The Hounds of Knowledge

Knowing Your Destiny

Part 13 of 30

I’m still mourning the passing of an old professor I knew years ago, and thinking of the anguish I felt when he met his ultimate destiny. Mostly because of everything that passed with him, being a man of great knowledge. That was his pride, really, not just knowing things but being able to interpret it for us dunces. (Instead of saying his real name and reopening old wounds for his family, I’ll give him the name Prof. Jimmy.)

From the very start I knew Prof. Jimmy was someone special. We had the first day of class, then coincidentally I ran into him in the stacks of the library. I startled him and he quickly slid a volume back into its space. And pushed the bookcase over, I guess to block my path.

I’ve thought many times about that and how to understand it. I resolved to keep a low profile in order to learn his ways. I was as hidden and obscure as was possible around him. I’d find him occasionally slipping into a quick convocation with like-minded people. And there was a hidden pattern of behavior -- nods, winks, and other gestures -- when they were together. The weird thing is how they covered their tracks, closing doors, obscuring corridors and chutes they may have been in, and, yes, tipping over bookcases.

The more I thought of it, the more I realized how he was compromising our general destiny. As a half-assed student, a very poor student, I used this as a valid excuse for my failure, Prof. Jimmy’s failure on his mission to teach, based no doubt on many other hidden shenanigans.

You know what this did for me? It really was a great excuse, allowing me to enroll at multiple places. I'd just trot out the memories of Prof. Jimmy and immediately be accepted. But I was never much of an academic success, again, thanks to those shenanigans. I got a lot of sympathy, which was great. Because, look at me, how could I be expected to learn when the professors (this one) pulled so many tricks? How could I be expected to do well on any final exam with my trauma? I always lived in fear that there was some trickery involved, something to trip me up and make me fail.

The real tragedy is all I might’ve accomplished had Prof. Jimmy not been such a dope. I might’ve found the cure for cancer, which, even though I’m always looking for a cure, there are still aspects of it that are just out of reach. It was definitely Prof. Jimmy who slowed me down.

The overall lesson from such a travesty is for all of us to bemoan the obstruction of knowledge. The world deserved better, but Prof. Jimmy spit in its face and told it to eat cake. As for myself, this lesson has made me resolve to always -- 100% of the time -- reveal any knowledge I might have that would do others any good. And so my call to professors today is “Unleash the Hounds” of knowledge, and let that be your living destiny, not taking the things you hold dear to your heart to the grave, but sharing them even today with a world extremely dumb and bound to stay that way, given its own choice.

Have You Seen The Pink Professor?

Right on time this morning, my team of university professors arrived and began their work of evaluating the 300,000 books, their task to choose out books I would want. They couldn't wait to dig in, which got my day off to a great start. A literature guy, a religion guy, a philosophy guy, as well as specialists in sociology, general scholarship, and even trivia, got down to brass tacks, a sight to behold.

I milled around the large sorting facility, and in watching them noticed many attractive qualities. Efficiency, confidence, intelligence, and delight for books, to mention a few. So I may as well say, I've always had a thing for professors, whether they wear the traditional mortar board and gown or prefer the more modern, non-scholarly garb. This group was a mix, which to me only attested to their confidence and how comfortable they are in their own skin. That is to say, there wasn't a dogmatic bone in their bodies, no judgment, just the love of teaching, learning, and being helpful.

You might know where this is going... Watching them, and these forces at play, had me, as it were, salivating, being so often provoked as I am in my spirit at the bitterness in our social affairs today. When professors could lead the way to something better. Then there was an additional reason for my salivating, the longing that arose in me for my own prof, The Pink Professor. O God, where can he be! If only money could bring him back, I've got all the money in the world! If I could, I'd apologize a million times, but of course he would silence me well before I could. It's all too much.

We had the most foolish falling out a few years ago and he left town. I say it was foolish, because we should've known better than to argue about "proper ways" of kundalini meditation/lifestyle. Even now I'm kicking myself in the muladhara. I was at a certain level and he was at a certain level -- without explaining the terms, the argument was over philosophies, the "Trash stratum" (Philip K. Dick) vs. "Sahasrara purity." It was quite the dispute, recalling Jesus vs. the Pharisees. Of course I was the complete libertine. I threw a cup of coffee all over his wall and he rolled his eyes at me, illustrating which of us expounded which doctrine. But doctrine be damned!

