THE STORY OF JOHNNY WHOOPER SWAN We go to school trusting our parents. We meet a teacher there who stands up front with a big desk, and a pointer. She or he trains us in an authoritative manner. We attach mentally to a life long need for authority in order to live lives successfully. Right so far? In my case, at the age of 25 I was ready to enter the practice of law where I hoped for success and a happy life finally. Very shortly, very shortly, I became anxious. There was a foreboding. I was made more uncomfortable with each experience. Law work is nothing like what I was told it would be. The system is corrupt. But I still cling to my expectation that career success is necessary to my happiness as a man. Each day my grasp of what the fuck success amounts to after all becomes more clouded, murkier. I hear songs on the airwaves and at concerts which describe my life as the life of a fool. What am I becoming? I want to rip off my business suit to run naked in the street with my hair on fire! But I am too afraid. In strange, weird (weird comes from a word meaning wise), fragmented steps I go about a journey of my own believing myself to be the first man to have failed in such a total way which journey works so as to break up my career, end a marriage, and start an entirely new way of relating with my two children whom I love deeply. Almost magically I meet a woman who is a career counselor who asserts a beautiful message that I am made to be joyful in my work everyday and at all levels. This understanding sets me on a completely new course. It is no longer a world of systems to me but an undivided one of unlimited beauty. It reminds me of a painting. A true masterpiece. I am drawn from within to learn the truth about my identity and nobody else can teach me that. From this point onward I will use thinking capacity for mastering mechanical processes and follow my heart, which includes my whole nature, which includes your whole nature and that of every human being for all the rest. I’ll go by the name Johnny Whooper Swan who does not explain itself to anyone. By my fruits shall I be known. Watch me soar!

Thursday, June 30, 2016

TROUBLES


Each culture since cultures began has its own language we know. By the way, the invention of language was not the beginning. It came long after man had been around on the ground called earth and mud. Doing quite well. It was the work of things like thumbs, wrists, and hands and feet he had to credit for that. If you were going to thank someone for your hands, who? Well, if you were going to thank someone for a boat, who would you thank? So, who makes hands? Do you even have to know a name for the maker in order to be grateful for the hand? And, if you are grateful, what does it mean?

A problem that every newborn soon faces without knowing what it is that is being thrown at him is language. By that I mean contrived languages of man. These things called words are all defined by other words, none are from the source of anything else. They are like dogs chasing their own tails. Words constantly change their meanings. So, they are foolish. Or, they are playing around and know it. Knowing it is the deal.

By age seven the child is another fool. I was. For example, people go on and on and on about God and love, and truth and responsibilities and have not a clue about what they say. At some point we say something like,
                                 

 "Hey, You, I was just playing around and now I know it"



and hope to God it is not our last breath we are taking when that moment comes.

I could go on but why? I am not able to do this for you. Just point. I am using words and you know what they are like. So, there you have it. The fox is inside the henhouse.



I wanna talk a moment, point out, something about gestures. Gestures are made by life itself, a powerful force inside the one who gestures. Nobody else asks, What did that mean? Because we are alive we know. We have no need for a book of gestures. In fact, that would restrict them to the point of being doubted. Maybe there is some wisdom here. I suggest that breath can be seen as a kind gesture. The first word? And, the last? Have we any need of a book to take a breath? Is our relationship with life fulfilled in each one without debate? I bet we can plug language into the source of gestures and make sense of it all. That might just do it. Would we have to do it together all at once? One, two, three go, maybe?