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Is ther intelligent life beyond this planet? Better yet, is there even intelligent life here on Earth? Not quite sure.
Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
- T.S. Eliot
And then when the wind starts blowing harder,
Trees and blades of grass and other things,
The beard and the mismatched leather cap,
Trotting along the path but not quite...
The C.G. Jung page has been redesigned and it looks really impressive. Just the right balance of colors and graphics that would make even Mr. Jung himself feel very pleased.
Not only is there a good slew of articles and papers, but the discussion forum is also an interesting place to visit.
Among others, you have the following forums from which to choose:
An interesting essay you might like to read is called On Life After Death by C.G. Jung.
Highly recommended, so please visit.
Movement is the expression of the soul, and silence is the means of describing this fact the best.
There was that guy again standing over there to the side. Off in the distance but close enough also. When he saw me looking his way, he walked up to me. It took him about five minutes or so. His shoes barely cleared the sand and his feet made shuffling sounds as he approached. His sandals were made of leather and he was wearing thick woolen socks.
"You know," he started to say and then stopped in the middle of his sentence as if I was supposed to give him a visual que or something so that he could start again. Permission on my part, showing we were equal in more ways than one.
I just smiled (the "visual cue" or something).
"Like I was saying," he continued, "it is periods like this that can be really trying on your relationship. Hopeless or so it seems..."
I had to agree, but how did he know what was on my mind?
"You get to the point where you know that it would not be good to stop, but at the same time it is more and more difficult to keep on going." (Cough). "Running away is a viable option."
Sure made sense. What does he know that I don't?
"You can just hang around, I don't care." He shrugged his shoulders as if it were he that was giving me the permission this time around.
Sounded alright with me. I blinked and then he was gone, back to the spot where I first saw him standing. Then he wandered further until I could not see him any more.
Now that that guy went on his way again, it got me to thinking. "The end of the year is just that: a time just to hang around is all..." was what I was thinking.
So that is what I will be doing, I suppose.
Sometimes it takes an unexpected flash of insight to realize that what you are doing might be wrong, but it takes tremendous courage to admit it and then do something about it.
Your turn.
While I stood here, in the open, lost in myself,
I must have looked a long time
Down the corn rows, beyond grass,
The small house,
White walls, animals lumbering toward the barn.
I look down now. It is all changed.
Whatever it was I lost, whatever I wept for
Was a wild, gentle thing, the small dark eyes
Loving me in secret.
It is here. At the touch of my hand,
The air fills with delicate creatures
From the other world.
-- James Wright
The way I see it there is never enough time to learn everything that you want to learn. In fact, the more you learn the more you realize that you will never get there within one lifetime. The chances are even less if there are indeed more than one lifetime to experience. Nor within two lifetimes, three lifetimes, nor more. There is simply too much catching up to do, so why even start in the first place? Starting all over again that is. Perhaps in that regard the best action to take is no action at all. So let us then assume that you decide to take no action at all. Where will that lead you then?
Imagine spending your whole life dedicated to the pursuit of a certain belief, only to have that cherished belief dashed to the ground right in front of your eyes at the very end of your life? That is exactly what happened to poor Freud, and it is easily understandable why he felt pretty letdown about the whole matter. As if he had wasted a whole lifetime for nothing! You see, he had researched tons of patients and written piles of research papers under the preconceived notion that all neuroses could in the end be traced back to some childhood sexual trauma(s) or other. In fact, even though he could not remember it at all, he was convinced that his own personal psychological problems were rooted to the fact that he had been sexually abused by his father because he was secretly in love with his mother (also known as the Oedipus Complex). So brainwashed by his own convictions and so much energy spent with zero results. Slowly but surely, Freud realized this ominous stroke of bad luck, but he could not muster up enough courage to admit this to his colleagues. This shortcoming of his theory became more and more obvious, eating way at him, and Freud became quite desperate and depressed. What was he to do? This is where the unexpected and the miracle of life comes into play. Suddenly, he realized something, and it was this new insight that was about to save his face. What Freud figured out was that it was not the "actual" episodes of the past which were the causes of neuroses, but one's "fantasies" about these episodes! A kind of meta-awareness in which one manipulates the subconscious in such a way that fantasies are used to reform and make repressions more acceptable to the mind. The mind does not want to be burdened by things like guilt, sadness or anger, so these feelings are cloaked in the more acceptable attire fantasy. Upon closer inspection, one quickly realizes how easy it would be to confuse the actual events with fantasies about these actual events, so Freud isn't really to blame for his near failure. In fact, he has become a kind of super-hero for having discovered this very fine boundary between the real and the unreal. To the human mind fantasies seem real, very real. But actually they are not real in themselves, only in the manner in which one uses these tools in order to pry into the subconscious world. Freud was not wrong at all, and boy did he feel relieved. There is always hope no matter what.