Later, in subsequent revelations, I realized we were both right (and wrong for insisting on rightness), and that I missed my man. By then it was too late. I sat at the bikers bar, where we met, for three weeks, and slept behind the bar on the floor like a dog, but he never returned. I thought our life had been complete. But it was all broken. If only I could find him. He's gotta be out there somewhere.

Flash! All my life I've had brilliant ideas when pressed. Now I'm a billionaire, they're even more brilliant. I looked up at that team of professors, nearing the end of their book sorting, and decided, These professors are the ones to bring him home! Like attracts like! Who better to track down a prodigal professor than other professors? One professor in hand might be worth two in the bush, but I don't know where--- [lost my train of thought] all that to say, The Pink Professor gets me ... here (chest bump).

I explained the whole situation and offered to finance a sabbatical like they've never known, if they'd only help bring him home. I set out the facts and shared his emblem (his unremitting pink shield) and they immediately knew who I was talking about, The Pink Professor. There were smiles of recognition all around. One of them, in addition to being a scholar in liberal arts, was also a math whiz, as he put 2 + 2 together really fast: "So you and him? Him and you?" I nodded, as if to say, "You got it, Ace."

Binoculars were handed out -- each responsible for his own pair -- and they became my Binocular Brigade. "Your only boundaries, there's no boundaries. Your only mission, to bring him back to me, or good information. Your only rule, Don't fall for him yourself, he's mine." With that, they were off! Leaving me very much alone, to look over the books they had so skillfully separated from the 300,000, and wait.

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My Past with The Pink Professor

The Pink Professor Explains a Game of Pool
The Pink Professor -- The Biological Impetus
Bikers Bars Need a Pink Professor
The Pink Professor A Baton Twirler
Pink Professors Needed -- Immediate Openings
Body Language with The Pink Professor
The Pink Professor -- Someone's In Love
The Pink Professor -- The Rules of Love
Breakfast with The Pink Professor
The Pink Professor -- My Dreamboat
Sex Talk with The Pink Professor
My Real Life Pink Professor
The Pink Professor at the End of My Path
Proceeding from The Pink Professor's Open Zipper
Lovingly Bathing The Pink Professor
The Pink Professor -- Don't Judge Us
The Pink Professor -- The Heavenly Marriage
The Pink Professor -- Concerned About Our Health
The Pink Professor -- Beautiful Things, Beautiful People
The Pink Professor -- Gang War!
The Pink Professor -- Baby, Please Come Home
The Pink Professor -- All Night Long!

Little Old Fantastic Me Strikes Again

I'm remaking society in my own image. Isn't that great! Always thinking, always tinkering with things behind the scenes. Very nefarious, potentially, but always meant, strictly, for good.

On Twitter I've become something of a wild man, casting away all the norms of propriety, and I've struck out on my own. I whittled my "likes" down from something like 3,500 to 40. Making everyone crazy, no doubt. But to me it's fantastic, giving me something manageable to work with. Feeling great. I currently have 81.155555 times more followers than folks I follow, meaning I'm in huge demand, for once in my life.

Lest you think that's simply vain, let me assure you, it's not. Because in my way of thinking, this means I'm on to something, not being content merely to rest on my laurels. Instead, I'm contributing to world progress, happiness, and peace. After all, the more content you are, the more you are able to contribute in positive ways. I continue it today, through my peaceful writings.

You remember my post yesterday, to give an example, how I re-imagined what driving (traffic) could be like, virtually heaven on earth, if only we had something like a commandant/peon system, people like me being the commandants, with freer access to the roads, and peons like 81.15555% of the population, with more restricted access. I came up with that!

Then, as I recall, I also imagined the same commandant/peon system for the adoption of children and pets, both. That's radical, yes, and entirely level-headed at the same time. You can see the efficiency, and dare I say compassion, of such a system in an instant. What I'll be thinking of next, even I don't know. I only know I'm always thinking. And using tricks to jog my memory of everything I haven't thought of yet. See that? That's radical! And level-headed at the same time.

I can tell you a few of my mental tricks, things that give me the edge.

1) Tarot cards. When I get up in the morning, after having about a half cup of coffee, I shuffle the major arcana of my deck and draw a card. Let's say one morning I get the "Temperance" card. Every time I look at it I think of something new. There's a big angel with one foot in the water and one foot out. I'm always secretly hoping the lobster from "The Moon" card might come over and pinch his toe. Put those two cards together and you'd have something!

