At the heart of consciousness is a question,
and at the heart of the question is a paradox, and the paradox is not that no one
knows the answer to the question, but that in spite of everyone saying they do –
no one knows what the question is.
(Turn ninety degrees and there is a variation of this):
You can never say that you’re awake –
all you can do is say that at the moment you’re not asleep.
(Shift your sight a bit further and consider this):
Everyone knows that we live in physical confinement,
subject to the laws that govern all matter, but in the intangible realm unique to man: you’re in prison if you say otherwise.
(Hint to the super alert): Within those last seven words is everything that
the certain man needs to escape from the dream.
 
 

One man found a special message someone had left
which carried him through many a sticky time;
he ultimately discovered one that he created and brought all sticky times to an end.
  Your first map you obtain:
    your real one you create.
      A special message is a special message –
        but some are more special than others.
        “Are those the ones you never actually hear?”
           What?!
              One man named his stomach: Precious, and his mind: Semi Precious.
 
 

On one world everyone on-a-mission must submit to hourly urine tests.
(Mused one chap: “If I could get my automatic thoughts to pee in a cup
I might finally bring this company under some control.”)
 
 

A thing forgotten is best forgotten.
    (“You’re right about that: I have enough trouble just remembering the things that
       are actually important to me.”
Is that so?
     “Yes, but to be honest with you: the true trouble is in knowing what is
        really important.              [That first thing I said was just a cover up.”])
 
 

Regarding A Certain Position.
If you actually know what you’re talking about,
you don’t literally have to know what you’re talking about.
 
 

For those in prison there are no more significant words than: really, and: actually,
same too for would be escapees, but for an entirely different reason.
There is the physical reality of stomach walls,
and the incorporeal one of heaven’s;
ordinary men can get past neither.
(Through an understandable confusion with language: a recent visitor to our planet mistakenly joined the Cadillac Church instead of the Catholic.
And one guy notes: “There are no mix ups in hell  – ponder the significance of THAT!” which a man with a consciousness that understands the nature of words
and symbolism did long ago.)
 
 

In avian restaurants, you can skip the menu: the soupe du jour is always the same.
 
 

In prison: the instinct to conform can be irresistible.
 
 

Someone calling your name can be your salvation  –   unless your name is: Next!
 
 

In prison: the urge to lose can be overwhelming.
 
 

One man’s advice: “Never insist that someone tell you everything they know  --
unless you are prepared to clean up after them.”
 
 

After years of hearing a plethora of public questions such as:
“What impact will the budget cuts have on the life of the arts?”  –
“What impact will the church’s new policy have on parishioners’ sex life?” and:
“What impact will the growing industrial base have on the life of the planet?”
one guy finally wrapped up all such into this one ponder:
“What impact is my life having on my life?”
 
 

Conversation.
“If it weren’t for talk, humans wouldn’t know how miserable they are.”
    “Yeah, but they wouldn’t have half the fun they do.”
“You got me there.”
 
 

A Natural Fact (Not Naturally Seen).
You can’t know anything special and at the same time feel that your knowing
makes you special.
(Put another way: You don’t know anything if it makes you feel serious about you.)
 
 

Life Forecast: Long Range: More of the same, with chances of less.
Immediate Prognosis: Mostly the same.
“May I ask: are you really speaking of life, or of what goes on in individual men’s  consciousness?  –  no, hold up: better question: Does it really matter which?”
An onyx reflected: “Are the things I get concerned about actually what is going on,
or are they merely my onyx concerns?” --  and a near by lion injected:
“They had better be both,”  and a passing human snickered at the dumb animals' comments.     (“Dumb animals” he snorted   –   just for emphasis).
When stones critique rocks, a bit of emphasis never hurts.
    “It's like batman in trying to keep up with his competition by leaping off a building
      to show that he can fly, on the way down giving a running explanation of
      the circumstances responsible for the feat going wrong.”
Not bad.
 
 

“Just think,” said a father to a son,
“how useless is a map without boundaries to ordinary consciousness –
then consider how lucky you are.”
 
 

At one edge of three dimensional reality is the creature in charge of change,
but as long as you remain where you were born, you’re safe  –
you’ll never cross paths with him.
 
 

Graffito Found On A Semi Abandoned Doric Lobe.
“Anyone who is a devoted anything is a devoted dunce.”
 
 

Humans erect statues to past heroes because they cannot discern a current one.
    (“Are you in truth not referring to heroic persons, but of synaptic connections
       within the conscious part of a man’s brain?”)
Persist in that sort of insight and you may see for yourself what is at the edge of local reality (sometimes known as: waking up and achieving enlightened liberation).
     “My uncle calls it: tweaking your nervous system.”
           “My mom calls it: tickling your pre frontal lobes.”
When you’re standing at the very edge of man’s inner reality, having a totally unencumbered view into the clear, infinite blackness of everything there beyond,
you are no longer driven to call it anything.
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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