That was what I wrote to post last night

Then I thought better of it, and just saved it for alter.  Later came tonight.

“These are the words I’ve never said`
  This the path I’ll never tread
  These are the dreams I’ll dream instead
  This is the joy that ‘s seldom spread
  These are the tears, the tears we shed,
  This is the fear, this is  the dread
  These are the contents of my head
  This is what they represent…”—Annie Lennox, Why

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say, much less how to say it.  What I do know, very concretely, is that I spend a lot of time writing about what I should be writing.  It’s as if I’m continually preparing for a landing that I never make.

What am I trying to say?  what am I even talking about, or in my case, thinking about talking about talking about? What is it about?  The next phase of the development of the topics I mentioned yesterday came when I tried to actually read Emmanuel Kant. What I discovered that we have learned so much about perception, sensation, thought and intuition, that even his use of terms is so antiquated that it requires constant translation back into the terms as they were used at the beginning the Modern Era.  It isn’t that we’ve “learned” all that much, it’s that our understandings of these things has developed and changed.  Coupled with our ability to study the brains very activity while we think, and imagine, meditate, sleep, learn, act and react; along with the advanced understanding of the brain, how it functions and what happens when it functions, our very ideas of thought and thinking go so far beyond anything imagined by the pre-scientists of the Enlightenment. (If, as some purists complain, Kant was not part of the Enlightenment but some later period, I apologize; his work drew my interest, and then when I explored it, I found that it was jumbled and inexact, and I found less worth exploring the further I explored, so ultimately I gave up.

At the beginning the age of science, philosophers and naturalists, explorers and experimenters were busy looking outward, at the wonders of the external world.  In order to maintain focus on the physical world, they had to deny and denigrate the internal world, the world of the inner workings of man, until Freud realized the internal workings were gumming up the workings of the external world, and needed to be addressed in a categorical and organized way.  Our grandfathers’ generation discovered, translated and transmitted the writings of the Eastern religions to the Western world at an unprecedented pace.  Neitzche and Marx said they turned philosophy on it’s head, by turning practice into principle.

In the scientific age, philosophy has devolved into exploration of reason and thought, instead of reality.  What I started to think about was turning philosophy not upside down, but inside out.  It is said that after giving up alchemy, Sir Isaac Newton became a scientist, discovered (identified?) the force of gravity, and then drove himself to a nervous breakdown trying to go from and understanding of gravity to comprehending unified field theory?  What if Consciousness was the Primary Force that has been excluded from consideration in materially-based philosophical explorations of time and space?   What if it is Consciousness, the flow of the energy of awareness itself , that is the force that unifies the field?

If, instead of denigrating consciousness as the epiphenomenon that is a mere artifact caused by random interactions of matter in space and time, trying to understand the experience of reality as consciousness at play, “in the fields of the Lord”, as it were?  What if what we think of as reality truly does exist only to give consciousness some “matter” to engage with?

It is said, “Consciousness is all, and everything is light.”  If, instead of trying to understand consciousness as if it emerges from matter, and analyze mind and brain, consciousness, time and space as if they exist to provide a framework for the experience of consciousness?

“Some things are better left unsaid, but they still turn me inside out.” – Annie Lennox, “Why”

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