Are We All Crazy?

Part 28 of 30 -- Psycho Squad

Are we all crazy? Who’s asking? If we're all crazy is there someone sane enough to ask? Sounds like a thought puzzle, like we had in college, talking in some guy's dorm room. The weird philosophical discussions we had! Then an orgy would break out and the time for talk had passed. Boys and girls, girls and girls, boys and boys, an occasional priest. Completely carnal except for the intellectual talk and a dash of spirituality.

A few of the discussions centered on interests like this, How do we know what we know? Where do we independently stand to know the truth? This stuff usually came out of philosophy, which I still don’t get entirely. Except it's meant to tie you up in knots and get you flunked. Technically it's the love of wisdom, but since it’s so hard to state the terms and definitions describing reality (which is a mystery), it’s every person, object, or concept for itself. That’s what I got out of it, and it’s helped me immensely with the Psycho Squad. “Screw the rules. The rules are ‘Battle stations, entities of every stripe!'”

I can simplify things: Clinically speaking, we’re divided into two basic groups, the much smaller group, normal people like me. Then the vaster group, those who are abnormal in one respect or another. They may have eaten one too many TV dinners or maybe they were born with it, but they’re decidedly different, confirmed wacko. One problem with me, and I don’t admit anything bad very often, is I only have one Psycho Squad ambulance. If I really applied myself I could have a thousand ambulances and a million employees! But the few employees I have now pilfer me almost to death, so if I were any more successful I'd be completely broke.

Think of the dilemma from this angle: With that many people lost in their mental problems and essentially incapacitated — except for their strange unerring ability to act as criminals — I couldn’t afford to screen a staff with the percentages; they themselves would be 80% psychotic! Just keeping track of who’s nuts enough to be semi-normal would be too much. The only solution would be to have a vast facility and an unlimited number of holding cells for when they acted out. But getting staff who aren't sadists, sheesh!

Anyway, I guess I'm happy enough with operations the way they are. Small enough to be flexible and big enough to keep myself neatly dressed. Plus, it does allow me enough free time to chart out how massive my problems are. I keep a blackboard in the garage and update it daily depending on the previous day’s experience. My PQ rating (psycho quotient) goes up and down, which is my take on the social environment. I buckle down when it’s high and loosen up when it’s low. It's about even now, so I'm simultaneously buckled and loose.

But it's all good. I get a few days rest, the PQ goes up, we work like dogs, then enjoy a few days downtime. It’s a great job. Although I'm stuck with the sneaky feeling that I may wake up someday and discover the real truth, that I've been locked up and sedated my whole life.

Why The Cow Goes Moo

The cow didn't always say moo. And there's no reason to suppose it did, even if the way it worked out would seem to indicate the way it started. We tend to think nothing makes progress in time. So when God created the cow it came down a shute and the first thing it said was moo.

No, no. And once again, dear friends -- don't be skeptical -- I have traversed the corridors of whatever, most of the time swimming upstream, to reference the Akashic Records. It's not that hard to do, however it is very frustrating because the other quacks who came before me got them very messed up and out of order.

But if you're looking for particular files, things that the average clairvoyant doesn't care very much about, such as on the evolving vocabulary of cattle, they're not too messed up. Most people of course are more interested in the words and travels of Jesus, how Buddha came to be fat and skinny at the same time, and why George Washington cut down the cherry tree. They've pretty much left questions on the various animal vocabularies, and the more subtle things of animal dialects, alone.

Speaking of myself, I'm interested in all these things. One, because I really respect cattle for coming up with something so simple and catchy, and not that far off the mark, as should be clear to anyone, from the Primal/Original Mind sound of OM. It's just flipped around, hinting first at dyslexia, or more purposefully at humor, or perhaps it's merely the same exact thing, only as seen from a consciousness apparently different in typical expression from our own. I frankly don't see a downside to saying MOO, being convinced that it doesn't make a bit of difference.

Anyway, getting back to the Akashic Records. Here's what I have to say about the Records. They're better than nothing. If it weren't for the Records, I'd simply have to make this up, about the cow. And if I did that, perhaps folks wouldn't see in it the same authority. Which isn't to say the original Akashic author didn't simply make it up, but since He and She is a lot more mysterious, we're willing to buy it.

So, please, if you're in that camp, just let me just transcribe the damned thing and be done with it. Here's some of the other vocabulary the platonic perfect cow and its immediate descendants toyed with:

Pistoloops, mamasita, hotsprings, ruff-ruff, lipschitz, palmolive, google, repubpuke, [multiple retching noises based on repubpuke], quaffone, skipbo, passgo, obladi-oblada, poopshute, sadchidananda, chuckbook, checksum, kindlebook, goku, kubball, oompaloompa, cockadoodledo, smorgabord, frootloops, sexawowsa, and vavavoom.

