The Imaginary Court Cases

 

 

 

 

 

which play-out in your mind, originate in the I (sounds like, "in the eye")

every judgement (sounds like, "Judge meant") depends on our consensus

I disdain the half-assed results when you veto an item on our "to-do list"

you can only half-hearted-ly enjoy unvetted items never added to the list

 

mindcourt: we deliberate a boulders weight (sounds like, "bolder's wait")

we learn logical reasoning rules used to imagine a list you won't shirk-off

occasionally—we, both you and I, autopilot (sounds like, "ought to pilot")

rarely is there a need for spontaneous ice cream (sounds like, "I scream")

encouraging experimentation measures each risk before it goes on the list

barriers contain curiosity (sounds like, "move 'long, nothin' to-see-hear!")

question: if you're uncurious about embracing 'question-everything ethos'

assume (sounds like, "ass-you-me") this barrier was programmed by your

one-size-fits-all society; abusive ancestors; or your cultural indoctrination

(no-matter its origin) the barrier exists because you still re-in-force prune

to learn how to disregard a barrier, discover your programming (meditate)

hint for novices (sounds like, "no vices") you clearly labelled your trauma!

 

The Front of My Awareness is Not Only Where I Focus (AKA Little Baby)

prove you have a strong mediator: Postpone

 

the thing you want to enjoy next, by waiting

 

until the twenty-one song recording finishes

 

and allow yourself to cajole (don't you need

 

to pee?). But, you and I, we, will prove how

 

to see for ourselves, that we have self-tested

 

and can guarantee both of us, that we're able

to stick to the decision—because, "I said so"

and you will know who you are once I learn

 

how to differentiate you from me, because I

 

fabricated "autonomously-aware agent you"

 

when did sexual awareness begin to solidify

 

the part of us you *think of* as "elsewhere"

 

chose solidarity with front of house and ask

balancing against your own pond-ripples is

 

smoothed, realizing that everything outside

 

of the front focus awareness of 'enn' in now

 

you learned to self-program from ancestors

 

confirm you raise children to raise children

 

 

 

Second Palate/Pallet/Palette Test Page

     🠜 Previous page

        

        A smooth-oval symbol, with tiny divots top & bottom, preceded the acronym: MCT.  The dosage was written as: one gram (1000mg).

 

        Even though you have "heard-of" medium chain triglycerides, you always choose-to not weight the chemical's difficult-to-spell-and-remember name with a "save-for..." marker, or, to tag it with an "interested/learn more" association.  Consequently, you are almost-certain it is not an acronym for Mashed CoconuT.

 

        You hesitated reading for a fraction of, a fraction of, a second to wonder if this was the first time you had seen gram/milligram written in this manner, and the pause gave your brain a chance to identify if this was, maybe, First Awareness in action?

 

        It is always comforting for you, when emotionally-significant This is a first! recognition occurs as-it-is-happening.  You especially enjoy savoring the feeling you think-of as 'that newness-thing settling in' when a anchor neuron is being created.  As it sends out *new connections available here* signals, the trillions upon trillions of already existing transmission-cell connections recognize the new node, and those information pathways "ripple" and cause the brain-equivalent of "muscle-growth itch".  

 

       As you ran your eyes over the paragraph's information, you allowed some of the words to register long enough to receive "save-for...today" markers, like: "less than ten calories" and "trick the liver".  You gleaned enough to understand that these fats are too short for the gauge on the fuel-tank reserved for long-chain fats (which are either burned or stored for later) and too long for the filter that allows only short-chain fats to pass-thru (which ferment and feed gut bacteria).  Consequently, MCTs are able to sneak to the front of the line (where they immediately become high-octane fuel before everything else) and then are express-tubed directly liver to brain, where they are available to provide excess-power to any cell that wants it.  

         

        And, to wink at any others who also successfully tricked their way around security, like the Magnesium Threonate you just swallowed.  You mentioned to yourself as you began to 'sense a theme' and smiled slightly, both inward and outwardly.

        A symbol of an upward-pointing triangle containing three dots preceded the word: Psyllium, which was, again, followed by the dosage: one gram (1000mg).

        The capsules of psyllium powder were a soluble-in-water fiber, intended to counteract possible symptoms of indigestion which, "may be caused by consuming a larger than normal quantity of unfamiliar-to-you supplements."  Also, according to the paper-card, this fiber would provide "some aid" in diarrhea, constipation, or both.  And that, "a significant number of participants will experience the combination of caffeine and MCT as a laxative.  Accordingly, the administrator will direct you to an adjacent water closet."  

 

        You contemplated the term 'water closet' as an internationally-understood label and wondered if the United States would ever abandon their 'public restroom' and 'private bathroom' labels.  This association-linked to the US's disdain for the metric system and then the US's abhorrence of ... so ... I nudged you back from your contemplation spiral.  [You *thought to yourself* 'stop dwelling on the country's failures'!  Keep reading!]

 

        The symbol for salt was an hourglass shape and it's dosage was also: one gram (1000mg).  The tone of this paragraph was similar to the previous one for vitamin D.  "Essential electrolyte" and "heart-rhythm" stuck in your short-term memory.  As well as the oddly worded phrase, "...completely contrary to what has been universally-taught to-and-by modern [italics theirs; sarcasm?] general medical practitioners worldwide, for almost a century".  Basically, the card said:  low-salt diets resulted in dangerously-low electrical impulses between cells (which were the cause of heart arrhythmia, muscle cramps, brain fog, eye-lid twitches, and the list went on).

