Re: Wait, what's George's problem again?


"Mayura" <grfarm@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote in message
news:4474d8ec_3@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"George Cherry" wrote

I enjoy learning, solving puzzles, and making
discoveries. For example, I'm going to tackle
one or two of Jonathan's posts today--that
should keep me busy awhile. : o )

Curious George, it helps if you just "let go and let God" ;)

Anyway, it happens all the time - you're chucking a plank for Muttley,
when
up the beach walks the recently unsuspended atom-for-atom clone that the
aliens made of you when you were 16. Compared with this entity, you would
feel a sense of - in psychological terms - having 'progressed' (?) But how
would you represent this 'progress'? What constitutes psychological
progress? What typifies the the 'unprogressed' and the 'progressed' and
the
difference between the two? (Preferably in universal generalizable human
terms rather than actualizing one's particular inner cherry or oak or
apple
tree or extravert or introvert or 'typical gemini' or whatever.)

I probably wouldn't recognize him. At any rate,
we'd have little or nothing to say to each other.

And what brings it about and how and why etc.? And if there are people for
whom it doesn't seem to be happening, how not and why not etc.? And are
various religious people and new age types right in their representation
that only a relatively small proportion of people are on some 'path' and
making any 'progress' and everyone else is just doing nothing much or are
most or all people 'progressing'?

I was prepared to quote you on your next post:

"Well, I might not understand you here."

But I think that you're writing (dumb-ing?) down to me here.

My I quote poetry for my reply? Please read it.

____________________________________

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go

-- E. E. Cummings
____________________________________

George


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