How it was narrowed down to moo is an amazing story in itself. They saw a baby cow walking through the pasture who kept saying MOO. They started making fun of it, then they made fun of it so much, continually, that it finally stuck. It's the old line about "First, they laugh at you..." come to life!

Pigs: "Eat More Bacon"

[Artwork COPYRIGHT 2011 dbkundalini, All Rights Reserved, please don't steal it. Note: Getty Images, please feel free to contact me for usage rights. Limited rights offered to Pork Producers, International.]

I was with a guy at the local barbecued pork restaurant recently. I think it was last Thursday, possibly Tuesday or Wednesday, definitely not Monday, and they're not open on Sunday. And I was busy on Saturday...

Anyway, they have quite a few pigs and other hog-related memorabilia, statues, knickknacks, and portraits there, with the pigs seeming to condone and even encourage the eating of their meat. This struck my friend as being kind of odd.

And, now that I think of it, it also strikes me as being somewhat weird. Maybe they ought to be like the Chik-Fil-Et (sp?) chickens, I guess it is, or maybe cows, that are encouraging possible customers at their restaurant to eat more cow or chickens, whichever is opposite of what they actually serve there. I guess it'd have to be chicken in a place called "Chick-Fill-Et." Like they must serve chicken filets, so there's cows encouraging people to "EAT MOR CHIKN."

That makes more sense if your whole thing is to have people eat the other guy and not you. Or the other species and not you. But it's shortsighted, like in the Martin Niemoller quote, if Niemoller had been a cow: "They came for the chickens and I didn't stop them. Now they're coming for me and there's no chickens to save me." Still, being shortsighted when it comes to your self-preservation can be an effective way to save yourself, because it at least buys time and allows you to plan your next move.

But getting back to pigs, and I'm 100% serious about this, in my opinion it's better to exist than not. If I had never been born at all, imagine how unhappy I'd be. I'd be sitting there going, "What? A stinking chigger can exist, but I can't exist?! How crazy is that!" You'd be unhappy, too! Or step it up, with something better than a chigger but still not as good as a man. "A stinking pig has a shot at life, but not me? Good grief, what kind of world is this anyway?!"

Since I actually do exist, I'm happy to share the land with pigs and chiggers.

OK, back to the pigs existing. There are millions of pigs, and the fact of the matter is hardly any of them, like less than 1%, would exist if they weren't being bred for food. Think about it, no farmer is going to breed 5,000 pigs just to have them standing around. He's trying to make money, not clutter up the farm with useless pigs. Therefore, if no one ate pigs, pigs wouldn't exist in any quantity. So if you're a pig, and you realize all this, you are going to do what you can to make sure people eat more pork, because that's the only thing that gave you a shot at life.You're not going to have piglets without that policy, however revolting it might otherwise be to you.

Just today, I had four slices of bacon. And I feel good about it, because I'm doing my part.

Against All Odds

Everything about me is against all odds. That I'm sitting here pulling forth a sentence from a nebulous haze of stumbling thoughts at this exact time and place is against all odds.

Where and when else might I have been? I might not have been or I might have always been. What do I know about it? Somehow, however it happened, there appears to be two hands with fingers pushing buttons, transcribing something, however boring it might be.

But those are all the hazy things I don't need to think about minute to minute. Because I take it for granted that I'm actually here. And having taken it for granted, there's really no reason to keep commenting on it. Except to remind myself that there's apparently something special and meaningful about it.

So what if it wasn't against all odds? What if what is is precisely what was meant to be, right on down to the bottom-most turtle? At that point, I'd have to say it was a terrific illusion at least. Because I didn't see it that way. But now that I do, OK, I see it. I'll have to stand there -- if there's still any I left to stand or anything standing to be done, since Judgment Day might just be a mental picture of something that doesn't actually happen like we think -- and say OK, you've got my admission, now what?

Enter into the beauties of my kingdom, which were and are prepared for you!

What are the odds of that happening? Pretty good, actually. Because look at everything else, all the other conditions that are given. I haven't had to do squat for the conditions of life. They just are. I happened to be born on a planet that was just right for me. Of course that could all be flipped on its head. There was no I who happened to be born. There was a planet that happened to bring forth all of us. Or there was a planet as a part of Consciousness that happened to give life to form and types to share in the same Consciousness.

I'm sure there are lots of people who could explain it or characterize it better than I. But what of it? They're probably smarter than me, having spent all their time zeroed in on this one thing. While I'm busy with a million things, so naturally I don't know that much about it. I do feel and sense it. Life is definitely a buzz.

However you cut it, something's definitely going on. Isn't it? It either is or isn't. Is that fair? Maybe not. If we can't even figure out that much, how are we going to know if something is against all odds or not?

Odds have to be based on something firm and predictable. So it's against all odds that the odds have anything to do with it. Whatever the odds were, we somehow got five aces.