The cure for psychosis

Psychosis is unhealthy in solitude for the psychotic is out of touch with the physical reality where his physical body exists. Psychosis is unhealthy in society for the psychotic is illiterate in the reality that others seem to have agreed upon. If there is objective reality, we are all psychotic, because our subjective worlds as they appear to us are not necessarily the worlds that are. Assuming then, that the average of our many subjectivities trends towards objectivity, each of us cures our unique psychosis by empathy. We come closer to reality through understanding and conversing with others and nature.

I am tree

My legs are roots and my toes are its nodes; my arms are branches and my hands are leaves. The tree draws energy through its roots from the water and nutrients in the soil and through its leaves from the sun in the sky. The tree takes in this energy to turn carbon dioxide into oxygen and give us humans life. I want to be like a tree. Open to the energies that flow through me from below and above, in order to cycle this energy and produce good for the world.

Others

To write characters other than yourself you must get out there and meet them, unless you write a whole world of you—this is a good strategy for your personal journal, but not for a book that will be published.

Multiple personality order

I cannot contain all of God at once. I am spatiotemporal. I can only have part of Him at any one time. But over time more and more of Him can flow through me and I swell to become larger.

On the way to rising up and out of ourselves we take on more than one self. We were always destined to be gods. But there is an intermediary step between man and God. And that step is the many men. We all together comprise the supreme being. To take on two or more of us is to participate in a larger fraction of the supreme being.

Idk

You have to have a feeling that your extraordinary melody is out.

Balance of opposites

In pursuing happiness I seek also its opposite. Like white from black and life from death, happiness is implied by its opposite, was simultaneously born with it, and now codepends with it.

In pursuing satiation I seek also hunger. In wishing for pleasure I wish also for pain. I think we associate happiness with satisfaction of first plane desires on the “good” ends of these balances. The “good” ends are those that our conditioning prefers: satiation, rest, sex.

However my second plane mind tells me of gluttony, sloth and lust. And that there is too much of a good thing, not because I have read so in religious dogma, but because I have personally experienced the extremism of eating constantly without allowing for hunger, rest without intermittent work, and sex without intermittent chastity.

Because the “goods” imply their opposites. True virtue lies in the balance, and a greater virtue comes from extending the heights of the one and the depths of its opposite, to undulate with a wider amplitude. And there is a balance between itself and unbalance in order to allow these amplitudes to increase, to allow for extremism on one end in order to return higher (or deeper) to the other end.

On the first plane I pursue the “good” for which I am conditioned. On the second plane I pursue also the “bad” because it amplifies the “good.” On the third plane, however, I begin to rise up and out of “good” and “bad” and into wonder and awe and gratitude for all experience.

On the first plane I take hot showers. On the second plane I take cold showers to amplify my hot showers. And on the third plane the shower is neither hot nor cold but only water, for which I am thankful.

No escape

There is no escape possible from the physical. Rather, use nature itself to transcend.

Glass half full

Two ways to think about hunger: it’s annoying that I have to eat; or, it’s great that I have the desire to taste again. Two ways to think about sleep: I’m wasting all this time; or, I get to rest

Suicide note

She wanted to kill herself. And so we argued—I for life, and her for whatever is after. She killed herself, and left me this note. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself, for not being able to argue better for life.

Born for war

I was born for war, not peace; for the higher values of bravery and honor, not smiles and niceties.

Vessel

The energy is not in you; it passes through you: from out there, in and back out. You swell as a temporary vessel, not a permanent container.

Mental to physical

By what powers does my mind move my hand? When I see an object and imagine that I will pick it up, and then do so—my mental self interacts with the physical world. Is it by my nervous system that signals are sent by my brain to sensory parts of my body. If so, what flows through my nerves? Electricity, chemicals, pure energy? Let’s call it energy.

So if this energy is produced in my mind and then sent to my parts of my physical body which are caused by it to move and in turn cause movements and changes in the rest of the physical world, why can this energy not flow from my mind to the outside of my physical body? Why can this energy not travel through my skull and leap between the particles of air around my head and cause effects in the physical world around me? Or is my body a necessary intermediary in the process. In any case, thank God for my body and its connection with my mind.