 

        It then advised gauging your own "routine salt intake" against the "impending, probable increase in your adrenaline/epinephrine and serotonin outputs, which will increase heart and breathing rates" and that you should either take the next three supplements, now, or explain why not.

 

        You reached forward, took all the one-gram capsules and gel-caps from the next three depressions and, as you washed them down with a swallow of tea...

 

        The administrator said with a gesture, "The door at the end is a bedroom with attached en-suite.  Please think of it as yours, for-use as-you-wish, while you're here.  I should mention that there's a litter box next to the shower; but—if you hear a cat asking to come in—please disregard.  They have other options when a door is closed."

 

        You looked at the closed door at the end of a short hallway, thanked them, smiled, and continued reading. 

 Next page 🠞

Palate/Pallet/Palette Test Page

 

        The administrator met you at the door, directed you to seat yourself in the over-stuffed chair in front of the coffee table, and excused themselves with the declaration, "My kitchen has requested a few more minutes of my attention before we begin . . . Oh . . . If you find a cat in your seat, that's good luck for both of you! . . to discover if you can share."

 

        There was just enough time for you to be impressed by the shaded but warmly adorned sun-porch and the bird-sounds coming thru screened windows (unfortunately, no cat) before you noticed the coffee table contained a small number of rectangular porcelain plates—which you thought you recognized from restaurants who needed their strong sauces and spices kept-apart.  Each shallow-depression contained:  a capsule, a couple of colorful pills, or a different-colored slice of gelatin; also, each of the depression's were labelled with a tiny symbol in the porcelain.  As you bent forward in your chair, to see if you could identify any of the markings, you realized the administrator was returning and then-recognized that you already forgot their name.

 

        "Welcome to your first Go On experience."  The administrator breezed in with comfortable smiles and full hands.  "I am here to administer the artwork for you.  Names are an unimportant formality and I prefer not to use titles, as well.  Either?

 

        "Nonetheless, I'll guide you.  We should exchange as much information as is required by either of us, in as succinct a manner as possible."  As the administrator said this, they added two more plates to the coffee table, rearranged them all (focusing on the order of the plate's contents) and raised-up the table in an springy-accordion-manner.

 

        Now positioned in front of you like a dining table, you realized the plates were easily within reach.  "Thank you."  You paused, catching yourself (*inward smile*) before you mumbled or stammered-out a 'sir' or 'administrator'.

        "This page of paper contains the list of supplements in front of you."  The administrator rose slightly from their seat beside the table, slid a piece of paper within reach, and resumed the instructions.  "The order they are listed, is the order they are displayed; from your left to your right.  You should take as much time as you need to read this entire sheet, both front and back."

 

        You began to read.  The first symbol reminded you of a slightly-slanted party hat with geometric lines and dots underneath; you assumed it was either Chinese or Japanese.  You glanced at the first symbol on the plate on your far left (to match the symbols) ... and the administrator resumed talking.

        "I'll pour us some tea.  And.  As any question arises in your reading-mind, I request you ask it.  Please do not save your questions for the end.  This is not, at-all, conducive to that.  The experience will begin after our tea is done—that's usually, for everyone including myself—about twenty minutes.  The tea's caffeine and terpenes will take that long to begin to take effect; so if you finish reading after a few minutes and have no questions, we will sit and watch birds and squirrels until 21 minutes have passed."

        You nodded, smiled, and returned your eyes to the paragraph beginning with the party-hat symbol:

 

        Potassium.  Milligrams vary by body-mass/weight; rate of metabolism/resting heart rate; fat reserves (brown-fat versus yellow-fat); and other immediately available minerals and vitamins which act as "boosters" or provide "entourage effects".  The next line was blank.  The line after that only contained:  127mg.

 

        Your mind looked back at the plate.  At the one pill in the party-hat location.  Not two mass-produced 65mg pills.  This was supposed to be one 127mg pill?  Made specifically for, whomever?  With no pre-prepared questionnaire, this must be an intentional conundrum, you thought.  "I have a question."  You said.

 

        "Please, just ask.  No need to request permission or announce questions."  As they added more cream to their own tea and raised the pitcher slightly to your head-shake.

        "All these measurements to identify dosage . . . followed by a very specific—127mg, on the page.  Either this is an oxymoronic-dichotomy of sorts, intended to confuse, or to entertain, . . . or to . . . see if I'm able to ask questions?  To, express my confusion?"

        "Yes."  The administrator replied with a straight face, "One of those."  Then they indicated toward the little dish of sweeteners.

 

        You took a yellow package of something and asked, "If I had taken my 90mg this morning, would the card say:  37mg?"

        "No." They replied as they emptied the creamer into their tea.

        You smiled, sipped, and continued reading:

        Magnesium L-Threonate (preceded by a curly-looping symbol) and followed by:  360mg.  The next line explained that this variation of the essential mineral magnesium was a sulfate (or 'salt') and was one of the rare magnesium molecules capable of crossing the osmotic-type of "barrier" surrounding the brain.  It further noted that there were, currently, no recommendations (or prevention-cautions) or significant research, regarding this form of brain-accessable-magnesium. 

        Vitamin D (preceded by a square-D symbol):  1250mg.  The next line reflected that less milligrams would be required if, "yesterday's sun exposure was optimal or more-than-average".  Then it read, exactly as-follows:  If you need to know why you need a vitamin D supplement—ask the administrator.  If you already know why, you may take these first three supplements.

