There is still this one question for me about how consciousness upsurges out of the plenitude into it's own separate reality. While dwelling in the fullness of being-in-itself, the original source of consciousness can possess no special significance or exclusivity any more than any of the other elements of that cosmic soup. So, what is it that upsurges into the nothingness outside the plenitude, and what serves as the event horizon of exteriority? Whatever that is or may be, albeit solid skin or dim aura, what becomes conscious of itself will return through this event horizon when it loses consciousness again, and again, and ...? In the Tarot deck this event horizon is represented by The Fool Card. It's number is zero. Nothingness.
I forewent consciousness last night by going to bed fairly early for me. About ten o'clock I decided to go upstairs and go to bed and watch the late shows on CBS. sometimes I watch Charley Rose. I only get over-the-air local stations. I don't have a digital converter on the upstairs TV which only has rabbit ears, so if I'm bound and determined to watch the late shows with any real interest, going upstairs is the least preferable location to do it
By deciding to go watch TV upstairs while laying down, I had automagically decided to lose consciousness soon. I intended to forego my conscious awareness of the sensory perceived world. Kaput! Back to the drawing board? Square one? What's the opposite of "upsurge"? "Downsurge?" That's what I do. I up the urge or I down the urge. How is that possible? The urge IS God according to some of my recent arguments. I stop paying attention to what my sensory modalities are reporting (reporting to whom); my ears; my eyes, my nostrils, my taste buds, and the feel of my skin with the sheets. Not important anymore. Goodbye cruel world... "I am bound to the promised land. I am bound to the promised land. Oh, won't you come and go with me, I am bound to the promised land..."
Something decides to arise into conscious awareness of the sensory dimension, and that same something (I'm assuming) goes back into the unconsciousness of sleep. When I consider these changes in consciousness, quite honestly I'm not as fascinated with the operation of my sensory modalities and what they have been trained to perceive in a world of unlimited possibilities, nor the world of unlimited possibilities itself. I'm usually fascinated with the element that decides to participate or not.
Sartre appears to claim this element of potentiality (to be or not to be) has limited options. The sacraments suggest otherwise.
On the Thomas group a couple of people are discussing their point of view of these things and are referencing something they call "the Trained Mind". Yes, they capitalize, and I think they do that to indicate that it's some sort of unique phrasing. This one guy wants to be unique, and he'll go to any lengths to make claims he thinks makes him appear that way. Sound familiar?
I'm not exactly sure why I disagree with the way they're using that phrase or expression. For one thing, are they actually referencing a "mind" when they call into play the kind of training they're implicating. Something is trained according to them, and they're assuming that what they've trained is one of their minds. Do they have two minds such that the untrained one is looking at the other like it lived in a glass house. The floor of which is paved with loose stones about the size of a baseball?
Earlier, I might have never questioned this descriptor. What changed my mind and introduced doubt was my sudden introduction to the notion that I subjectively create "rules of conscience". I'm convinced (at least temporarily) that my persona does what it does because of the rules of conscience I adopted for use in monitoring my behavior in the light of my persona mimicking desirable traits of the Other. This would be 'trained behavior", not a trained mind.
This faculty that can adopt rules of conscience in order to teach it's new body how to interact to the unlimited possibilities of the sensory-perceived world. It has been around much longer than it's current body and it's untrained sensory modalities (of whatever use they're finally limited to). But, it's not what upsurges into consciousness. Thus, it doesn't do what it does do consciously nor is consciousness required as a ground of being. I don't have to know where I am to be there. This docetic spirit does what it does ALL the ti-me wherever it's doing what it does. It creates and recreates and then redoes that with new curtains. Without consciousness, without a plan, ad infinitum. It ets wot's sot before it... millennia, wormholes, and stargates not withstanding.
Need I remind you I use this space to explore drifting thoughts, and I'm not particularly concerned with the truth or falsity of them upon their arrival? I try not to cull the thoughts that filter through my fingers to influence my reader to form positive or negative opinions of me through what they read into my stuff, and if they do that anyway as obsession or compulsion, I don't wanna know.
I did get an appreciable amount of sleep last night, although when I returned to beta consciousness at the end of each sleep cycle I was in considerable pain. My muscles hurt as much or more than my joints do. I suspect I'm already looking for another body. Since this happens outside my cultivated consciousness I can't say for sure. I've had this body since it was fourteen years old, and it's been interesting, but it's getting creaky now. I may decide to barter for a new one, and not come back to it soon enow. If I do, be kind to it's new occupant. It will have to be plenty desperate to make the swap to an old bag of bones.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
