I must say something about self-contradiction. The Eastern wise folk (a division of WFAP) have a different attitude towards this than the White Male philosophy-types unlike myself, I being your dura and/or pia matter and of a sickly grayish color, at least after extensive time on the lab shelf. Those way-foreign peoples don't mind stating what seem to be blatant contradictions, because to them wisdom is therapy; philosophy is giving directions in a crowded airport where Krishnas abound and the Universal Oneness screws up weather conditions so the planes don't leave on time. If someone has very precise and entrained habits involving constant repression and virtual self-flagellation, maybe that person needs to loosen up. I, on the other hand, possessing virtually no sense of responsibility, need guidance in the other direction. Granted, this methodology entails that the teaching is valuable only insofar as the teacher knows the needs and tendencies of the student, which pretty much insures that public speeches, like, say, in a thick or may I say voluminous book, will be off the mark quite a bit.
Okay, so the real reason Eastern philosophers use blatant contradictions (known in Eastern, which is like a language but not a language at all, as "contractions," such as "can't" which pairs the positive "can" with the negative "not" in a dialectical "whoop-de-whoo") like "The soul is all the myriad of things but yet only itself, which is surely not the myriad of things; don't be silly." is because they want to be cool and so get Chix (this is an Eastern technical term for the nexus of desire which the Eastern wise folk are both beyond, being spiritual essences, and which they also support with monetary donations and occasional carnal "experiments," most of which lack a control group and so are worthless. The term can be subdivided into the subdivisions of Corn, Rice, etc., or combined in a flavorful Party Mix: yeow!).
...Okay, so I'm obsessed, try to hide it though I might, I hormonal creature I, I palindrome I. I admit it. I'm obsessed... with fighting tough stains. I see a stain and its "I'm so tough" swagger, and it makes me spit (for I am mad, you see), and spit far and crazy at that, and... with... verve... and... oh, it's no use. I am caught and revealed once again.
Did you know that many people use humor as a mask, as a way to broach touchy subjects while keeping a certain distance and thereby protection, as a way to fill time and conversation because they can't think of anything else to say and feel uneasy about revealing themselves, even to the ones they pretend to love and have bought touching Hallmark cards for? So then they describe these aspects of themselves in the third person (who resents being used in such a way in addition to being delegated by definition always the Bronze, never the Gold or Gold-alloy), hide them in a sea (or paragraph, or paragraph of or containing a sea or reference to a sea) of Tripe, then inevitably denounce the class of persons of which this third person is a member, saying for example "But people like that are so to speak boogers and I doan' like `em," but they do this very often, and the evolution of humor, communication systems, and hiding within a text being what it is, these people have to figure out a more creative solution which may still count as a "joke," despite the fact that the writing form in question doesn't have to have "jokes," and if it does feature them, they may be long, drawn-out, and produce an itching, burning sensation just behind the post office. How will such a person solve this dilemma and resolve the tension set up in expectation of this "punch line?"
...I'm sorry, what was I talking about? Ah, yes, Eastern Philosophy. Having personally heard of well over three countries in the Far East (or "The Center" as the Asiocentrics call it), I feel qualified to, when pressed very hard, cry out in pain. Eastern philosophy is very big on the synthesis of opposites, like day and night, good and evil, baco and non-baco. With a wide enough understanding, these oppositions dissolve, revealing themselves as different aspects of the same thing (as in day and night), as dependent upon the various and changeable purposes of the observer (as in good and evil) or as equally tasty.
I would like to warn the reader not to confuse my references to bacos with references to Bacos(TM), which I will make as soon as I am paid to make them. As an audition piece: "Bacos(TM)! Yum!" Please address all inquiries through the publisher, who is a wonderful, warm faceless corporation whom I love, and please do not sue. (Even if this means that the book should not have distribution in the heavily populated (by coffee tables) Baco(TM) Belt.)
So a lot of what looks contradictory, in this text and elsewhere, really isn't, but is just addressing different situations, or different people, or was written when I was in a different mood. I realize that for this to be of any use in dispelling confusion, I need to get more specific, but I will leave the spell going for the time being, it being rare for me to make magic anyway, aside of course from the occasions where I get out my recorder, my little wooden $6 flute-like beauty, sleek and smooth like god's finest ferret yet strong and pure in tone like the busy signal. When a melody flows from God through me and my recorder, it is as if the heavens open up for a giant yard sale, especially if this melody involves at least one of the six notes I can actually consistently play.
Frankly, I don't know if this whole extended mentioning of Eastern religion (according to the present text, there is only one Eastern religion. I mean no disrespect by this blatant over-simplification to the point of lying to anyone except myself) will really help explain matters much, but maybe it'll get this book a swell write-up in a Newage fanzine.
"Sure, I liked the early chapters," I hear you say, "But then Mr. Author sold out and got poppy." I assure you, this kind of reaction just means that we're going through a bad time right now. Once I get a job and get some money, and you start on your medicine, I'm sure we'll be able to sort through things, and we do love each other, right? Wait... don't leave me, I... I didn't want to put pressure on you, I mean of course commitments are silly given our situation, what with you doing that foreign-exchange thing to Belgium and I planning my own death and all... Yes... I know... I will go out looking sexy... am I wearing too much makeup?
|© 1993 Mark A. Linsenmayer||[ Contents ]|