I live alone to keep from continuously falling in love with people. One of the most treacherous difficulties I never conquered was that I couldn't shut it down and promise exclusivity with any one person no matter how much intellectual understanding i gained from the humiliation of trying to be faithful.
I could be faithful physically, but I couldn't not fall in love with what I saw of myself in other people. Turns out... that's all I could/can see, and I'm convinced for whatever reasons, that who-we-think-we-are is all any homo sapiens can perceive when they engage the unconscious pretend world they created themselves, with adopted rules of conscience that they absolutely did not create themselves.
I'm convinced there is a species flaw in the way homo sapiens ideate or create ideas. I tried to blame it on Sartre, but I've been re-reading Being and Nothingness, and I'm beginning to think it's my own invention rather than Sartre's. It's not really my invention as much as a subjective discovery of the existence of a universal principle, that not only has always been around, but is part and parcel of what created the homo sapiens species via evolution itself. I haven't given up though, I may find somebody else to blame this preposterous theory on before the fat lady sings.
Why would I not? I know this dynamic like the bruised, wrinkled back of my hand. The idea of this species flaw arrived like some special poems I wrote in the past. This idea of a species flaw came outta the blue as a contradiction to the message it bore. It was already a done deal before I wrote it down. I didn't create it or invent it. I discovered it fully formed, and wrote it down as an afterthought. The species flaw, in my highly disregardable opinion, is that no member of the species homo sapiens can realize it's own possibilities in real time. So, there you have it. Life is what it ain't, and it ain't what it is.
This is not some universal truth that should be written in stone. It's just some drifting thought I captured with words. It's not my possession. I don't own it. It's not limited to the space/time continuum physical life and it's sensory modalities occupies. Like a lotta other drifting thoughts, it's just out there for the taking by anybody playing around with what Joseph Campbell called the hero's journey into the dreamtime.
The hero's journey is how the species flaw can be surpassed extemporaneously, but not for all ti-me. Just until you croak. Croaking is passing beyond being a homo sapiens and your body starts rotting, so if being homo sapiens comes with a species-wide flaw, then croaking takes care of that with a no-hands-down policy of ostensibly abandoning the baggage.
"Thanks for the memories." was the comedian Bob Hope's sign-off song. It brings up the question of what gets abandoned as baggage when humans croak, and what don't. The opposite end of that spectrum might be about whether one has to croak in order to abandon the same baggage. I'm referencing what I wrote recently about how the species flaw is superseded by gnosis. The species flaw is about how not knowing one's own possibilities (in real time) casts a pall about "What to do?" In some cases, it seems that resolving that confusing state of unknowing becomes more important than confronting wot's actually sot before us to be reckoned with in the immediate present.
"Thanks for the memories..." relates to how I've described the three attributes of what I call the pearl. Volition, curiosity, and memory. Realizing the memory aspect was the latest clarification of my own trinity layout and completes it. That's what my remembering vision was derived from. The faculty for memory that was a part of the original package. During that vision, the collective content of that primitive initial memory system was revealed to me in a spectacular individuating way that completes me as a whole being, and makes all of me available to address a focused point of inquiry without distraction.
A good friend and I have had a running conversation about a state of being called Asperger's Syndrome. He's a lot more educated about the particulars of this naymed thing than I am is. It's about autism, and presently autism is the source of my curiosity. I ignore the world for extended periods of time and participate in simultaneous extensions of what life is for me here, but in a time that's distorted from time as it's observed here. I figure the fact that I can enter this state or not according the the dictates of my curiosity and volition is what allows me to walk around like it's okay for me to be this way. If there is anything value-added to the soul by having evolved to being human it's gonna be filed in this primitive memory system that we brought with us and will take with us when we croak.
This is weird stuff to describe. In just the last six months or so I've questioned whether what I've been describing as a simile with an oyster pearl is not more like what I've heard "black holes" described as. I heard on the news this morning in regard to the upcoming Hubble space telescope repairs, that it was through photos taken from the Hubble satellite that it was discovered that there is a huge black hole in the center of every galaxy. If we consider our bodies a sort of galaxy, then it makes sense that there is a black hole in each of us that holds our bodies together just like a huge black hole holds together a huge galaxy.
I can explain why I get drifty, seem spaced-out, and withdrawn into my own sphere of consciousness for long periods of Earth time fairly easy. At least to Americans who have been driving automobiles since from their teen years. There is no more to what I do when I withdraw from my body's ambient surrounding, than what happens when I occasionally lose track of time driving on a long trip. I get where I'm going without incident alright, but then I don't remember nothing about how I got there. It's the strangest feeling. I used to do that on welding jobs working lots of overtime on industrial shutdowns where all the work had to be done in a specified amount of time anywhere from two weeks to two months. We worked. We ate. We slept. We worked. I have performed at a journeyman's level welding pipe that was x-rayed when I finished the weld for three months, and never remember any of the people who worked the same job ever again. It truly insulted them, and could be very embarrassing. Sometimes they never speak to me again. Ever.
This is what happens. I get focused on something I'm not just witnessing, but participating in, and some significant other takes the notion that I'm deliberately ignoring them, so they create an intervention that rudely dissembles my focus, but they're wrong. I'm not ignoring them. They don't ex-is to me in that state of being.
When I give up hope they ever will, even though I know they can, then why would I continue to indulge their selfishness when they contemptuously drag me outta my focused insight as if by my feet, when my head is in the clouds. I expect them to gnow. In the blink of an eye I can ex-is in both dimensions and often do. They can ex-is in both dimensions and often do. Why is it that I'm being selfish for going their without them if all they gotta do is be-co-me?
If you were dust
on the side of the road
in warm and sultry weather?
I'd be a cloud and rain for you,
and we'd be mud together.
~ Manassas
I make up the stuff I write here as I go along. I don't know what the truth is. It's ongoing I think, and I know it passes into history in a very short amount of time. When the specious present passes into the history books, what it carries with it is no longer the truth, if it ever was. Even the truth can appear plausible without being convincing. On odd days, I feel like a PR agent who puts a spin on what could be or once was the God's own truth, but the result ain't got legs in real time when I try to walk a mile in it.
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.
