“. . .I just don’t fit in anywhere, man. I really don’t. I don’t agree with anything either, not even with what I just said, so I think you see the fucking problem here. I’m stranded without a fucking clue, . . .” ~Bill Hicks, Love All the People
You see, there are these whispers I “Hear” whenever I Read, See, Observe, Touch, and Taste (but not with the mouth) and it is these whispers that cause me unrest. For within these whispers are answers: deep, substantial answers to the so-called mysteries of the universe. I know that they are because I Sense it. I can Feel it (not in the way of emotion), because I Intuit them. I Know despite the handicap of my eyes which only sight in a limited form and can only detect but in one dimension. The whispers are mostly in the words (perhaps behind the idea of “read between the lines” and defined in the etymology of the concept “read.”) Reading has nothing to do with oration or rote. Quite contrariwise to the formal education (read: indoctrination/conditioning) compelled by schooling institutions. Quite contrariwise, indeed. Nevertheless, there are certainly whispers, you must have a right (not in the sense of righteousness or opposing wrongness) Mind to See and Hear. Reading is to peer into the depths of something or one, down beneath the grime (read: bullshite), the programming, the chimeras and flagaries, the faeries and faery tales, the illusions and delights; past the veil, and behind the curtain. Down the rabbit hole and around the corner. It is like trying to Comprehend the voice of a running stream, deciphering the layers of sounds, sensing the gurglings, gargles, and bubbles. A faint vibration given voice and the mind interprets. One can hear one’s true self in those frequencies. Do you See what I Hear?
“All matter is the same energy condensed to a slow vibration. everything that exists is simply energy molecules.” ~Alan Watts
There are no recordings of this because it has no form, no outline, no name, no substance; more intangible than intangible can conjure. However, there are whispers and one cannot hear them (even if one is befitting) among the taint and torment of the Noise. I think people are availed all these Things because they make noise (for they all make noise in some way, and sound is but one kind of vibration, mind you). In the Noise, the real senses (Eye, Ear, Nose, Tongue, Skin. . . Mind) become deadened. And after generations, gone; as recessive as full-body fur. No longer needed genetically. Not when currency (in paper or plastic) suffices and provides. Providence becomes “the state” and god the television pulpit. A tragedy of epic proportions. On a generational level. Do you See what I Hear?
That be progress?! That enhanced and augmented vulnerability carefully veiled in noise?! With but a stroke of a computer key, the world returns to pre-industrial age. A stroke of a computer key? Computers are available by the billions, in the hands of anyone! With reaches into the jungle as easy as the suburban neighborhood. A vulnerability so open it boggles that mind that it is not infiltrated. That is until one comprehends the Whispers. You see, it is not knowledge that powers, but words. Knowledge, the accumulation of information, does not apply. It is irrelevant, the information. What is relevant is that information exists, in words; concepts captured, as in little pockets of in-form-ation. Trillions and trillions of bits of data, strung together in certain and specific structures, like a well-written story and whispered into the air. The perfect frequency. Everywhere, there is not space without it. But to Read the words rather than become influenced by them, altogether another notion. Reading destroys the lines of demarcation and difference. The famous “trippy” idea that all things are connected and are one is like saying that everything and one is the same, or of the same. Sameness does not imply similar. For ones are more like fractals and although at one level of magnification 1 looks like 2, at another magnification 1 and 2 are singular. My psychiatrist says to separate myself from certain occurrence, because to immerse myself into it is to render psychosis. She is correct. In other words, change the level of magnification, step back to get a look at the bigger picture, see more of the fractal, listen to the whispers. She knows more than I. But there is also more than words, they too whisper, behind that too is a deeper level. It is like mining, like quantum mechanics. The trick, as Feynman also said, is not to fall prey to acting the Fool.
“Consciousness peers out from a center which it cannot see–and that is the root of the matter.” ~Alan Watts, The Joyous Cosmology: Adventures in the Chemistry of Consciousness
The Fool laughs, yes, but the Fool (and his clown) can play mean jokes that deceive and lead slowly (tortuously slow) to despair and desperation. The Fool stops and stands at but one level of magnification and calls it god then worships for eternity, counting himself among the saved, heaven bound. He cannot Hear because he loves, wants, needs, desires and aches for the Noise. His master, his giver, his lover, his thoughts. He does not mock he ridicules and punishes. He does not point, he accuses. The Fool is doomed, but has much noise to prove he is free. Banners and neon lights and documents and pedigrees and signs and certifications and authorities and other such pomp and blather. He does not notice the pity because he is busy being pious. Do you See what I Hear?
I may have strayed too far from the Whispers (lest you See what I Hear, eh reader?) but that can be another day. There is time. There is always time. . .
“It is, and has been, and will forever be, this world of ours, a fucking joke. The real world lies beyond its veil, and the Artist, all Artists, have lifted that veil for themselves, and therefore for all, because we really are All One.” ~Bill Hicks, Love All the People
Do you See what I Hear. . .?