Onions

They give their own energy to create green sprouts. They are in a bowl, so they shrivel. If they were in the ground, they would pull up energy from the earth and create green sprouts over and over. But they do not have any other energy in the bowl. So they die to create, give of themselves to fill their creation. It is not within us. It comes from the earth, from the universe. We are only a medium, only a prism that just barely changes what passes through us from the world and back to the world—this is art.

Weapons within me

If I compound fractured my leg and then cut my finger on the pointy bone sticking out—wouldn’t that be ironic?

Of it

It is of it that we are, though we needn’t be, for it always was, even before us, anyhow.

Classic bigger

I’m always after bigger, and not just the bigger according to our modern fashions, but a classic bigger.

Instinct and knowledge

On a macro scale, human knowledge of the general populace is passed down via conditioning and natural selection as it becomes instinct, but how many generations are required for common knowledge to become instinct? And how much do we learn individually in just one lifetime on the micro scale?

We advance as individual humans from year to year based on what we learn, just as our species has advanced from generation to generation based on what it has learned collectively.

But great knowledge is not necessarily common and doesn’t get passed down via instinct or even necessarily recorded in the most popular books and other forms of media, so mustn’t an individual who is to advance be ravenous to find all that has been recorded in the past that was not passed on evolutionarily by instinct because it was never common but is only passed on in books, some of which only ever had a few thousand copies printed?

The greats

What appears is not what is, what they say of you is not what you are. The greats, classics—those who win over and over—they are great themselves alone, naked in nature. Their powers and talents don’t go away when they lose their clothing, money, status.

For the first time

It’s the same way that a newborn sees the world for the first time: without all the experience of the world as it is; without so many memories to assure you that this is the way things are.

Green is not just green but it is this phenomenon that my eyes perceive which occupies the exact space of these things that I have since called leaves but which I am now trying to see new as if I have never seen them before. And the whole world seems marvelous and sublime all of a sudden.

The same idea can be applied to emotions and thought and all other parts of our experience. This is one means to creativity: to remove all your assumptions about the world as it is while maintaining your mature artistic powers to recreate it.

Chant

The crowd walked in a tunnel with an echo and at first everyone chanted the same chant that one person had started but then more individuals got creative and started a diversity of chants and the competing songs created a dissonance that killed the chants altogether.

Know

Others say they know me and I want to say to them how is that possible? I don’t even know myself. But maybe you know my outside, and even my inside if the out reflects the in. So what parts of me do I know, and what parts do they know?

Tabula rasa

He was a blank state, only ever what was flowing through him at the time. He didn’t really have much time to think about past and future as he was always so filled up with the present. He was so curious that the greatest good for him was just to experience. Just to live.

A mirror that remembered. He wasn’t so much himself as he was a mirror that remembered. It’s just that he would rather experience someone else, and so he built himself up to attract others; he was handsome because he liked to see beauty, and smart because he liked to hear intelligence.

But when it came time to decide what to show back to them, he was only ever a chameleon, or a mirror that talked like a parrot.

Little mouse steps

When it gets to rain and storm I wonder whether the little mouse, like me, has laid down to breathe in the wet air and meditate on the thunder, or if he continues his work and the rain pitter patter just drowns out his scratching and scurrying. First we are young with first principles that are like little mouse steps.

Rain

I hope it really starts to blow when I am watching, just laying there to pay attention to the rain.

I wrote unconsciously

I wrote unconsciously—in my dreams, drunk, out of breath, exhausted, in love. And then gathered all the unconscious puzzle pieces and sat down with a coffee to put it all together.

Loud and bright

Everything is quite loud and bright to me now, even though everyone else seems to think it is just as usual.

Infinite

Infinite in the sense that it has happened, and therefore always will have, and may even have always been certain to.

I wrote a dream

I dreamed a million dreams and grew much bigger than my bed. I wrote in my dream. I wrote a whole book, a thousand pages. Then I woke up and it was lost. I couldn’t remember when I woke up. I don’t even know if the languages would be the same.

In the nighttime I dream so many dreams that I don’t remember, and think in the morning: how many lifetimes have I lived before this one?

Homeomorphism

Can you imagine homiomorphism? It’s not a word but should be. Wait, in fact, upon waking up and googling it, it is a word. Apparently, two objects are homeomorphic if they can be deformed into each other by a continuous, invertible mapping. Whatever that means. Not what I imagined it to mean in my dream that’s for sure.