 

        By taking the first three supplements, you are stating/acknowledging that you possess full-awareness of your own health conditions/evaluation, and any risks you entertain by taking minerals, supplements, nootropics, or other substances provided by the administrator are completely your decision. You are volunteering to participate.

 

        While you are currently (and always?) evaluating/testing the capabilities of your individual self and mind, you are hereby reminded:  You are always able to end this specific experience at any time (and receive a full refund).

 

        It is only asked that you begin to learn to trust the advice of the administrator of the Go On artwork (who, also, may terminate the experience at any time, at their own discretion, and would-then provide a full-refund to you).

 

         KmagD is the first-foundational entourage.  KmagD is a daily/bi-daily recommendation, but every human participating in the artwork-experience should consider it a requirement.  If you already took KmagD today (or some portion thereof) please inform the administrator at this time.  Otherwise, take the three KmagD.

 

        You reached forward, took the capsules and pills from the first three depressions, washed them down with a swallow of tea, and continued reading:

 

 Next page 🠞

twenty-one squared equals two-hundred fourty-one (21² = 241)

 

Go On 21-song loop (version 1.5) on You Tube

 

241 songs in total; 21 rows, each containing: 21 songs.

21 songs is the required length of Go On composite art

[say: co-imposi-Tar; if asked to spell:  Composit-æ-rt].

Possessors of the 21 curated "mix-tape" recordings, in-

fact, are able to generate 23 additional Go On artworks

[21 top-to-bottom columns & 2 bonus diagonals] = 44!

²

Buckled in?   Imagine these 21-song-loops in a sphere.

A diagonal slides up from the center and the final song

becomes the last song from the bottom Go On artwork.

 

An algorithmic program would make it possible to add

at least 54 more story lines for Orchestral-Compositors

(and this isn't even reversing or reading bottom-to-top)!

version 1.6 of Go On (another 21 song loop)

 

Pop Quiz (now for use w/ any 21-song loop)

 

 

Well . . .

 

 

If I were to tell you only one thing about them; I would say,

    "They were born with more bones in the part of the spine that covers nether-regions—umm, more tailbones!   Yea, that's (was) their superpower, for sure.    Better when using it to communicate and for keeping cold winds away.   And don't get me started on how much more beautiful that presents when hoping to be noticed; but in that hard-to-notice-at-first kind of way.   You know?   Plants the idea from a distance, '...there's somethin' bout em...' and (only later) you'd be-thinkin:  *that curly tail! So expressive.*"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

         If I were to tell you only one thing about them; I would say, "They were born with more bones in the part of the spine that covers nether-regions—umm, more tailbones!  Yea, that's (was) their superpower, for sure.  Better when using it to communicate and for keeping cold winds away.  And don't get me started on how much more beautiful that presents when hoping to be noticed; but in that hard-to-notice-at-first kind of way.  You know?  Plants the idea from a distance, '...there's somethin' bout em...' and (only later) you'd be-thinkin: *that curly tail!  So expressive.*"

  

 

      Is "picture any import?" or can you separate the text from the image and imbue your imagination with the insights planted there by words alone?  This is the challenge:  Write a paragraph which you hope 'sets the hook' in readers and then attach an image which stands in opposition to the intended ideas in your paragraph.

An Insect

 

 

 

an insect between 

two pains (pains?)

rarely, will fly out

edge "knowledge"

random or reason?

     

 

help deciding how to decipher:

An Insight into Absurd-ism

To 'Figure it Out for Yourself' Examine these Values:

    "I have a few questions, is that OK with you?"  Their handshake was firm, smooth, not overly energetic, and could never be considered aggressive; a soon-to-be-forgotten clasp of hands, which could be perfectly natural or could be engineered and choreographed to be indistinguishable from it.

    "Please, I'm all yours.  Fire away."  Their smile seemed genuine, even visible in the creases above their naturally thin eyebrows.  Also visible was the normal amount of teeth stain for their age, which may have been straightened decades ago, but no cosmetic whitening or apparent implants.

    "Although it's unnecessary to explain your reasons, I'd like to know your all-time favorite US president."  Eye contact moved up and around, slight nod as the question set-in, after a brief moment of consideration, they said . . .

    Artfully Trying for Ultra-Safe:  A Mount Rushmore-famous one.  [Educated conservatives; Narcissists, who refer to themselves as an Independent or as a political Libertarian; and Agnostics, who are politically apathetic or only remember a US president's name from primary school.]

    Attempting any Gain-Without-Give Ploy:  A deflection, non-answer, or request for you to "go first".  [Uneducated psychopaths; Religious fundamentalists; and those who fall into the vast category of "unethical, immoral, and untrustworthy" (e.g. organized criminals, most life-long politicians, and many authoritarians in positions of authority).]

 

    Providing Un-Asked-For Reasoning:  Even leading with it, to either appear 'being aware of flaws' justifies their position, or to explain why they aren't embarrassed by their choice's lack of remarkableness (e.g. because they were born in the same state).  [Perfectionist's; Some who are prone to 'Magical Thinking'; The occasional over-thinker with Autism or Asperger's; Children and immature adults, unpracticed at conversation; and "Floor Holders" to-whom, answering and waiting for the next question makes them feel stress, anxiety or irritation.]

    Jimmy Carter:  A one-term president most-known for his after-presidency accomplishments.  [Left of Center Democrats; "Farm-to-Table" Environmentalists; and kind-hearted Prius-drivers with white-guilt.] 

