Friday, October 14th, 2016
We’ve done the intellectual approach to leftism, for many years.
Why it is, what it is, why it is what it is.
Now it’s time for the metaphysical investigation…
We are, as non-leftists, aware of this thing known as Reality. The way things are. The background framework against which everything else is displayed and from which everything else acquires its context.
Some are more cognizant of Reality than others, but all sane humans have some idea of what it is, and that aside from everybody’s perception of it being slightly different, it is, at base, a constant and ever-present condition.
So what happens to a human that steps off of this all-pervasive Reality, and substitutes his own cobbled-together version? Unsurprisingly, he dies. At least, in part.
Reality has infinite inscrutable qualities, and few will ever become aware of more than a few of them. One may, indeed, go against the flow of Reality, but there are consequences for doing so. One becomes — in effect — no longer viable; no longer alive in the sense of living within Reality. One becomes, at best, insane.
This being so, the observable quality of leftists closely resembling zombies, becomes more comprehensible. For that is what they become. No longer living, but not entirely dead. Unable to move beyond the moment they exited Reality, and no longer able to adapt, change, grow, learn, be real, or exhibit any of the qualities of the living.
Looking at leftists in this way, it becomes easy to see why they are what they are, and why they behave as they do. They are dead, but lacking in enough awareness to realize it.
Being dead has its drawbacks. Everything that follows death is beyond the control of the dead, and so the dead, unaware that they are dead, become obsessed with trying vainly to control events. Impossible, of course, as any living human knows. But the dead do not know this. Therefore their attempts to control become ever more frantic, as nothing they try seems, to them, to be effective.
This is why there can never be an end to the leftist crusade for whatever it is that takes their fancy. The point is never — and never can be — reached, where enough is enough, the battle won, and peace resumed. It is an endless fight against Reality, itself. And Reality doesn’t lose.
It’s time to see leftists as what they are: unfortunate victims of their own lack of awareness, self-belief and self-reliance, the sad result of a laziness that causes them to adopt a foreign ideology instead of living their own lives in their own way, leading to their own experience and wisdom.
They are fools of a magnitude incomprehensible to the rest of us, but worse: they are dead fools.
Do you believe in ghosts? Maybe they are real. Certainly, they are as real as anyone gives them credibility for being. Personally, I am unmoved by the possibility of ghosts. If they exist, they exist, and whether they do, or don’t, I am not afraid of them. They pose no threat beyond the power I allow them to do so. And I don’t allow them that.
See the left for what it is: a realm beyond life, forever cut-off from communication with the living. Don’t even bother trying, unless you are keen on Ouija Boards.
See the leftist for what it is: a sad ghost severed from a wasted life, desperately trying to exert influence over the life it wasted, and lost, that the living might be as they are: dead and ineffectual, forever raging against Reality, and its “unfairness.”
Wednesday, January 13th, 2016
“Where is the proof that you people are the intelligent ones, rather than part of the conformist herd?
Where is the proof of any of these stereotypes about half the damn species?
To moderate doesn’t mean to make equal. Look it up.”
Some things are just too good to waste, and this is one of them.
A comment, from someone I will not name, directed at an author on this site, whom I will, likewise, not name.
And why would I claim this quoted snippet of literary genius as “too good to miss”?
We will see….
Conservatives have certain things in common. One of those things is a propensity to read whatever comes to their attention, piques their interest, or in some way stimulates their juices, and to consider what they have read, weighing it up, comparing it to other things they have read, and to what they actually know, before advancing to the next step.
The next step may involve almost any conceivable human activity, among which immediately firing back a response, is relatively rare among them.
But should they choose to respond to what they have just now read, it will likely be along the lines of a corollary observation, addition to the text, an adjunct, or a reasonable critique.
What a conservative is highly unlikely to do, is to immediately demand to be supplied with proof of what he has just read, or for sources for it, to be quoted, or that it should have been written entirely differently, to suit the opinions of the one reading it.