So whatever happened to the last page of the big long thick novel? In fact, the whole last chapter is missing for some reason. There you go on reading and reading and then the whole plot drops into nowhere. Like an unexpected crevice into black nothingness. The strange part is that you just stop dead in your tracks and do not fall in there, the tips of your shoes barely hanging over the edge. So the best thing to do is put the heavy book down, lay it down to the side or behind you, but do not forget to stick the nice bookmark in place. Even if it is the (premature) end of the long and drawn out story anyway. On a hunch, flip back to the very beginning, the first chapter which seems like only yesterday. Now you can understand it more clearly, really clearly as if it almost seems to make sense again. No use trying to figure things out when you can go back to where you started.
There is a story of a religious teacher who used to talk every morning to his disciples. One morning he got on the platform and was just about to begin when a little bird came and sat on the window sill and began to sing, and sang away with full heart. Then it stopped and flew away and the teacher said, "The sermon for this morning is over".
- Krishnamurti, Freedom from the Known (Chapter XI: To look and to listen).
There they were
the two of them
continuing down and up again.
Cooling water with ripples
leaves afloat
slowing down along the way.
And then the others
also wanting a place
just missing to the end.
Time to time it
until the very end
where music splits the air.
Breaking through.
"To reach the Western Lands is to achieve freedom from fear. Do you free yourself from fear by cowering in your physical body for eternity? Your body is a boat to lay aside when you reach the far shore, or sell it if you can find a fool... it's full of holes... it's full of holes."
- William Burroughs (1914 - 1997), The Western Lands.
The wind
is everywhere
the petals scatter
through a frozen web
still
yet moving the same
a fluttering of red confetti
drifting with each breeze as
the rose becomes
the wind.
Hard to believe that I wrote this so-called poem almost twenty-five years ago. Not bad for a naive kid who way back then was convinced that he would become a future-famous philosopher poet someday. The bizarre element is that the feelings which are evoked by this piece echo not only how I felt at the time but how I am feeling now as well. Not bad. Hard to believe.
No there is nothing wrong with my mind. Nothing wrong at all. Mind, mind. What mind? I am not thinking.
Unfortunately, our dear friend Descartes got it all wrong. Too bad that the so-called modern civilization has been mislead for so many centuries. Sure I realize that his intentions were good, no disagreeing with that. But one still cannot stop wondering what misfortunes history could have avoided. How much more advanced we would have been if this shackle had been let loose long ago. Of course, spiritualism in its purest form, even religions of various sorts did not help out matters either.
So what is the answer then, you may be asking? Don't know. Don't know even we even should know. No. The legacy of the mind/body duality.
The Pineal Gland? Now really. Hard to imagine that one could even consider this as remotely feasible. What is this so-called Pineal Gland anyway?
The third eye. The bridge between reality and spirituality. That mirror in the brain through which the pinpoint of light called our soul resides. Chemicals in the brain. Chemicals allowing and/or disallowing access to the mind's window.