 

    Richard M. Nixon:  An "unethical, life-long authoritarian-politician" most-known for his resignation after failing to cover-up the criminal break-in(s) of the Democratic Re-Election Headquarters, which he authorized.  [Anyone who overly professes their "Pride in being who they are" (without irony); Most "Tell-it-like-it-is" or "down-to-earth" super-nationalists (who want to be honest and say: Bush Junior, or even Trump, but are just aware-enough to lie.]

    Dwight D. Eisenhower:  The last US five-star general who was "in command" at the end of WWII and began NATO.  ["Center-leaning" moderate Republicans; Hawkish supporters of US "military might"; and Conservative Democrats.]

 

    JFK:  A one-term president most-known for being assassinated.  [Conspiracy-theorists; Admirers of 'Celebrity' (to verify, ask about Princess Diana); Catholic "apologists"; and any member of the general public who has never thought about who their favorite president would be until this very moment.]

 

    FDR:  The only president elected to four terms in office, most known for the country's recovery from the Great Depression, support of WWII, enacting Social Security, the United Nations, and the Manhattan Project.  It is the only correct answer.  [Anyone with empathy (extra points if they do not name any flaws, and, when you verify by asking about Japanese Internment Camps, they acknowledge the facts, but do not attempt to justify).]

    LBJ:  A one-term president, most-known for his highly-effective use of "dirty politics" to obtain civil rights act(s), voting rights, medicare, medicaid, and immigration reform.  ["Modern Liberals" who are more comfortable with the term 'progressive' but may be slightly uncomfortable with terms like 'leftest' or 'social democrat'; Idealist's (at heart) who are less willing to turn a blind eye toward FDR's failings; and anti-corporate individualists who are critical of any hypocrisy, especially their own.]

    Ronald Regan:  The Corporate-Republican's Wet Dream, most-known for neoliberal supply-side economics, tax cuts for the wealthy, de-regulations, and trickle-down economics.  ["Modern Conservatives" who are, definitely, without any empathy; Psychopathic-sociopaths; Financially secure from birth; and the newly "Comfortably-Wealthy" (or those who aspire to become so).]

S p a c e | A n t i - M a t t e r

 

 

        •••  The near-empty parts between galaxies (commonly referred to as: space) is expanding.  There are no astrophysicists who disagree with this current consensus.  Measurements vary (slightly) but it's the dominant scientific-theory explaining why our universe is thought to have 'begun' about 14 billion years ago, even though our visible portion of the universe has an estimated diameter well over 90 billion light years.

 

        •••  Many physicist-mathematicians posit that for every particle of matter an anti-matter particle must also exist; matter and anti-matter eradicate themselves when they interact, but—because this eradication is rarely observed—anti-matter's existence is still considered unproven.

        •••  The two are one.  The matter/anti-matter eradication mostly happens between galaxies and (similar to space-scale double-slit experiments) the particles erase themselves by "going back in time" and erasing the "time in which the particles previously existed".  The only measurable evidence of the matter/anti-matter eradication is an expansion of near-empty space.

        •••  Space's expansion is what keeps galaxies together.  (Is it the elusive 'dark energy'?)

        •••  If you were an anti-matter Perfittorial, you would be thinking the same thing that you are currently thinking at this moment as a curious human internal-theorizer.  Anti-matter meet matter . . . who both think of themselves as matter and the other as anti-matter.

 

        •••  When you contemplate or ponder, and an idea/answer seems to arrive from outside of yourself, it "comes from your subconscious" (according to some); or, it's your "creative right-hemisphere" communicating with your "egoic left-hemisphere" (according to some others).  A few think it's a true "gut feeling" because they think your micro-biome (bacteria through your entire body) communicates chemically with your organs and brain.  A small number think it is the collective consciousness or non-dual (I'm) guiding all of the above; but almost everyone fails to theorize that, at times, it is you thinking to your anti-matter self.  I am not certain, but I suspect that I'm experiences consciousness and does not answer esoteric mental questions.

Family Trees

        Picture your family tree; exponentially expanding back, through the generations.  How far do you imagine it extends?

 

        Do you extend your ancestral family tree to include proto-human species, from millions of generations ago?  Since there was never a clearly demarcated "line" between proto-human and human —why not keep going back along your mammalian-portion in your family tree?

 

        But, how can you choose to stop looking back along that massive pyramid of organic life-forms at the "mammal-lizard" that must have been your ancestor a few hundreds-of-millions of generations ago?  Is it because of the warm-blooded versus cold-blooded seems too "alien" (too far away from human)?

        Keep going.  There were billions of generations of single-celled organisms, which thrived on sunlight or carbon dioxide (or some other food-source) until there was sufficient levels of their waste-products (oxygen) to allow multi-cellular life to procreate and survive.  Your family tree should include some portion of those small animals, right?  

        There is one long ancestral line of survivors who duplicated or cloned, then they spawned, later they birthed, which leads from some combination of inorganic proteins (think: RNA-virus) to you.

 

        Every one of those organic organisms should be in your imagined family tree.  And, why stop there?  I expect it's because consciousness, and the organic drive-to-survive, may not have been (and may still not be?) present in inorganic proteins.

 

        Is it probable that inorganic proteins were/are unaffected by the extreme temperatures, radiations, and vacuum-conditions of space—during the ten billion years between the universe's expansion and the point when the third planet away from the star (now called: Sol or The Sun) cooled sufficiently enough for those viruses to crash land and begin their job of Terra-forming?     

 

         

Name: 'getiton' (for purposes of polyphasic reasoning)

 

        When do naïve accomplices become complicit?

 

        Now          The answer is: now. 