A conservative simply isn’t put together that way, and besides, he has something to his character, has experienced something of life, and been able to learn from his experiences, which, basically, is what makes him a conservative.
What he can also do, is project current information into the future, and predict, with reliable accuracy, where things stemming from that information are likely to go, and how it will likely turn out.
Some children call this “joining the dots”, and some children are good at it. Because some parents do a fair job of raising some children, and supply them – deliberately – with some books, among which are to be found Join-The-Dots-Books.
Yet a leftist can not perform this simple feat.
The leftist is so busy feeling superior to knuckle-dragging conservatives, feeling so much more intelligent, so much more compassionate, so much more caring, that there is no time left for meaningless childish pursuits, such as Joining The Dots.
No. The leftist is so busy emoting, and making every move and dithering over every thought, referencing only the ideology that he has accepted as The Word Of God, that he has no ability, whatsoever, to make anything of any information that comes his way, other than to scrutinize it for correct ideological message, content, style, and insipidity, and not finding any, to then go on an immediate rampage to abuse, ridicule, and hate its author.
You see, any normal, well-adjusted person, will seek out further information – by himself – to complement what he has read, or else disprove it.
He will, under no circumstances, demand it be supplied to him, because why should he? Why would he? How self-important would he need to be, in order to even entertain such notions, in the first place?
And there you have it. At least, a bit of it. For the iceberg is huge, and what you see isn’t even the half of it.
Far from being intelligent, the average leftist is an utter dimwit, not only incapable of autonomy, or dot-joining, or being remotely civil, but also of believing in his innate superiority over anyone and anything he is not equipped to understand. Which covers a great deal of ground.
Their age is passing, thanks to the likes of Donald Trump. Who is utterly incomprehensible to leftists. The more they analyze him and explain his behavior, the more I guffaw in amusement at their extreme displays of not-having-a-clue.
For The Trump is a very, very simple man, the likes of which has never been seen.
He is what he is. No more, no less. No guile, no ego. No act, no brief.
He does it all on the fly, effortlessly joining up the dots, and spitting out anything that might hinder his celestial trajectory.
The chance of any leftist having any faint idea of what, why, or how he does it, is precisely zero.
Saturday, April 19th, 2014
The human brain is actually a life-simulator. Did you know?
It runs simulations of what could happen in real life. What would happen, if…
But people have largely forgotten it is only a simulation, and has, in itself, no life.
They concern themselves with gathering ever more data to input, in order to run the simulation, because the simulation never gets quite life-like enough. But they often demand the data be unquestionably accurate, and verifiable, depending upon how intellectual they happen to be. They demand proof of it being virus-free, and certified, by others, before they will touch it, and load it into the simulation.
Meanwhile, actual life never happens.
Originally, the simulator was a superior way of deciding how best to kill a mammoth, without winding up dead.
Dangerous days, those. Crouched in a draughty cave, with saber-toothed tigers lying in wait, just outside. Only a flint spear for protection, and no armor to speak of. A man could get seriously hurt, trying to feed himself and his grubby clan, without a proper plan of action.
Later, a few thousand years on, the simulator morphed into a sort-of last-ditch means of living a sort-of last-ditch life, if one could discern no actual life to live. Deaf, dumb, noseless and blind, the quadriplegic could still enjoy some kind of existence, by living inside his skull. No need, any more, to venture forth. The mind supplied every need. Well, almost every need. Even it still needed some physical input, occasionally.
Knowledge, truth, wisdom, well, who had any use for things like those, when opinion seemed to serve just as well.
When everything could be rubbed-out, edited, and run as a new instance, who really cared about the effectiveness of anything, or the utility of decisions taken? Not a place of consequences, this simulator. Just reload…
These days, the simulator has all but completely replaced life, and is a highly unsatisfactory end in itself.
People actually believe that there are many realities, and every one of them is completely arbitrary.