2) Meditation. One of the things I used to think was ideal was for meditation to empty your mind. Since I could never manage that, I went hog wild the other way. When I'm meditating -- and my exact routine is top secret -- I'm forever delving into some new way to enhance society and make humanity happier. My latest project involves Republicans and guillotines, but I haven't yet fully perceived the fullness of the ultimate goal. Only time, more meditation, and the availability of guillotines will tell!

3) Miscellaneous reading. I pick up at least 25 different books every week, intending to read each one. But I never get far, because the next one always looks more interesting. In this way I never actually finish a book, but I learn everything you can learn from the first 10-15 pages. This generalized smattering of knowledge doesn't do me a lot of good, but in guessing what I might have missed, I think of unexpected things. One plan I came up with for society is stocking the world's libraries with only the first 15 pages of each title, because the library would then be able to hold 100s more books. And if you get them on Kindle, the free sample usually covers the first 15 pages, so it's super cheap learning!

Everything in the world is getting better in every way, thanks to me! Which I've adopted as a daily affirmation, reading precisely like that: "Everything in the world is getting better in every way, thanks to me, little old fantastic me!"

How'd I Get So Damned Smart?

I get this question all the time, from people I know in the community, in church, as well as online. Everyone wants to know, "How'd you get so damned smart?" I can safely say it's the number one thing people wonder about. Although with their curiosity they challenge my modesty.

It's tricky to answer a question like that. Because I really do have to set aside my modesty and admit it right up front, Yes, I am pretty damned smart. And I'm smart enough not to do that readily. Hence, I've been sitting on the question for a number of months, reluctant to answer it, knowing it'd ding my modesty and sense of propriety.

But today I'm feeling bold! Who needs tomorrow! I'm ready to tackle it head-on, finally to satisfy everyone's curiosity about the intelligence of someone I frankly call "Little Ole Me." Really, that's how I think of myself. I'm not all that impressed, to tell you the truth. Because I know even I have plenty of limits. But my limits are for another day. Today we'll stick with how much I know.

First, let me say I didn't set out to get so damned smart. It wasn't any conscious push. You know, there's always those kids who set out to get so damned smart. They want to be better than everyone else, all that. As unpleasant as that can be for the rest of us, I won't judge them. They swung their way, I swung mine.

My way of swinging in school was pretty much to grasp the basics and extrapolate from there. One thing I'm not very smart at is mathematics. Anything you might need on a GRE or the SAT, I immediately fail. But I am smart at arithmetic! I can add and subtract myself around the room, passing everyone. The way I learned it was, like I said, extrapolation. They said 1 + 1 = 2 and I extrapolated from there. Everything else was easy to deduce from that one principle. So I refused to learn any of it by heart, just extrapolating, however long it took, on the fly. That left lots of time for learning other stuff.

Because it's facts other than math that you can't easily extrapolate. If you know the capital of New York is Albany, it's tough to extrapolate from that that the capital of California is Sacramento. Those are two facts I had to learn, which I only accomplished after a lot of effort. Even now I could probably tell you at least half the capitals of the various states, even ones I have no intention of visiting.

When it came to reading, I literally grew up with one story book. Only one. Which I read a million times, and loved, "Little Black Sambo." You put enough effort into one book, you learn a lot besides just the great story. I learned to love and respect others who aren't like me, Indians, black people, LGBTQ, Lutherans, etc. The only ones I still have a hard time with are Republicans. Of any variety.

In addition, I grew in my love of animals, butter, pancakes, and embraced asynchronous thinking, because who can believe that tigers, running fast enough to turn into butter, wouldn't think to cut across and head off Sambo? Unless Sambo were simultaneously smart enough to cut across at lightning speed and therefore maintain his safe position. Stunning stuff! You could seriously say, when it came to book larnin', everything I know I got from "LBS."

Now I'm old. And it's surprising all the stuff I know. I don't think I'm too far off the beam to say I don't even know all the stuff I know! Know what I mean? It seems everyday there's always something different leaping out of my brain, a sudden occurrence of something else I've known all along. Examples aren't coming to me right this second, but I know it happens. When do you clean an aquarium? When it stinks or the fish die, whichever comes first.

