Friday, September 11, 2009

This is not a clue

For my own sense of propriety I would like to amend the phrase in the
previous post, where I say, "whatever else I may have learned." It
should read 'unlearned.'

What's the date today?

Oh, right, September 11, that rings a bell. That's the day when something unexpected happened. Doesn't really matter what that something was, compared to the lessons to be observed about when the unexpected happens. Because the habitual total routine machinery of life is a big reason people can go on thinking they know something, when in fact they are clueless. 
But in a blog about Jan Cox, really, what jumps to mind is the incident I recall where he said to the group of people he had allowed to stay around, "if you leave the group, I will not again think of you." (words to that effect.) One person hearing this,  thought, wow, that's cold.
How wrong I was, and whatever I later learned, one thing is this (and contra the many statements you will hear on the media today about never forgetting) you can only remember by not thinking of something.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Take 89

What if the man speaking is actually, not a deliberator, not a conveyer of information, but what if, the man speaking is -- a car without brakes. What if this applies to any person with their mouth moving: they are a car without brakes. Any man. In such a scene then, would reality be----piles of wrecks blocking highways. Yet the brakeless cars venture onto the roads, unaware of swerving, hoods mingling, screeching and metallic mixing sounds all around. A man may look down and wonder, why is there blood on my shirt. The ordinary do not grasp the reality of their situation.

And in this scenario, what is the role of a real teacher, someone who can actually see the wreckage, which is in plain sight? Does he teach the principles of brakes for cars? Not if he is a real teacher. Speaking is driving without brakes and this applies to all.

The real philosoher, say a Gurdjieff, or a Jan Cox, uses words with caution, never doubting the lack of brakes, but chosing their roadway, their speed, aware of the importance of geographical features like hills in the path. They know the purpose of words is not to convey knowledge. Their use of words reveal a precision unknown to the ordinary, since the words of a real teacher reflect the teachers awareness of the reality of gravity. What to the ordinary sounds vague and disconnected may actually be the precision necessary to thread a path through the wreckage of the road, or the cunning necessary to halt a vehicle without brakes. Anything the ordinary hear is hampered by their own inability to evaluate their surroundings.