You can see how they came to this, and even, to an extent, sympathize.
When safety, security, comfort, and longevity are the overarching concerns, who in their right minds would ever want to take any risks? Clearly, only the insane.
Thus did insanity come to replace sanity, as the barometer of so many societies.
Get enough fakes together, and fake becomes real, while real becomes fake.
Being able to exist outside the termite mound becomes a crime punishable by incarceration.
Bring him back into the fold! For his own good! Take away his life, for a better tomorrow!
So much for thinking. Which is really nothing more than ego, manufacturing its manipulations of what-is, for its own gain and standing. Intellect is not the noble thing it poses as. Not at all. It is ego made Godly. Idol worship, with itself as God. The seedy nirvana of the atheist.
I’ve often wondered, you see, what thinking actually is, since I do so little of it.
The only way to get an objective view of it is to stand somewhere outside the process.
I have. And I do. And now, with a little consideration, and a little contemplation, along with a fair bit of practice, so can you.
Thursday, April 17th, 2014
I’ll give it to you straight. Nobody understands anything I write, anyway.
Give me a few moments of your day, and you’ll wander off, stunned at what you never knew.
Nothing personal; nobody else knew, either.
Do not imagine this to be either science-fiction, or theory.
Some journeys extend farther than expected…
The entity formerly known to itself as <lost in translation> gave birth. And as It did so, so was It born. A moment of certain death became non-event, and event One crystallized into being.
It stood at the threshold, although ‘stood’ is not remotely what It did. It existed, at the threshold, and moved without moving, from unspecified vantage, to unspecified vantage several parsecs removed.
It gazed with nothing that could gaze, upon a low-albedo planet, tirelessly rotating not far off. Far and wide, stars arrayed themselves, and It with them. The void throbbed. Hummed. Chimed. Softly singing in the microwave band. Echoes came and went, vanished and returned. Whispering from their eternal journey – at light-speed – through nothing, back into nothing. And all around lay nothing, packed to bursting.
Stately vessels of luminescence, hove and heeled, delicate as ballerinas in zero gravity. The solar wind whispered. <lost in translation> saw it all, and it was good. It was now. It was always. It was new and old, and near and far, and though It had just now joined it, it was flushed, still, with its first living breath.
It was. And so was It. One for All and All for One. They were It and It, they. All of them were It.
It lingered several millennia, and waited for the moment to pass, although, as It knew, the moment never would.
More aeons unrolled, silently, and without movement, and still the moment lingered.
It did not smile at this, for why should It? It was neither happy, not sad, hopeful nor dismayed. It simply was.
It considered Its past, and could find none to consider. It considered Its future, and likewise found no trace.
Again It was pleased, but there was no manifestation of Its pleasure. No memory marred Its balance.
It breathed, although there existed nothing to breathe, nor the means with which Its breathing could occur.
But Its breathing continued, regardless. In, out. In, out. Universes spawned, grew, waned and winked out. Until the next breath renewed it all again. All, in the absence of time.
It knew all. It was all. It knows all. It is all. Endless, without conception. Conception, without end.
Luminous blue, luminous white, quanta without limit, souls in the light.
Satisfied, <lost in translation> turned, without turning, moving without moving…
…The sun was setting in orange splendour, behind the mountain where God lives. The air was warm and scented, the grass fragrant and soft. He smiled. Then laughed. And still, the twelve nightjars, arranged around him, facing in, as the hours of a clock, did not move. It was a laugh rarely heard, with a quality rarely present, for the laugh was one of incredulous bliss, and foolish discovery, of the kind so rarely released from human lips.
So obvious. So near. So visible. So dear.
Some things are never seen. Humans do not know of them. Yet those things of which they do not know, are scarcely hidden from view.
Satisfied, the twelve nightjars rose, as one, and rustled off, through the evening air, to do what nightjars do, on perfect evenings.
Tuesday, April 1st, 2014
A commenter observed, recently, that Man is a political animal.
