible realm: how things are contrasted with how they should be
(as per the thinker’s partisan, personal view),
but the rebel (the non aligned thinker) contrasts how ordinary men take things to be,
and how they might actually be.
 
 

Nothing is right until it is right to you,
(just as nothing is known until you know it.)

“Safety first!” is the cry of ordinary city minds;
“Safety first, last and always!” is the cry of the city mind leaders  --  and:
“Safety in numbers!” is the cry of them all.
 
 

While they were just sitting around one day,
and the kid was gazing off into the blank distance, he said to the old man:
“It’s funny Pop: but for no accountable reason: sometimes I’m happier than others,”
and the elder slapped him on the back hard enough to stun a hippo and said:
“Now you got it boy! --  just don’t stare at it.”
Waking up to what is really going on is the only prize a man can gain
that he never looks at more than once.
(See, that’s why ordinary men continually reexamine and comment on
the faux ones they obtain in the city.)
“Yes, it looks similar to a Grammy, but what I have here is a Whammy:
sit down, and I will gladly explain why mine is preferable.”

In the hours just before he died, one man incessantly cried out: “Five – ten!”
over and over again, and at the cemetery someone suggested that he was calling out the time, while another figured he was referring to his height, and one of gravediggers added that it certainly was his I.Q. or he wouldn’t have passed in such a noisy fashion.
Only the dense are demised amidst din:
the certain man (as he awakens) slips away in silence.
Not-knowing is what causes all the commotion  --  not its antithesis.
(Additional support for the reality behind the ancient myths of:

If ordinary men realized how their mind operates --
it would cease to operate ordinarily.
 

The way to make really good time on the rebel’s highway out of the city
is to floorboard it!  --   and pass yourself in the car ahead.
 

If men saw where their mind normally stands  --
they would walk away from the place.

Tip: Don’t bet on dead horses.
As unnecessary as this advice sounds, it is yet uniformly ignored in the city:
indeed the running of the place depends on men wasting their wagers.