—–I can’t imagine what it must be like to have nothing profound to do, like all the time. I mean to only be thinking petty things about what you have to do to get dressed and ready for your job, and then behave and perform and act cool and talk suavely, and to look forward to meals and movies, and never say what you think. I mean I can’t imagine what it would be like to have only broadscale, in-your-face, appetite based, life–as what you are eager for, and responsive to, to have only that, and nothing to do, but live. To live, and just to live. To only seek and get, or not get, what you want. To transact, and rationalise. And give gifts to others as if that was what they would want, and ascent to it all the time. And then, by yourself, blankly endure what must be long stretches of nothingness, because you have given yourself no other job than the job of dumb life.
—–How would a person cook up what they want from scratch, and on what basis would would they decide this is what to go for and be satisfied with? This I have never been able to get in step with. I mean didn’t you once have any sense of another world, at least that you were cut off and separated from, like a former life? That something caused you to live here, like in a strange cut-off world, a fascinating mystery? Then! You would have a second task, other than self-satisfaction in a closed system. Then you would be busy all the time, because the sense of an unfinished investigation always would hammer at you, certainly when in those moments and hours you found yourself with nothing immediate to take care of, and were idle. You wouldn’t be able to be idle, with an outstanding puzzle afoot, would you? Do I have to imagine this must be torture to you, or a threat to your awareness, like asking you directly how can you endure it, such a blank stretch of time, and survive at all, without beginning to lose your worldly concerns, and set those thoughts of another self at odds with your puny identity you got, like just last week. Your worldly existence should beg comparison with a parallel life which has to do with the progress you are making with the great mystery of your soul. That is what I say! I just can’t imagine what it must be like to live with no sense of this mystery, no urgency all the time. It is an outstanding question, life itself, with which you can be always busy. How do people live with this hanging over them, and then act like there is basically nothing do except fidget and laugh, and cavort with one another and then retire after some brief revelry, and then complain about material things and dance with them, cynically destroy them, one thing after another? Until the world is completely new.
—–This is what they have to do all the time, because they never wonder about how or why they are actually alive. God, this must be horrible to live in a world of transactions, and meals, and driving and talking, constantly yammering to no end. Perhaps they have been scolded so many times, they just have learned from stern adults, and are beyond learning, being bitter, and automatically have it established that there is no way to mount a scalable opposition to the mandate that they do nothing all the time. Have patience, they have been told as a child, perhaps. But how could you live so long, and all the time, day and night, getting into bed and climbing again out of bed, always having to cook up things to do, without reference to the truth that you are basically stranded in a complete and thrilling mystery and should get to work, like with the more important business of . . . getting fully awake! If possible, to the issue that might survive all this . . . And it must occur to you that it must be only yourself, your poor self, if you have only gotten this far in your timidity and fear of taking one small step towards asserting that you do not belong in this world exactly–though it is so appealing in so many ways. Couldn’t that be coordinated, this appealing, with the greater issue? Any takers on that? For must it be only yourself who you are allowed to satisfy, and who is allowed to wonder, in pure loneliness, and allowed to fail–for surely failure, in such a weight room, would be equal on the scale . . . I mean, there is where all the others are, of course!, in this trading and transacting, this cash and carry system. We would to be of a number great enough to face the challenge! Yes, and to get anyone else involved would lead to considering their reality, and they would be either a constant comparison on the one scale, or the other . . .
—–Who knows what might happen, if we began to acknowledge one another?

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