Noted a father to a son:
“There is something worse than being a serial killer, or a serial rapist  --
being a serial thinker.”
To see for yourself what is really going on with life requires that
within your own consciousness you turn a certain corner:
you will never understand what is happening if you follow the serial thinking
natural to man’s consciousness: the very type of thinking required for man to manipulate his physical environment to better suit his survival, but also the style of mentation that when turned onto matters intangible (such as the personable nature of man) renders them impossible to comprehend.
You cannot follow the serial thoughts you find native to your mind
regarding for instance: religion, or politics, or art, morality, et al,
and ever understand any more about their nature, reality and purpose
than you did the first time you ever heard of them;
employing ordinary serial thinking imprisons your comprehension right where it is;
no maybes or buts.
To turn that certain corner in your own mind/brain/consciousness
requires that you break out of  --   move laterally away from  --  serial thinking:
the thinking natural to ordinary men’s minds, and the scourge of the few.
 

Just as the ill can talk of nothing but illness,
so too can the sleeping speak only of matters related to being asleep.
If you want to know anything about cows, who better to consult than the herd.
    (“Pardon me for asking: but what interesting is there to be known about cows?”)
 

Everything you imagine to be a nightmare  --  is  --  until it occurs.
    (“Query [if I may be permitted]: should not a person with that CertainAim
       be able to make special use of this fact?”)
 

An Unconventional Schematic.
No matter what else it might be, at local levels reality is at least these three things:
It is itself (that is): reality,
it is a reflection of reality,
and it is also the shadow of reality;
to ever see what is really going on you must be able to differentiate between them.
 

Ordinary consciousness cannot operate in real time;
the certain man on the certain search can only open his eyes in real time;
you cannot wake up tomorrow or even two seconds from now;
only the routine mind mulling on the ideas and words of others is so duped.

Whenever he would catch himself being repetitive one man would say to the ether: “Well, at least I plagiarize the best.”
(But being as sharp as he was, he couldn’t accept this.)
 

Conversation.
“Just think: if it wasn’t for other people  --  we’d have no one to laugh at.”
    “Besides ourselves, you mean.”
“WHAT?!   What d’you mean by that?!”
 

Says one chap:
“Though some decry so called: feel-good philosophies,
they’re not all that bad  --  if you delete the word: ‘philosophy.’”
    (“I don’t get it?!”
           “WHAT D’YOU MEAN BY THAT?!”)
 

Only ordinary minds can swallow the notion that a little sadness can be
good for your soul, (and thus we must assume): for you.
 

While others in the city offer up their normal prayers, pleas and praises to their deitized image, this one man has started opening his communication with the big guy thus: “Hey!  --  check this out...”  (To which his own mind in silence, wearily replies:
“I don’t have to        --         you clod!”)
 

While strolling along an access road at the edge of town
a man was subtly struck by the reality of this irrationality:
“If there is a supernatural force extrinsic to man then it is in man.”
         Amidst excitement and promise
         do the routine dream they were born,
         and as mere debris on a meaningless sea
         do they fear they will depart.
“Pa pa: why the hell don’t people snap out of it?!”
    “I believe what you meant to ask was: WHEN will they.”
Under normal conditions in all cities and herds: Everything runs right on schedule.
 

Mused one man regarding a certain proverbial concept:
“Even if the humble are not better people than the rest of us,
at least they don’t yammer on and on about themselves like the rest of us.”
Anything besides food that any man says is better than something else,
is (to adequately nourished ears)  --  wren farts in a hurricane.
Men either hear too little, or too much --
but no cow ever complains about the noise of the herd.
    (“I apologize for intruding again: but the whole picture of a cow having any basis for
       complaining about anything seems to say the least: a bit far fetched.”)
One man’s dog would only go get a stick that the man had thrown  --  no one else’s.
    “And what is the name of that dog?”
I Will Only Bark And Cavort When It’s To Your Benefit.
    “My god!  --  where can I get such an animal?”
In the last place you would think to look.
   “Oh shit!  --  not THERE!”                                                                                     (Bow wow.)