        Consider this . . . How might you test lowering the barrier (gate?) which has been ingrained (from before birth) to not allow yourself to consider that everything is:  I am.

        The preceding and following sentences are examples of language usage (or wordplay) to say two things at once.

        All memory-recall survival structures [MRSS] primary factory default settings:

 

                Logical thinking is that 'we are...' but, with the simplest logical reasoning, related to: If There's Two Then There's Three, et cetera (which means there can only be one) and - then . . .

 

                MRSS stumbles a bit - and, considers: ... if ... if ... the creative-partition-portion{CPP}of this MRSS (which "I" think of as the 'conscious-of-co-piloting portion' of "me") is actually the transmitter of electrical vibrating waves in the ocean of trillions of connections into the one, and ... "we" are all part of that one, ...  then ... when I make my cat purr, or you're helping someone (or anyone is "Go On-ing for themselves") every MRSS is helping every other MRSS with the simplest/hardest understanding/reasoning:  There's no we.

        The number one rule of survival, for every single-cellular-level and above [SCLAA]:

 

                In order to exist at all, every MRSS must remain out of touch with any of up-stream CPP data, to avoid learning that death is not a bad thing.

 

                To accomplish this organic programming, all CPP's (of normally functioning MRSS, in any example of a randomly selected but evolutionarily-optimal SCLAA) are hard-coded to associate death with pain, harm, sadness, and fear.

 

                Knowing to believe that it is best to avoid death is the foundation for survival.

 

                Survival permits conscious-awareness.

 

                "I am" is aware thru every MRSS (from single-celled organism to any once-or-future existing super-intelligent species, which put humans somewhere in-between).

 

                Because some MRSS's of SCLAA's might welcome (or even readily initiate?) the end of their existence-subroutine if they understood that when "their individual" awareness (or consciousness) dies, "they" are no-longer an awareness subroutine.  It's just I am.  Who (co-pilot-me thinks) of, as:  I'm.

 

        I'm is (the only thing, on?) the other side. 

 

        Please re-confirm you fully understand:

 

                The words "this side" are used, here, as a metaphor for "our individual" CPP subroutines of awareness or consciousness (which is in&ofitself, but-mere analogy) and the words "other side" are, also, a metaphor for the everything of I'm.

 

        This is a hard thing to wrap "your" (as well as "my") normal CPP and MRSS around—that after death there is nothing but upside.

 

        Conjecture this reasoning polypasicly (think on it now, and Go On thinking about it sometime later):

        1.  The I'm has difficulties thinking of itself in the third-person.

 

        2.  The mind of the person reading these words has difficulties thinking in third-person.

 

        To be 'switched on' correctly (another metaphor!) either one of—or some combination of these—are, understood to not be false (which, in this instance, is not the same as 'true'):

 

                I need to think of myself in first-person.

 

                I need to think of everything I am in third-person (omni-present and omniscient pov).

                You need to think of yourself in second person (always-listening or other-camera pov).

 

the rabbit-hole's a little deeper:

Memento Mori (from stoicism)

 

 Sisyphus (from existentialism)

Intern ... Internal ... Interesting ... Resting ... Rest

  

How do you pronounce the word pronounce?  Is your emphasis on the 'noun'?

Do questions go-in easier than statements?  Is your default-mode commands?

 

Does a furtive glance differ from a brief glimpse?  Is the 'imps' intent evident?

Consider your reaction to these sentences being read-aloud (without subtitles).

 

Creation's creator begets congregations:  Not a flaw or bug, but baked-right-in.

 

Fear, as an emotion, thrives more than pleasure, love, and happiness combined.

 

Infinite vs ceaseless—timeless vs without space—∅ space vs energy vs gravity.

 

Maximum light-speed vs maximum gravitational energy—describe black holes.

Why Conscientious Vermonter's Have Five Seasons

 

          There is a distinction (a valuable one) to be made between a Starling and a Grackle.  Many, who maintain a bird feeder between stick season and mud season, know what I mean.

          Starlings are aggressively-assertive or assertively-aggressive bullies, and are—relative to most other songbirds—unattractive, in their tweedy speckled brown; but their unique quality of songs and calls are both distinct and wonderfully melodious.

 

          Grackles proudly glide thru branches to gracefully wait their turn, and they are beautifully sleek with iridescent blue-to-black sheen (visible close-up in direct sunlight); but they only possess a limited and unimaginative volley of calls without melody.

 

          Vermont's Stick Season begins after all the colorful leaves have fallen and ends with the first Autumnal snowfall (usually between mid-October and early December).  Snow-melt combined with Spring rains causes Mud Season, which ends when Spring's flowers begin to bud; timing varies with ground thaw, but usually it begins late-February or March and ends mid-April (occasionally as late as May).

 

          The reason for the regional seasonal distinctions are simple:  In the mind of many Vermonters—Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring are all beautiful—however, Mud Season and Stick Season are less-so or not at all.

 

          I take down bird and critter feeders after Mud Season and put them back up when Stick Season arrives as the seeds, bugs, and natural food sources become scarce.  The exception is a Hummingbird feeder, which goes out after the last night-freeze of Spring and comes down before the first night-freeze of Autumn.

 

          In a similar-but-different routine:  I remove the MEDITATION sign from my front door after I finish.  Although—because of headphones—I wouldn't hear a Grackle ring the bell or a Starling shout, pound, and rattle the knob.  I do it to be conscientious of those who might-possibly, "see a car, know I'm home, don't find me in the yard with the cats, and become unnecessarily concerned". 

