Bounders and Luminauts

With dull eyes like fish they bump against the glass walls of their mental horizon.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

I was awakened by a thump-thump-thumping sound in the middle of the night, but had no idea what it was until I got up this morning and saw that it was an iamfibbingyous fish named Integralist bumping up against the walls of his mental horizon -- right up against the inside of my computer screen. As you know, this jnani one-gnote often comes here to remind me that I am not Ken Wilber -- as if I or even Ken Wilber could ever be Ken Wilber -- and to preach to us the absolute truth that no one can know absolute truth.

In his first of three composts, Integralist sets the tone by exclaiming "You gotta be frickin' kidding me!" and asks the question that has been on everyone's mind, "How arrogant is this Bob?"

I think I already addressed this question in yesterday's post about our absence of limits around here.

He then asks a trickier question, but it's actually not as difficult as it sounds: "Are you kidding or are you actually this self-deluded?"

I think it is fair to say that we are always kidding in the Cosmos, are we not? It even says so at the top of the blog, e.g., Stand-up Cosmology and Jehovial Witticisms in a Mirthful Atmansphere of Affable Transpersonal Gallantry. If we weren't joking, we wouldn't very well be bloody Raccoons, now would we?, as Colonel Beaglehole might say between puffs on his Victorian hookah.

Perhaps Integralist was asking a different question: "Are you frickin' serious?," which is an entirely different matter.

Yes, we are serious. We are seriously pulling your leg and goosing your egg, Mr. Integralist, for as the Master once upin a timeless put it, "my yokes are easy, my words enlight." I could be right, but you give me no reason to believe someone like you is timorously hardinough for the guffah-ha! experience of our inrisible mythsemantics. Or as a wise man or guy once remarked, "last rung in's a written gag, so your seenill grammar and gravidad may not be malapropriate for my laughty revelation."

In fact, I think it is unfair to avoid saying that this summarizes the essential deference with which you persistently remand us to your authority, thy wilber done. See if you can't clutch my daft: Don't worry, it's just aphasia go through before the noesis in your head becomes real. Ascent you a son, amen for a child's job! That's the New Man, we're just putting him on. When you reach a ribald age, you can grasp the wheel of this broken-down trancebardation. Wilber's theosaurus might help you circumnavigate, but you'll need a plastic exejesus for the darshan your vehicle, that's the crux of the master.

Salvarel pounds of no penurious interest annunciate themselves to hear. First, you seem rather jung and therefore easily freudened. This much is bobvious to the finnagling professional pslackologist. And as my fitfully growning minister of doctrinal enforcement put it to you in my sleep, "You've probably read enough Wilber and the like to intellectually grasp, at least on some level, what Bob is talking about. However, you are utterly without genuine gnosis. You aren't aware of this, of course; how could you be?"

If my Minister is wrong, kill him now, crasstalker! Show me the sword of your true gnosis! Prove where there is Will there is no wu-wei! Show me the phase before you were bearthed and begaialed! Show me Raccoon nature!

Mach Schau, little Beatle!

Ah ha! My marysophial raccoon nous could sniff you a smile away! Silent but deadly, like wind of ex-wife of Bob Dylan! You know something is happening, don't you, Mr. Drones on and on, and besides, we got your point already? But what is it?

Now you say: "Don't get me wrong -- I agree that your blog serves a purpose and one that may be, overall, 'upward serving' (in terms of what you call verticality). But this post, again, reveals the GLARING BLINDSPOT of this blog. Take that for whatever its worth."

We say this. All to gather now: what is upword serving verticalisthenics worth? It all deepens. For you? Nothing. For noble Raccoon? Deity bread before bleakfest, fertile ovasations sonny side up. A luxury corp at pentecost. Eloha, that's a good bye for the Love that removes the sin and other scars (speaking allegheirically). But nobody crosses the phoenix line 'til he be repossessed and amortized, so you go back and do more omwork, or you're not grounded. For life!

You say: "Don't kid yourself that you are a club of folks that are completely free and without pre-existing frameworks (and biases) by which you (mis)understand others. Otherwise you're putting yourself on a self-declared pedestal, above pretty much everyone else, and thus apart from everyone else. You will only ever preach to the choir unless you 'see and 'rectify' this blindspot."

Umm, get off pedestrial and remove preachy spleen blandspot from own I! No spiral, just circle drain. Beholied! I preach what I practice only to high flier choir on fire in aspiraling gyre! Practice make perfect, and vice versa!

*****

To summarize our differences: you conflate boundaries and limits. We adhere to God-given boundaries that may be used as springboards to the limitless, while you reject these absolute boundaries and replace them with your kenmade limits. Good luck in your quixotic endeavor to write without the eternal laws of grammar or to compose music without the scales and chords given to us by our Composer.