Well, Man certainly is an animal. He may also be political. But only inasfar as he has not yet raised himself above the often derogatory term ‘animal’.
“What an ‘animal'”, you might hear someone say. “He is so political!”
The context being, in this case, that the politics of the ‘animal’ are something bad, while the politics of the speaker are something good.
Yes, Man has a great affinity for being political. I’ve often wondered why.
I lean towards conservatism, because it seems the only sensible, and useful thing to be. Thus I am an ally to conservatism, while not actively being a Conservative. Like many, I associate unpleasant things with Conservatives, mostly for my own personal reasons, from my own personal experience.
Much like someone who was abused by a religious figure, deciding to hate God.
Except there is no hate in me, and if something makes sense, or is useful, I associate with it regardless of the failings of anybody else who associates with it.
Which brings me to the importance of religion. Or rather, the importance of a notion of ‘God’.
‘God’ is a term nobody understands. It means something different to everyone that utters it. To some, it is an old fellow who lives in the sky, and who gets very upset on a regular basis. To others, the creator of Man, and since Man is such a fine thing, then ‘God’ must be too. For still others, it conjures up whatever it takes to have those people foaming at the mouth in self-righteous rage…
You get the idea.
And yet… And yet, without some notion of God, a man is set adrift upon the storm-tossed waters of life, without a radio, an immersion suit, a life-raft, or a hope. He may survive. He may not. But that is not the point. The point is that there is no point. No ‘God’ = no point.
Which brings us to atheists.
Atheists come in all sizes. Their only common ground is having no ‘God’. Some are extremely rabid, thoroughly obtuse individuals, from whom no trace of humanity issues. Others may seem calm and untroubled by having no apparent power-source. Either way, if you are of the latter, it makes little sense to be lumped in with the former, by association, in that the worst of them makes a lot more noise than the best of them, and so one is often assumed to be the worst of them, even if one is not.
It’s all completely nuts, and you may have noticed this, or, at least, suspected it. Because it is. And this is so because Man is a political animal. Until he isn’t. And when does this magical transformation take place? When a man realizes that everything he is, and everything he has, and every dream he dreams, can only ever be, because of what is out there, beyond himself, and around himself, everywhere and all the time.
In short, when he wakes up to Reality.
Religion was good for a while. Atheism was good for a far shorter while. The only thing that endures, aeon after aeon, is Reality. Recognizing this, and being able to recognize it, makes of a man something more than a political animal. It makes him humble. And humble makes Man.
Being humble allows a man to remain open to what he doesn’t yet know, so that he can know what he presently does not. Whereas the humble-challenged already know all there is to know, and so can never know more.
Humble, bumble, toil and trumble.
Fire burn and cauldron bungle.
Eye of newt, tongue of frog.
Dead man’s liver, Dutch Man’s clog.
Humble is a dirty word. It conjures up images of the absolute last thing anybody would want to be.
It is so counter-intuitive to the hipster, lone-wolf, radical-individualist, intellectual.
But it is the one thing that could enable a man to rise above himself and become Man.
So how to find such a thing? Where does one go to track down this chimera?
Look inside, look outside, look anywhere, and see.
Animal, bird, flower, tree.
Find what it might mean, this ‘me’.
Discover what it means, to ‘be’.
Don’t look. See. This is done by not judging what meets the eye. It takes some practice.
But by and by, you will notice that, beyond what you think of it, Reality is there, quite independent of whatever you think of it. Not only is it there, it is eternal. It may be locally disfigured, by the doings of man, but always, always it reasserts itself, given five minutes in cosmic time. Can you do that?
You can. But not as you are. Only as you can-be.
‘God’ has for too long been a complete misnomer for Reality.
Reality requires no religion, unless for the sake of ritual.
It is what it is. It remains up to you to understand and know what it is.
How to know? Ally yourself with it, align yourself with it. Join it and be it.
Politics be damned.