I didn't think anything cool ever came out of [redacted]. EVER. Not even Surf Ninjas.
Your existence shreds the heck out of that theory.
I don't read nearly as much as I used to. That's partially due to good 'ole internet-induced attention deficit. But even more so, I'm not nearly as curious as I used to be. And there are several reasons for that:
1) My ongoing modeling of reality has me mostly concluding my good buddy Robert Smith couldn't have been more (probably unknowingly) right when intoning “it's always the same”, which to me means regardless what seems to happen, it (in its details and colourations due to individual/separate self (aka “ego”) perspective) happen in “mind”. There may or may not be things happening other than in mind, but the essence of “knowing” is a model of a self engaging with models of not-self in mind. So regardless the topic/knowing (e.g. astrophysics, “beta psychology”), the nature of that knowing is always the same, and to me the nature of reality is always more interested than any alleged constituent aspect of said/posited reality.
2) I'm hovering just slightly above zero confidence in the accuracy/veracity of what most others write. “Journalism” (as you described) is mostly to blame for that. To me it hardly matters whether it's Trump making shit up, The New York Times making shit up, or some blog dweeb is making shit up. It's all just inner wordgasms made public, and my understanding others inner wordgasms, again, pales relative to grokking the nature of reality.
You know what I love? Slow form science papers. Lots of people sitting alone, typing into their computers, inputting data for their AI to help them crunch, augmenting each other in splendid ways to simply make the world around them better. In some way. I love hearing about that. I love hearing about moonshots, and not just because moonshots themselves are interesting nor inspiring, but because the minutae of figuring those things out create more efficient ways to route data from one place to another, and therefore connect disparate people who otherwise wouldn't have been connected.
Same here when I was your age, Sage.
Work is just gorgeous. It's boring, it's repetitive, it's gorgeous.
But why can't I clean my house? (This one still stumps me.) Maybe it has something to do with SOUND. (But I can't yet figure out what)
I think it might have more to do with innately understanding the futility of wrastling with entropy.
So I miss your emails in my inbox! I've been drought for bit, and now it's like.... what do I respond to? I suppose I walk over to your write.as and pull some bits from there, and that's what I do now. I'm not fully there yet.
I'm still encountering gems there, but they're almost exclusively lonely gems.
The concept of strangers reading my thoughts, and not just my inbox buddy, gives me a silent editor striking whole swaths out of my thoughts before they'd ever reach my fingers. The kind of editor that is inbuilt, not an afterthought, backspacing dumb ideas after-the-fact (though there's a lot of that here, too, what the fuck!) or folding more marshmallowy goodness into the mixing bowl after a taste or two has gone down the hatch.
Ah yes, The Editor!
Dude, when a flog presents its advertisement headlines in 14pt bold on the right hand column higher than its “native” content then you should know by then you have some bullshit on your hands.
For the love of 'should'!
Maybe we just don't see the METAPATTERN, right, so it's not immediately apparent that this whole beautiful Thing is not chaotic at all, but very very very orderly, systemic.
Yeah man. It's orderly. Systemic. What the fuck... chaos.... is order.... An order without any other name.
The seeming order is mind. Seeing past it is The One True Woke.
getting it > grokking reality > in temporal solitude
Or do the brackets go the other way around?
Does it matter other than in the pseudo order(ing) of mind?
Before your tongue szaszzes out the well worn line “all mental is illness”, gonna stop you right there. no need for that psychobabble here.
there is a point where the body is ill and needs treatment. same as mind. you do healthy things for the body, it responds with health. same as mind.
So no, not all mental is illness.
Some mental is beauty.
Some mental is exhilaration.
Some mental is wellness.
Some mental is connection.....
Mental is forest
Mental is universe....
Whoever said “all mental is illness” was himself MENTALLY ILL.
Whoever repeats it
is
MENTALLY ILL.
(see what I did there? ;o)
I mean, aren't you good at logic n'shit? Shouldn't you have caught that logical fallacy already? Mindblindness gets ya, man. When you're not looking. Especially when you're not looking. That's why it's a blind spot, innit? That's why your friends are mirrors, aren't they? Check yer mirrors!
Heart!
But what “all mental is illness” attempts to convey is the notion there's an ineffable reality masked by mind's modeling thereof, such that although it seems (due to faith in the modeling) to be a “me” interacting with any/all manner of “not me”, that's a lesser (let's call it “ill”) position relative to unmediated (i.e. unmodeled) being. Believing the models makes them seemingly “real”, but a sort of “real” that falls far short of im-mediate Thusness/Tathagata/Tao.
BLOODSPORT
Seriously Sneaker Pimps had some shit going on
Gonna hafta try me some of that.
[redacted]
We, as has been said many times and many ways, are perfect. But then there's the thought of us, i.e. mind-modeling. That can be all manner of shit. And modeling seems to have momentum due to “practice makes perfect” (which is another way of saying “re-peating makes re-al”).
[redacted]
You just typed the key: “whenever I have a thought like this”.
Yes.
Thoughts re-peating re-alities into seeming existence on the opaque backdrop (aka mind) obscuring .
Same here, friend. Same illness. All mental. Is.
Pushed back into my subconscious.
Put away or ignored.
[redacted]
Isn't that something?
By this time, you're probably thinking I should try a spray or three of [redacted] and bring a layer of self acceptance back into my bubble.
[redacted] works so well that I wear it and even don't mind the cover scent (which I LOATHE otherwise). It gives such okayness that it renders annoyedness obsolete.
Whatever you've told (re-peated) yourself works, works. Likewise, whatever you've told (re-peated) yourself doesn't work, doesn't work.
It's actually super simple.
But not to the seeming model of us in mind aka ego, to whom pretty much everything is a horrific nightmare for being so separate (in the modeling) from poor whittle seemingly real ego.
Regards, Inquiry