So to answer the question, "How'd I get so damned smart?" ... It all depends. Math, I extrapolated from 1 + 1 = 2. I can balance my checkbook and occasionally have money left over. Things that needed memorizing, I memorized, then over the years forgot exactly half of it. How to spell. I learned a trick from my Mom, to know how words are supposed to look, then when they're misspelled they look wrong. The various principles of life -- the value of being scrupulously honest, for example, and the consequences when you aren't -- I learned by experience, along with trial and error. Other things, the deeper things of life, spirituality and such, I learned by practice, leaping in gadfly fashion from one thing to another. Meaning, I'm a solitary specimen in that regard.

The other key to being so damned smart is to always keep my mind sharp. As sharp as a knife, as sharp as cheddar cheese. Honed, stropped like a razor, keen. So I'm busy thinking from the minute I wake up till the minute I go to bed. Then I continue thinking till I fall asleep. And, if my dreams are any indicator, I don't stop thinking till I get up, at which point I repeat the whole process, thinking again. I'm also a voracious reader, reading while I eat.

Thank you! It's gratifying that everyone thinks I'm so damned smart. Just don't get jealous, OK? You either can do it too, or you could have, had you not lived your life in a completely foolish way.

Obedience School -- Getting My Do.G. Degree

People have been making jokes about sending their loved ones -- husbands and wives -- to obedience school for as long as I can remember. You might remember Hal Boyle's "Poor Man's Philosopher" column from Nov. 1955, in which he quotes a reader, "Obedience schools for pets have worked out very well, so why not an obedience school for pet wives?" Hal concluded the column by asking the same thing about obedience schools for husbands, but said they'd be unnecessary, since marriage itself is their obedience school! Ain't it the truth!

But in my case, with no wife to push me around, let's say I wanted to go to obedience school. It'd just be for the experience of doing it. I used to say I wanted to be a professional student. And had I done that, pushing 60 as I am, I would've already learned everything worth knowing in the realm of human knowledge. It'd be a natural for me to learn what a dog has to go through. That'd be cool.

I'm thinking about it today because I drove by an animal hospital that said it's also an obedience school, and that they're "Now Accepting Enrollees." So what if a guy went in and said he wanted to enroll, with the full understanding, of course, that the other students would all be dogs? They'd probably take me, because my money's just as good as theirs. Plus, I'm already fairly obedient to the dictates of society, I'm sure I could handle anything a dog school could put me through.

It sounds weird, but I can well imagine it'd be like a spiritual experience. Communing with nature in a very strange setting. The dogs would be in rows, like in schools, them all naked, me in sweats. We'd be waiting for the teacher to get there, knowing if she was 10 minutes late we'd be out for the day! Then, being only nine minutes late, she shows up and looks us over. There's all of us, with our tongues hanging out, eager to learn. But since I'm looking at it as more of a spiritual experience, since it's almost a yoga class, and dogs have Buddha nature (maybe, depending on what Mu means), I've got one foot against my opposite leg and have praying hands.

It might be good for the teacher, too, because if she showed me the lesson, I'd be able to help her out. Like if the lesson was going to the cupboard, getting our dish, filling it with water, and setting it on the floor by the door, that'd be a cinch. Just hearing it once, I could do it point by point without error. I would walk to the cupboard, open it, etc., etc. The other dogs would be watching, not really having a clue, until the teacher and I kept demonstrating -- one dish each, turn the faucet like so, carry it over without slopping it everywhere, and set it down gently.

Some of it might be foreign to me. Like "Beginning Bone Burying." I'd go, "Excuse me? I'll just chew my bone, thank you." But they make a good point, because what if I want a fresh bone to chew tomorrow? Underground is where it will keep the freshest, where it's moist and cold. And where no other creature can get to it, unless it's a snake or ants or grubs or something. On second thought, how about I just put mine in the fridge? All I need is a Ziploc bag and a fridge, and maybe a way to cut my bone down to bite size chews for later, and it'll be perfect.

Training for nap time would have to be my favorite lesson. There's a pillow for each student in the modular storage cubes against yonder wall. And all we have to do -- obediently, of course -- is go over and pull one out with our mouth and drag it to an empty space on the floor. I could do that. Since I'm a person, it wouldn't be very hard, the basic maneuver of doing it. Still, it might take me a longer time than the others, because I would want a pillow without a wet corner, one that wasn't used in a previous class. So I'm over there feeling all the pillows, and looking for other signs of dirt and slobber. Then, if we napped till noon, that'd be a decent class! Get up, dig a bone chew out of the fridge for lunch and the day's half done!