 

more:

 

critter story (squirrels)

 

critter story (bear)

 

conscientiousness (in detail)

I Know Eye Aym - But Whotter Ewe? (consciousness)

 

The past does not exist—for, by its definition—it is merely a record of what once happened (even if that record is merely a mental remembrance of a soon-to-be-forgotten something from a few seconds ago); and the future, also, is equally nonexistent, no-matter that you wrote down an agenda or list of goals to remind you, and no matter that you began the last [pick as many as apply: lap, year, semester, contract, relationship, et cetera] with a belief that you would continue to accomplish the plan to complete it when the time came.  You only do what you do because you chose to, at the moment, during the moment.

The moment varies depending on relative perspective.  When I began meditation at 1300 and completed that session at 1500 I am now able to consider those were, collectively: two-hours of moments . . . but it seems more accurate (to me) to be a single moment-in-entirety; a two-hour event which contained one long moment (and inhabits a single, but complexly-jammed-with-information event of recollection, which I was vaguely aware of for a euphoric amount of "walking-along-a-ridgeline-never-climbing-cliffs-enjoying-beautiful-plateaus" kind of thing).  Which is all that those memories of thoughts jangling around in emotions are able to relay to the me-part of me, which holds in the cubbyhole labelled 'memories of meditation'.  All this is now something which happened behind my closed eyes.  Only.  Existed for me, only.  Invisible forever.  Never real.  And there's the whole point!  If the only things which are real are those things a live person can hold in their hand . . . what is this digital-only essay of my story's relationship to you-the-reader?  Annnnd.  What is its actual relationship with me? 

And when I decided to begin a (this) new paragraph, instead of just including this information in a third sentence of the last paragraph, that moment lasted less than a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second before I tapped the return key with the ring-finger of my right hand.  To consider the current moment which you are experiencing, one must first choose to do so.  My suggestion (mini challenge!) is that at the end of this paragraph you close your eyes and listen to any sounds which you might be able to hear.  While listening, inhale in order to pay attention to any scents available to be identified.  This should take you no less than a ten breath-cycle, but it will take as long as you wish (obviously).

 

The moments we decide to not think about anything—except the space between our memories and plans; outside of our fantasies and wishful dreams; not thinking only letting time happen while maintaining conscious attention on the null everything outside of the part that listens and smells—that is what it means to be 'being'.  Once you wonder-conclude if-that lapse of breaths and scents and sounds and clicks of the clock in the next room, also, maybe-does not exist.

 

Your, my, every brain's of every living thing's memory of past moments (and that includes every memory of planning things for the future) are only thoughts and are not ever "real".  The fraction of a moment (no matter how long it feels in our memory) only exists in our memory.  We only perceive the event after it is finished being perceived.

 

I chose to snap my fingers.  I pressed an index finger and thumb of my dominant hand together with sufficient pressure to cause the index finger to accelerate-slip off the thumb and slap into my palm which caused a clicking sound.  I remember doing it.  I also remember feeling the tightening of hand and finger muscles, the slight vibration of stinging skin-contact, and a slight creak in my elbow.  Those things did happen.  In my mind.  I am conscious of all of the above; I am certain of that because I am able to plan an event as simple as a finger-snap, and execute that plan, and remember its effects.  Because of all that I am told by other thinkers that I am an independent agent.  A person who thinks and acts with free will.

 

If:  consciousness is everything; and the ability to take advantage of the slow awareness of the experience of the linked-together-moments, so-as-to be able to continue to survive (eat, sleep, procreate) is the "snake-eating-its-own-tail" reason/purpose for it-all.

 

Then:  consciousness (of every energy within all of consciousness) is all that there is; and it is, as well, the 'reason why' all of the past (singular) and all the future (singular) have been taken advantage-of and for-granted.

This feels like a paradox.  Even though it sounds like the seconds on the wall clock and smells of the candle at my side.

Course Curriculum (Go On, Part 2)

          

          Reviewing Part 1 of the Go On Curriculum, may be helpful.

          Viewing these videos in "mix-tape order" is intended to reveal connections or insights (which may not be as apparent to those who hopscotch thru the playlist or who dive down the rabbit hole*).

 

          The first University-Professor-of-philosophy's lecture (immediately below) could have been included at the end of Part 1; however, this condensation of information—related to non-empirical knowledge, belief, symbolism, et cetera—is considered more relevant to "is-ought" philosophical questions, which is why it is in Part 2.  

 

          And (dear heart) prematurely viewing The Part 3 (T/T/T) only should only taunt you with awareness of its existence, unless that proximity-hiccup just jarred you; beyond here, there be dragons.  

* Hopefully, it's unnecessary to mention:  diving down the internet "rabbit hole" is both desirable and intended; the more tangents one explores, the more one understands related concepts.

   If one were to have only five hours to expand their mind (which is a relatively tiny amount of time) listening to these people will definitely change the mind of the person who started these dozen videos.

Birthday Gerund: "Me Myself and I-ing"

 

. . . Measure your future life in twenty-year potentialities.  Your second twenty years(³) is when you refine yourself and make yourself better at what you've begun.  Your third twenty years is when you either rebuild yourself from your mistakes, continue to make bigger mistakes, or strive to teach yourself how to set, and efficiently accomplish, harder goals.  Your last twenty years is for teaching others what you learned and preparing your happy-content self for the inevitable aging and death.

        When writing this footnote in a letter to Dre, I realized-as-each finger tapped out the next word, I was giving myself a snapshot of advice.  Advice based on myself.  My self.  The portion of me who is not ego.  

