Learning How To Think “Unsanely”

Reality on Earth is many things, and is not always the same for all people as one would think it would have to be if there was nothing beyond reality.

Can there be such a thing, a philosophy for all living beings? I mean, come on now, from amoebas and viruses and bacteria to humans and elephants and whales, and who knows what kinds of living beings might exist on other worlds, or other planes of existence, can any one person speak for every other living being? That would be impossible, wouldn’t it? And incredibly egotistical! What could possess a person, any person, to make such a claim? He or she would have to be insane, right? Just trying to think of the immensity of the numbers of living beings here on Earth, the trillions of billions of millions of living beings alive right now is beyond human comprehension, and if you throw in the beings that might be alive on even one other planet somewhere in the universe, that would be doubly impossible to comprehend, so, yeah, insane is a good word that comes immediately to mind. But I, the person trying to write this insane philosophy, have a different word to describe how I feel making such a claim, and that word is unsane, or, beyond sanity.

Sanity is a condition of life that locks us inside a universal (or should I say, at this time, planet-wide?) shared concept of what reality is. Insanity, in its turn, appears to mean something like unable to live in that shared reality sane people exist in. But unsanity, as I use it, means able to go beyond the shared planet-wide concept of reality without losing that concept of reality. “I feel like I am unsane because I can see through the veil of reality while still being able to live in that shared reality without making other people think I am insane, or unable to cope with that reality in some way. As I see myself, and the reality around me, I am not locked into that reality, but able to transcend it whenever I see or feel the need. Therefore I am more than sane, I am unsane.”

[So, if you can live with that definition, whether or not you can fully understand it, or even accept it, we can move on from here. Otherwise, I think anyone who cannot live with my definition of unsanity will think me insane, and therefore find little value in the philosophy of all living beings, because it probably will not fit into their (or your) vision of sanity, and the reality in which they (you) live.]

To continue, I did not start out to discover a philosophy for all living beings, because to even have had that concept before I stumbled onto it would have been insane, even to me. All I was looking for was something I could live with, a thought or idea or maybe even a purpose about my life, or for my life. You might say I was adrift in a sea of concepts all handed down to me from the people who I thought understood the world into which I had been born. Yes, I believed what I was told, for maybe the first 10 years of my life.

I cannot say exactly what started me thinking that the authorities on life didn’t have any better clue of what life was all about than I did, but probably it was knocked into me by a physically abusive father who was determined to knock all my weird ideas out of me. He, nor anyone else, was able to answer the questions I was starting to ask, so he somehow decided that he could beat me into sanity, which was actually the worst thing anyone could have done. Instead of beating reality into me, he made me want another reality all the more, a reality where I was safe from being beaten… (I gave myself that safe reality as a 16th birthday present. I had run away from home in an attempt to find safety before that day, but this was an era when there was no legal policy to stop a parent from abusing a child, so the police always took me back to my father despite me telling them he was probably going to beat me to death one day. You can guess what this made me think of the police force, but that is another matter. There was, however, one cop who told me one day, wait till you are 16 and you can legally escape from him, and my mantra (a verbal statement that inspires its speaker) became “Only xxx more days till freedom,” and I counted down the days till I turned 16.) None of this, of course, is important to this work, but I thought you might like to know how my life started, and how I became so determined to find something that was different from the insane reality that was destroying me.

 

Reality on Earth is many things, and is not always the same for all people as one would think it would have to be if there was nothing beyond reality.

 

That thought was the first clue I had to realizing that there might be something different from what I was being told reality was. So this is where I really started my search…

To be continued…

In Answer 2 PUNISHMENT BY DEATH

Why prisons will never work

Part Two – The terrors of a society brainwashed to be scared of people not like themselves

Have you ever been in jail for more than a night in the drunk tank, say at least two weeks? Have you ever faced a jury of your supposed peers, and seen the hatred in their eyes. Looked at the members of your jury and not seen one that would be willing to take notice of you with a smile or even a lightning flash of sympathy? Have you ever been taken to a jail or prison intake area, stripped down to your absolute nothings, forced to walk with a whole busload of naked others through a spray of water so cold and so biting that you think you have been secretly transported to a summer day in Antarctica barely warm enough to turn ice into sleet and hail that burns your body red, makes your eyes water, and your testes pull so far into your groin area that you think they will never come out again, come hell or high temperatures? Then one at a time you are given ugly prison uniforms, one-size-fits-all, which is all you will be able to wear for the next 2 to 25 years, unless you are allowed to wear nice clothes at your appeal, if you can afford one. Meanwhile, if you stole a fair amount of money and were able to keep it hidden from the police, your lawyer will gratefully take it off your hands, and if you give him enough, he will actually TRY to get your verdict overturned, or your sentence shortened. Money might not buy you justice, but it will buy you the appearance of justice.

