Me-dictation

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He can't. He only has intelligence. Apparently, he can only define what a destination is, he can't actually use an oracle to get there.
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This was an interesting projection I made this morning. I accused this dilbert of it. No, not the comic strip character called Dilbert, but the vulgar definition of a dilbert from an earlier era: five pounds of shit in a one pound bag.

Since I have no more choice about projecting than anyone else I wonder why I accused him of it. Apparently, there is some confusion about using the oracles that possess me to reach the good end. To accomplish the goals I set for myself, but that just brings up a deeper question: What are the goals I have that require an oracle to reach them. I may use an oracle more to define them than to navigate to the promised land.

I might not be able to honestly claim that I actually use astrology considering what I just projected upon this guy I exchange insults with. I've never asked for money for making charts. I only use those skills to bargain for their souls in order to make a big deal out of pompously returning it. For some people that's the only way they know they got one.

There is a species-wide flaw in homo sapiens. No one of them can know their own possibilities in real time. It's a big secret from each of us. Our religions are designed to protect us from finding out. No blame. But, what happens if suddenly and unexpectedly you do find out that homo sapiens all share a species flaw? Hopelessness is what happens to you.

One quick, irrefutable glance past the veil of forgetfulness culture and civilization casts over it, and all the sand castles built on hope come tumbling down. Hope is the only thing anybody got for sale. Hope is the only commodity we possess for a better tomorrow. Without it, the end is near, and the ghouls take flight from their perch in the dead trees around the cemetery.

I'm attempting to write about total and irrefutable panic. Like what happens when you get waterboarded. Aiiiyeeee! Like when you naturally have a near death experience by drowning or having a double-dunk total immersion baptism performed upon you in the nayme of anything or anybody.

There is a window that can be opened that allows the witness to "see" that hope is a false god. Waterboarding, near-drownings, and total immersion baptism all do that, and that's just the start of the list. One glimpse of "the big lie" is all it takes to break down the integrity of practically anybody and cause them to submit to the prevailing winds.

When such a state of panic is induced by whatever means, the recipient will consider any resolution to not have that happen again. It's like suddenly realizing in fact that everything you consider as support for being what you pretend to the world is yanked away, and if anybody ever realized how vulnerable you are they could control your life as if it were a spinning ball in the palm of their hand.

The real problem for me upon "seeing" the futility of hope is how I respond to being exposed to the big lie. Most of the time it's not me "seeing" the world as it is that lets me understand the inevitable response of total panic. It's watching my breath that warns me. When I become aware of how my breathing is responding to some impetus from the external world, it warns me to go inside of myself to where I can witness why that's going on.

I've read about breath control since I started doing hatha yoga in my twenties, and couldn't not be concerned with it as I learned how to practice me-ditation. I was told over and over to watch my thoughts and to be aware of my surroundings. This usually led my attention inside where I would begin to focus on how the air I breathed had a different quality about in as I inhaled it through my nostrils, and how it felt when I exhaled it through my nostrils.

The government has a policy about how to catch gangsters known as "follow the money." I've followed a policy of "follow the breath". I developed an incurable desire to find out what inspired me to breath the way I do. Both when I'm active or sitting quite still and anywhere in between. Why does my body breath the way it does, and can I learn from observation how to circumvent my usual reaction to what ails me by interfering somehow with the way I always reacted.

There is a way to nip reactionary thoughts in the bud. It's the only way I know how to control the panic of becoming aware of the implications of the big lie. If I am able to not-panic, then I can explore deeper into why hope is a false god.

I disclaim knowing what the truth about anything is. Seeking the veracity of the drifting thoughts I attempt to capture with words is not productive, and in fact, reaching for a true judgment of the emperor's new clothes isn't very entertaining, and amusing myself is the most profound excuse I can think of for saying what I see. I try to tell it all, and let God sort out the truth or falsity of both this and that.