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Reading Phil, Url, Mel and Milli I'm reminded of the basic differences in premie thinking and that of exes. I mean, all these premies have different personalities just as we exes do. Some are dumber than others, some are more serious. Although they all recite the common defences (see Maharajia Apologia on Drek) and mutter for us the same ridiculous Master's elegy from the plaque at the base of the Hamster's Holy Mountain, the letters shiny from being rubbed, day in, day out, by pious penitents, there are some differences. In the end, though, there's something so universally common about the premie mind.
What it is, I think, is an aversion to really knowing. Premies can deal with information to some extent. They can process it, deflect it, even wilfully ignore it. They can rationalize it, deny it and whitewash or misinterpret it. Ultimately, however, they just don't want too much. Enough, perhaps, to make them look like thoughtful citizens, informed consumers in a marketplace of ideas but no more than necessary.
Exes, on the other hand, are hungry for information. We want it all: dirt, gossip, high-faluting intellectual expositions and just plain facts and arguments. Is some of it false? Sure, but let's hear all of it and let us use our best capacities and efforts to figure out for ourselves what the fuck is really going on! Premies don't want that. We do.
Thus it goes that premies avoid every last overtone or harmonic, every extra implication or inference from all the information that's starting to leak out from behind the Wizard's curtain. We exes have our antenna extended to catch it all. We want the 'hearsay' and the 'double hearsay' and the just plain, ol' unsupportable conjecture of anyone and everyone involved. What we really want is to hear the Hamster himself deal with the shit he put us through (eight years in a mental prison for me) but, we'll also settle for anything else that even slightly fills in the bigger picture.
Premies hold their breaths as they deal with us. As they deal with this information and argument. They don't want anymore than they absolutely have to handle to avoid the obvious and fair accusation of being blindered and afraid. In the end, don't forget, they hope to leave every last bit of whatever they get here behind and to sing like middle-aged little children all over again:
Oh rock me, Maharaji,
And roll me tonight,
Oh rock me Maharaji,
And say 'it's alriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight,
It's alriiiiiiiiiiiiiight
When people like Phil talk about how nice the meditation is all I can wonder about is whether they value their minds at all. Because it is clearly impossible to respect Maharaji and to take one's own mind seriously in any respect whatsoever. That price is just too hight no matter what. Otherwise, we might as well all be wearing funny hats, you know? I did that once for Maharaji. I wore the Denver-issued polyester double-knit clothes they sent out to all ashramies everywhere. I've already dressed like a clown for Maharaji. Enough's enough already. Sheesh!
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