Take your Daemon out to dinner
or it will dine on you. (In 1982, the possible was endless for Juris))
Attention! Once, when Baso was walking with his disciple Hyakujo, wild ducks were flying over them. Baso, the great teacher, said, “What are they?” Hyakujo said, “They are wild ducks.” Baso said, “Where are they going?” Hyakujo said, “They are flying away.”
From a talk given 9 days before my birth: https://suzukiroshi.sfzc.org/dharma-talks/may-1964/ For those of you always doing mental math, that means I was 18 in 1982, although Dr. Con had not even been a glimmer in my epigenetics. (Repeated genetic modifications to the flesh by Lysergic Diethylamide would be necessary before they could be birthed — It would always get a laugh if you inserted your hand between your legs and wiggled your fingers and screamed “Octopus baby!!!” — Our biggest fear was personal-madness, not realizing the greater threat was exogenous, not endogenous.) My mother having survived WWII and being raised by a teacher and becoming Dr. Ahn passed along a set of conflicting genetic/biome commands — she suffered from PTSD as well as periods of deprivation. It would take years to undo unspoken inheritance — I’ll let you know when I do since I no longer believe, as Leary implied, LSD solely could undo imprinting.
What happened to the duck? (In our case a crow, possibly raven?) Let’s look at this excerpt from the previously referenced article:
They even imprinted one of these ducklings to a balloon. They pulled it around and the duckling followed it. When this duckling that was imprinted to a balloon became an adult, it wouldn't court or mate with members of its own species. Instead it would go through all its courtship behavior with round objects. The implication of this is that early imprints influence subsequent psycho-sexual behavior. When the duckling grew up, the imprint of the mother also transferred into the imprint for a mate.
A good article to reference during this cultural-inflection. A good time to remember we’ve all become NLP clients in a cheap motel room where the experiment has gone terribly bad: https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1988-01-29-mn-26470-story.html
Ok, I get it. Tomorrow will be easier, maybe a little less Mitragyna Speciosa. Quality beats quantity everytime. Sometimes our particular psychogeography is a lonely desolate place.
Con/Jur/d 3/17/2021 Happy St. PaTricks day! It’s sometimes hard to imagine the magnitude of the celebration in east coast small towns, a non-catholized Easter, spring celebration, replete with alcohol poisoning and dyed beer. For smaller towns, it lasts longer since the ‘big bands’ go to the bigger-cities on the day and the closest weekend. In rust-belt cities, it begins the first weekend of March, with a reupping of libations, with occasional breaks for fuel.