Okay, so I’ve got you standing in line, still naked, prison uniform grasped tightly in your arms, when the line starts moving and a line of inmates called “trustees” (because they can be trusted to fink on you to either the authorities, as represented by the prison warden, or the group leaders of gangs of prisoners, some gangs which are local and temporary, and some that are in every prison in the USA and even some in prisons in Canada. And those same long-term gangs will be there as long as prisons and penitentiaries as we know them are allowed to exist) where you will be handed that prison’s version of what is counted as bedding. Meanwhile, before you can get dressed, and IF there is a doctor available in the prison, he or she will examine you to see if you have any obvious problems visible to the eyes, ears, or fingers. After listening to a few beats of your heart and cursorily checking your skin for signs of viral or bacterial infections, they will then stick a finger up your vagina if you have one, and your anus because everyone has one, because it might contain contraband, which is illegal to smuggle into a prison. Only then will you be allowed to get dressed, and then you will wait around, even if it is mealtime, until the last of your group of prisoners are dressed.

Finally you are on the move as a group once more, still grasping your holey, and/or threadbare and/or flea-ridden blanket to your chest lest someone attempt to rip it out of your hands. At last you leave the intake area and enter a “room” one side of which is an outside wall, and the other having runways full of cells stacked upon cells all stacked upon even more cells; probably at least ten levels of them, and no elevator in sight anywhere. Meanwhile, you realize the trustee leading your group is giving a long-memorized speech explaining the laws and culture of the common room, the eating rooms, cell runways, and everything else he or she thought you would need to know for your first day there. After that you would be on your own to survive or not depending upon which gang you chose to become a part of. (In the movies or on TV, the star always remains somehow “unconnected,” but this isn’t a movie, it is real life, and the threat of death is palpably imminent, so choose wisely.)

Suddenly the line in front of you is moving up the stairs, and at each landing sets of names are called, and those people move through an iron door that slams! shut after the last “new piece of meat” goes through the entryway. The same scene repeats itself at every floor landing. Eventually your name is called and you go through the entryway. Already a guard is walking down the runway, tapping open doors, saying a name once, and moving on. As you are busy hoping you didn’t miss your name being called, you hear it at last, and you enter the cell, where either one or two double bunk beds are standing against the side walls, and before you even look at the people sitting on or lying down on the bunk mattresses, you see a seatless toilet bowl in the middle of the back wall, where you will have no privacy taking a crap for as long as you are there. Then you turn your attention to who your bunk mate(s) is(are), and where an unoccupied uncovered mattress is awaiting you. You quickly go to it, hoping the other(s) are not able to hear or see how scared you are. No matter whether you are brainy or brawny, you throw your armful of bedding on the bare mattress, thinking that you are lucky you made it this far.

“Get your stuff off of my bed,” a vicious voice booms out, and you jump high enough to hit your head on the ten foot high ceiling. As you crash down you stutter, “But… But I… I thought…”

That same voice cuts you off, “You don’t think out loud in here. In fact, it’s better to not think at all. You’ll get in trouble that way in here.” At least this time the voice is flat, emotionless. Not friendly, but not unfriendly either. With a tiny bit of uncertainty and fear in your own voice you say, “Which one is mine?” Luckily you are in a one-bunk-bed cell, or at least you hope it is luckily.

“I’m sitting on it,” the voice states, daring you to make him get off. And at last you realize you are being tested. Your happiness while in prison just might depend on how you answer…

You are just coming to a decision when a far-away voice calls “Close’m up!”and the door to your cell moves and hits the doorjamb resoundingly! The sound is echoed by every cell door within hearing. Two-hundred and fifty doors (you don’t know this figure yet, you missed that part of the trustee’s speech) slamming and slamming and slamming within tenths of a second of each other. By the time the sound clears from your ears your mind reminds you, “That’s it, no more freedom for…” and the guy/gal sitting on your mattress is staring at you with a sneer on their face and a gleam in their eyes. “How you feeling, new meat?”

So, dear reader, how “are” you feeling right now? You’re unsure of which tactic to take, you’re still feeling humiliated from having to stand around naked so long in a group of naked strangers, but with fully-clothed guards looking at all of you at once, but you’re sure one of them is staring straight at you at the same time. And then that doctor, feeling inside your private parts for God knows what, and having him or her sticking their finger up your orifices with just a thin film of plastic glove between his/her skin and your insides. And then the walk of shame through the common room, and you are so relieved that you are finally dressed again even though neon orange is not your best colour, it’s the same colour every prisoner except the trustees are wearing, you’re tired from the long bus ride from the city, and its hours since you last ate, your stomach is gurgling in desire, and you have to make what might be the decision of your life. How do you really feel deep down in your gut? What are you going to do?

To be continued…