Dia-gnosis

97 Jesus said, The [Father's] kingdom is like a woman who was
carrying a [jar] full of meal. While she was walking along [a]
distant road, the handle of the jar broke and the meal spilled
behind her [along] the road. She didn't know it; she hadn't
noticed a problem. When she reached her house, she put the
jar down and discovered that it was empty.

http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm

Some of us are discussing this saying on the Thomas group. The moderator and probable owner of the list relates this "kingdom" saying to the other kingdom sayings to reach for her dia-gnosis:

dia- (also di- before a vowel)
prefix
1 through; across : diameter | diaphanous | diuretic.
2 apart : diakinesis.
ORIGIN from Greek dia ‘through.’

You see, this is the problem for me, I start out with a semblance of an inkling about what I'm gonna write about, then realize that within the term "diagnosis" is the more mysterious form of "gnosis", and people who speak, and read and write Modern English use the term "gnosis" without a clue about it's origins or original me-and-thee-ing (meaning) when there are two or more of us together.

This really screws with my opinions comparing "systems of expertise" with true aforethought. Whatta I mean by that? What I mean is that if the term "diagnosis" carries the me-and-ing of "through gnosis", then expertise is just a way of stirring the cosmic juices in the cauldron of indifferentiation to produce the tossed-word salad we begin rhetoric as the main course with. Hopefully the dessert served goes quick, so we can get on to the ornate library/salon, and the rich black silk coffee and illegal Cuban cigars.
__

5.2 Difference and indifferentiation

For Girard, everything begins with a crisis having a different character and description in the various texts but the same underlying principle, namely indifferentiation ( or the crisis of differece).

http://www.uni-muenster.de/PeaCon/zurawski/5.html
__

The entire left side of my wrinkled old body is getting sun-tanned as I sit here writing, because the outside door going out to the deck and stairs on the Eastern side of my hootch is just to the left of where I'm sitting at my computer. Damn, that must look weird to people looking at me from straight ahead. Half my face and neck is browner than the right side of my face and neck.

I've been going outside since early on in just my underpants for months now, so there's no chance I'll get sun-burnt by my morning ritual of opening the door (usually before the Sun comes up), and leaving it open as the Sun rises, and passes over my house toward the west, finally throwing a shadow over the deck so I can cool off outside when I'm done writing.

I brought my old executive-type office chair upstairs last night. I've been using the cheap piano stool that came with my digital piano to sit at my computer. It's not particularly comfortable, and is covered with naugahyde that doesn't breath, and I get the same kind of sores on my butt people get from lying in bed too long. Then, when that happens infrequently, I can't sit and write or play the scales on my piano either for a while until I deal with it.

The sitting surface of my old office chair is made of some god-awful synthetic material. It's scratchy too, and because it's synthetic material like polyester or nylon, it's never gonna break down and stop irritating me by flattening out the thingamahbob's that don't respect the delicate skin on my butt and the back of my thighs. So, I cover it with a cotton towel to soften the blow.

The way I've got things arranged now is I can just swivel in my office chair between the two keyboards that dominate my life and persecute and torture my butt, and this new arrangement also means that I don't have to get up outta this chair like I did with the piano stool to switch between my computer keyboard and my piano keyboard... and even that relief that lets the blood flow again for a while... is gone too.

I like sitting on my ass. I always have. I have to deliberately get up and move around so I won't grow where I'm planted. The outside stairs are good for my cardiovascular needs, and in particular the blood vessels I compress by sitting on them all day. It's probably a lot like the business commuters who are either sitting on airplanes or in the chairs in the airports. I think it's called some sort of thrombosis. All I gotta do to prevent it is to move around often enough.

It was not a problem when I was young and even through middle age. I had a meditation and hatha yoga practice going that kept me limber and the blood flowing well. The one physical incident that changed all that was having an automobile accident that damaged the cushion between two of my vertebrae. It took surgery to straighten it out. The surgery took away the pain, but it also took away my flexibility, and the entire situation might have set off the arthritis that runs in my mother's family, and now, for the most part, my meditation practice is the only thing that survived from my "better days". I'm glad I had it established for a long time before the fall.

The prescription medicines my rheumatologists generously arranged for me to use are working incredibly well. I've been able to practice the scales on my piano for as long as I'm inspired, and only occasionally do I have to stop because it hurts. True, what cures me might also kill me, but since I gotta die of something, eventually (What if I live? What if I live?) I'd just as soon it not be tormentous physical pain.

I had to come back to edit and add this statement I wrote privately so I could put it out in public online for all to witness. This has to be one of the funniest things I've ever written:

"This worries me about y'all. It's personal, I tell ya, we wuz framed. Even now in our slutty acceptance as sheep-in-wolve's-clothing... we're innocent... we wuz tricked into be-co-me-ing with the IDEA of being humans. What a drag, man. I mean, I can understand what a fool I've been. This ain't my first rodeo. But...YOU!!.... the fact that YOU went for it line, hook, and sinker takes away any hope there is for me. I hate you. I should have never thought you were special. I hope you rot in hell."