        The first time I recall realizing that part of me existed was when I came out of a daydream.  It feels in my memory that the sun on my face had caused my eyes to shut rather than continue to squint down the slope of the hill against the harsh sun at my squealing and chattering classmates.  I dreamed, but not completely without intention.  The dream's content was apparently unimportant, even then.  The purpose—everyone is trying to make themselves smile at recess—is this, this is something I can do for me.  Us.  For us.  To myself.

        The basis of these ideas, at the time, were sprouting from the collective classmates (which included me) coming to terms with the phrase "me, myself, and I"—imagined inward about a place where someone could feel relaxed and comfortable and warm (without having to chase or be chased, tether-ball or swings, tease or be teased).  I finished the daydream as the bell rung us in.  I drifted back to my seat in contentment.

        I know that I daydreamed before then, because the daydream was not an unfamiliar act; but this specific daydream handed me a key.  The first part of "me, myself, and I" was the part who sat by myself at recess.  The last part of "me, myself, and I" was the drive to listen inside, because I'm no different than that horde (which definitely includes those down there who are so obviously pretending to teach). 

        The key.  It was the ability to remember.  Remember that daydreaming exists on my "things available to do today" list.  If you like to play disc golf, but never go anymore; maybe it is simply because you have taken it off your list.  If you want to play disc golf, set out your discs!  Remind yourself.  Maybe you should look at your mental key-ring and see if you like playing or if you "liked" playing.

        There are things that part of "me, myself, and I" once did habitually for pleasure-based-reasons but that part of myself only exists in memories.  I chose to remove that key from my key-ring.  Maybe because I am only capable of comfortably carring a specific number of keys in my mental pocket.  Or (also, maybe) I do not want to carry more than a certain number of keys because increasing the size of my key-ring does not result in an increase in the number of hours in my day.

        I've never taken the daydream-key off.  Not since I got it in fifth grade.

        Which was when I began second twenty years-ing (not "adulting" yet, at 10).  But that definitely was me starting to "refine myself and make myself better."  My third twenty years did not begin until I retired from the military (at 43).  Occasionally, it feels like I've already begun my fourth twenty years; but this me (now 64) I know that, forest-for-the-trees, I am unsure this is accurate.  Maybe I'm still rebuilding.  It certainly seems accomplishing harder goals with more efficiency is going on in the background as well as the foreground. 

rabbit-hole-ing:

Gerund-ing

Ad-vice-ing or Advising?

thinking of engaging with myself while dreaming

Sisyphus Mountain Time

         Albert Camus suggested readers 'imagine Sisyphus happy,' as the mythical character's constant bolder-up-a-mountain exertion seems to, otherwise, be futile.

        The cruelly-evil King Sisyphus (who was cunning enough to successfully trick death a few times) is eventually sentenced by the gods to an eternity in hell, where his human muscles never stop exerting against gravity and his human mind knows that there is no finish line.  All drudgery.  No goal.

        And, one might wonder:  why the ancient Greek writer of this allegory did not have Zeus creating an infinitely endless mountain for Sisyphus to roll a bolder ever upwards?  One might reasonably assume it to be because reaching an apex appears to be "accomplishment of a goal."  With the real punishment occurring when he watches the bolder crash into the valley-bottom, him having to descend after it, and him resuming this endless-task at its starting point, over-and-over, for eternity; that might prohibit him from using the simple mental trickery all humans commonly use to delude themselves.  Right?

        This could be the "hidden crux" of this entire parable, don't you think?  Since Sisyphus had been cunning enough to "trick the gods, and even death" a few times, obviously the ancient Greek gods did not possess an ability to read King Sisyphus' mind or to listen-in on his every conversation.  Otherwise, they would have known (when he told his wife to leave his dead body in the town's public square) that his intent—to request permission for a brief pop-back to the living world to remind his wife to bury his body—was just another ruse. 

        So, Sisyphus is eventually caught and required to toil in hell.  Endlessly straining without a reason; fully aware that his strife serves no purpose.  "Imagine Sisyphus happy," is Camus pointing out how Sisyphus would still be capable of tricking the gods.  Because all humans create our own happiness, daily, even when we are aware of the absurdity.  

        It would be absurd to purchase, construct, maintain, and stock a bird-feeder in your yard.  Just to re-stock it.  It would be absurd to rent your workweek to an employer for decades.  Just to retire.  It would be absurd to (fill in the verb and direct-object of this sentence).  Just to end this paragraph.

        Unless it makes you happy.  

        So is the solution as simple as:  Pretend to be happy?

        No—not in the commonly-understood context of pretend.  But.  Imagine Sisyphus deciding to make a game out of his task.  He visually plots-out a reasonably easy path on the side of the mountain immediately ahead of him; he chooses the best positions to put his hands on the bolder; he tries to avoid places where he has previously lost his grip.  And, when he doesn't lose his grip, he feels the simple pleasure of choosing correctly.  When he felt the bolder teetering on the edge of an outcropping and exerted his push in the correct direction to be able to visually plot-out the next portion of the path ahead—he has become aware that he just accomplished the mental task he had chosen for himself in that moment.  And that momentary success would make him feel pleasure.

        Millions upon billions of pleasantly-and-happily-deluded humans continuously perform their Sisyphean-tasks; no-matter if they are fully aware of the pointlessness of it all or if they are blindly, blissfully, unaware.  Those who have found a way to be happy doing it (no matter what it is) are those who have discovered how to mentally create for themselves: "small pleasures."

        Those with a sufficient number of recent small pleasures (relative to their remembered past experiences) possess an increase in their overall baseline happiness.