Is perception the leading edge of memory? Find out the answer by clicking here.
we are the hollow men
we are the stuffed men
leaning together
headpiece filled with straw. alas!
our dried voices, when
we whisper together
are quiet and meaningless
as win in dry grass
or rats' feet over broken glass
in our dry cellar.
t.s. eliot
the hollow men
1925
mistah kurtz - he dead
Rumor has it that we are all manifestations of the very same primordial form. Each person should be respected for his and her unique traits and talents, that little bit of extra cytosplasm that makes this world an even better place. A bit more crowded but better nonetheless. Love thy neighbor and respect your fellow workers. This is extremely difficult to uphold during trying times as these now that the economic situation is quickly deteriorating. Even your closest acquaintances are acting selfishly. The ME culture, it is coming back. I also grew up in the ME culture back in the decade of the nuclear family. Coming back to haunt us. Thanks alot Dr. Spock for the creative freedom you allowed our parents to give us. Making us much better little people. All these little people have now grown up. As long as the times are flowing along okay then we can flow with it, right? The ME culture. ME ad infinitum. Come a dip followed by major bumps in the road, then it becomes another story. My fellow human beings, even if they consist of the very same clay from which I am also made, they can become very annoying and irritating. Selfish and uncaring. Survival of the fittest. Just keep on respecting them. Try to understand. Laugh and smile. Smile and irradiate. Goodness.
Another week has passed by. The onward march of time keeps us occupied with the future, future riches yet to be grasped. Forget about the past, they tell us. The future is where it is at. Strive now for never. Never, never. The weekend was originally meant as a period of rest, and for good reason. However, modern civilization has compressed this period of rest, so much so in fact that it has all but disappeared completely. All of us are active most of the time and most of us are active all of the time. In the meantime, the seconds, minutes, hours, days and weeks flow past us without reserve, that dauntless clicking away. Clicking away of time. Time spent.
Well it is finally about time that I do something useful with my life. Hey, wait a minute. That is exactly what I am doing at the moment. So what is the deal anyway? Take two. Well it is about time that I do something different with my life. Yes, I have heard that earlier, almost that is, something very similar but not quite. This time around instead of useful it has become different. If you know what I mean. Today I was on my way to the local SHOPPING MALL which here in Gouda they refer to as the WINKELCENTRUM, when there to my left the little white house had, it had, I cannot believe it, but but it was gone! How is that possible? Such a quaint little abode just perfect for your average everyday gnome or midget or other brand of small Dutch person. Yesterday a house and today just thin air. I am in a nonsense type of mood in case you have not noticed. Must be the cold air going to my brains. Now tell me then, where did that little house go? My brains. I do not believe that it was a figment of my imagination now or was it? Suppose that on the way back home I stop to gaze at the empty lot and someone notices. He or she asks me what I am looking at, and I answer with "the house that used to be over there", pointing with my finger. Hmmm, the person will probably remain polite and not say anything even though he and/or she is also aware of the fact that the house has disappeared. What house do you mean sir? Oh the one over there, I mean the one that used to be over there. Sorry, but I was wrong because the little white house was not on the left but on the right. Over there next to the water. Have a good day. Do you like my hat. I certainly do not, well have a nice day anyway, good-bye, good-bye. Do you like my hat? Go, dog. Go!
Eye in the sky. |
Note: since this entry was written, a new page has been added to my homepage at Life changers.
The following dilemma keeps following me around. There is an "infinite" amount of new knowledge to pursue out there in the so-called real world, and the more I learn the more I want to learn, it never ends. There is something inside of me that gets exciting whenever something new and challenging pokes its way in front of me, or even if I just happen to see it from the corner of my eyes. Putting on the breaks is difficult, and sometimes I need a break. Right now I have my new working surroundings, a millions books I want to read, my Internet Homepage which keeps needing to be improved. Hard to know where and when to stop. Is knowledge really the truth or is it an easy, comfortable object I am used to chasing around? As one gets older one should stop being interested in technical complicated stuff, at least that is what I hear all the time:
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