These brains in our skulls have so much that is pre-programmed.
This one here has lots of anxiety programmed from a nervous Jewish mother, for example.
If you would like to see through the cosmic net, pay as little attention to the machinations of your brain and thought processes as you do the rumblings of your intestinal tract or the sweat pouring through your open pores.
Hopefully the rumblings of your intestinal tract and the sweat pouring through your open pores don't keep you too imprisoned.
If they do, go see a doctor.
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Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream.
4 comments:
I suffer from borborygmus which can then control my brain.
Surely utopia is your mind - ergo, one's own brain is the greatest place on earth and it is home and away. So this one here reckons that one must pay attention to one's own brain, while ignoring the ruminations of all forms of existence.
Thinking is man's punishment - that's why animals are better than us. Hell! But do they think? Er, don't think about that one.
Life doesn't appeal to me, death doesn't appeal to me. I can't find the answers anywhere.
What answer could possibly satisfy that urge we have of 'the next thing'?
That urge is what stops us from finding real satisfaction and liberation of ego-less phenomena (the actual phenomena right now doesn't have any ego in it - it's applied conceptually, after the fact, right?).
My brain just spat out that borborgymus is very much alike to thinking. Digesting; overdigesting: making a lot of noise.
Let em rumble. The answer is in enjoying the sound of all the thunder.
That is profound. Borborygmous provides some comfort, some succour, an ice-breaker. Bizarrely and fantastically it reminds me that I am alive. I rumble therefore I am - most people ramble and therefore they are not.
Some people live their lives by the roll of the dice, I live mine by the rumble.
You mention that nothing could satisfy the urge for the next thing but I look back, with sepia-tinted spectacles at the last thing. Some 'people' say that today is the finest day because we have more of life than we ever had before, and that tomorrow will be better and so forth. I think we are in a chasm, a downward spiral into which we are descendeding rapidly with inexorable force. I want to go back but I cannot. I try to be dead while I am alive. Perhaps I am the undead, perhaps you are too.
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