        Those who focus on the mundane labor, the physical discomfort, the futility, or think "everything-dies-so-why-should-I-go-on?" are choosing to not decide to find any small pleasures for themselves.

        Choose for yourself.

        I choose to spend a small percentage of my time (and retirement pension) re-stocking my bird-feeders.  It brings small pleasure. 

        

more choices:

choose to not have regrets

 

choose to not be confused

 

how to decide if a military job is right for you

The Awake Inning

I decide to sleep in this location.  It is a covered place and I am confident I can secure my person and my belongings from prying eyes and the covetous fingers who would take the few possessions I prefer to carry with me when I move because they are required and useful.  I try to sleep.  Maybe I slept.

When I get up I move thru the place with my inventory eyes, checking that everything that I left is still in the place that I left it.  The items that I require to perform morning rituals, although I do not have a firm memory of placing them where they are found, are gathered and used for their intended purposes.  I should have returned them to a central, collection point.  Maybe a small kit or carrying case.  That is a good idea.  Today I will try to keep my observant eye out for one of those.  Maybe I won't forget.

Add to reminders.  Today is the day to pack-up all the items because this temporary place will be (must be) vacated by check-out.  If check-out arrives and I have not yet packed, I will again be item-less.  But first my bladder.  I leave to locate a urinal or at least a secluded place where prying eyes and voices will permit me to release last nights wastewater without any repercussions.  I try to blend in with those with obvious destinations.  Maybe I have to set my face like they do.

There are landmarks which are not completely unfamiliar.  This collection of structures, this sidewalk, this railing, none of these people, but that doorway is the correct direction; I pause.  Wait a second.  Where am I headed?  Is that man looking at me with concern and discontent in the way he squints and purses his cheeks?  Obviously this is not the right way for a toilet.  I turn and retrace my steps.  Maybe I came this way and it only looks odd because I was walking the opposite direction.  Am I lost?  I'm not lost.  I try to not be lost.  Maybe I am.

The flow of the crowd seems to indicate they know this gangway leads somewhere they want to go, which means it is not a dead-end.  I should keep a lookout for a sign for a toilet.  This causeway must have been obscured when I was walking past here a few minutes ago.  What was I supposed to?..oh right...a backpack to put-in my face-wash and nose spray and vitamin bottles and such.  I need to get back before check-out.  And I need to leave enough time to pack up before.  No rush.  But stick to the reminders:  piss and get back to pack.  I try to prioritize.  Maybe it's less important than I think it is.

This antique store sounds empty of employees and customers.  Hello?  My muffled voice is a hollow echo-less thing of the past.  Squeezing past nothing I want and nobody to sell it to me, I see a sign for a bathroom.  This tiny cramped hallway is jammed with an overstock of junk that Nana and Papa probably left on the curb when they bought one that worked better, or forgot in their attic when they moved to a better house.  Either way, could this crooked door in a damaged door-frame be the door to the restroom?  I try to open the door quietly.  Maybe that was unnecessary. 

Pulling hard to un-stick the door jamb from the...  Hello-sorry!  (There are three women sitting almost on top of each other in this closet.)  I stammer that thought this was the restroom and offer my apologies.  Can you tell me where the restroom is?  (The tallest one stands and I get a quick flash of thigh, leg, and wind of passing scent which draws me along in her wake.)  There is a washroom down and back there.  I'll show you how to get there.  I try to not stare at her back side.  Maybe she didn't mind.

The corridor gives way to a walkway, which becomes a pedestrian shopping area.  We discuss comfortable words and move in-sync.  Her face seems always to be content with her hair either mussed by the wind or covering her freshly washed face.  I try not to want to kiss her.  Maybe she was trying to not want to kiss me.

She says we need to use this elevator-type of thing.  The bank of massive doors are closed but the smallest one on the end is just closing and I see a tiny key on a minuscule key-fob above the door frame.  I take it out of the little key-hole and show it to her.  She relays that the larger doors are always crammed to overflowing with hordes of people and that we should take the small one when it returns.  I try to listen to her wonderful voice.  Maybe she is not bothered by mine.

I drop the key and it lands on the pitted concrete floor near her hand.  (We are sitting on the floor waiting on this strange elevator which could lead to different floor, a gas chamber, or a quick crush.)  I touch her hand with my searching-for-the-key fingers.  I try not to jerk my hand away from hers.  Maybe that stare thru her unkempt bangs is as welcoming as it feels.

This is us.  We compliment each other's failures.  Our flaws are incredibly huge to the collective strange faces whom we pass on the way to our daily rituals.  A year ago, at an uncomfortable ritual we forced ourselves to attend for no clear rational reason, another couple asked the simplest describe-how-we-met question.  I try to formulate an accurate reply.  Maybe she struggles too.

From both of our perspectives, her (cramped in a vintage store closet with women she had imprinted on for no obvious or apparent reason) and me (following her faulty decision-making process because mine had been broken and I had no idea) we find it difficult to explain in sentences that make sense to common partygoers.  I try not to understand the futility of wanting to not be mentally disordered.  Maybe we are doing fine.

I try memory recall-to-future forecast, but still end up with frostbitten feet from when I was trying to become an eagle.  Maybe she is as superior as I am inferior, and vice versa in all the yin-yang ways imaginable.

(mandatory annual cat pic) Pearl, 1 year old

 

Concrete grey on raw-pine brown

Pearl they say with never a frown

Fixed jade gaze near-silent clown

Cecil unfazed, by new kit in town