resolving memes surrounding a point

Corporate Spirit

"The Catholics," said my cat, "are not your enemy."

"Then who is," I asked.

"Catholicism," said my cat.

"In which case," I admitted, "the Catholics become my enemy."

"Why's that," queried my other cat.

"Whereas we would choose not to," I replied, "they would make it so to defend their misperceptions."

"Most," said my cat, "prefer ignorance, which is probably why they'll want to attack him before accepting a word he has to say."

"Not all of them," said my other cat.

"And there are those" I added, "who would choose to die."

"Then perhaps," said my other voice, "doing nothing would be for the best."

"I don't think so," said my cat.

"Indeed," agreed my other cat.

"In which case," I said, "an open declaration of war is required."

"I suspect," said my cat, "pulling rank on the Pope had the required effect."

"I always wondered about the Swans breaking your arm thing," admitted my other cat, "nice to know it's a myth that's translatable to the realms of chaos magic."

"Indeed," I grinned.

"You'll get feedback on this," said my other voice.

"In which case," hissed my other cat, "do it sensibly."

ii: minesweeping with fish

"Indeed," I nodded. "There's a degree of pressure building." For a moment I paused to consider my mood. "It's an emotional thing, something caused that by that which goes beyond self." I sighed. "Yet the only place I may address what underpins this frustration is a place where we are apparently precluded from having emotions."

"The mistake one usually makes about individuals who suppress their emotions," my cat asserted, "is that the individual in question has no emotions. Whereas to be brutally honest the emotional depths of such individuals is far in excess of those who are capable of expressing their emotions. Hence the need for suppression."

"That sounds ridiculous," I admitted, "but there's a certain logic to it."

"Of course there is," said my cat, "my intellect is vastly superior to yours so I'm always right."

"Arrogance becomes you," I smiled.

"Of course," smiled my cat, "there is also the related issue of the difficulty in differentiating an individual suppressing emotion from an individual with little emotion."

"And what of emotional repression," I queried.

"A way the latter may choose to temper the same forces," replied my cat, "top-down, as it were, as opposed to bottom-up. Easier to achieve yet poorly handled repression does tend to sublimate into rage."

"Probably explains," I postulated, "why people slam the door in your face the moment a situation gets emotive."

"Indeed," said my cat. "The difficulty here is telling the difference between a suppressor who's just plain furious and a repressor who's about to allow all they've been repressing to sublimate into an over the top outburst of physical fury."

"Perverse isn't it."

"Oh certainly," purred my cat, "there's enough fuzziness in the mix to keep a whole committee of cats busy for months attempting to resolve the truth of it."

Enchantments, Mirrors and Owls

"... so it's what is believed to be true," concluded my cat, "that holds more relevance than what is actually true."

"I begin to see your point," I said smiling at fuzzy form sitting on my lap. "Although I suspect I'm an exception to the rule."

"What makes you think that," said my cat.

"Only that my operating paradigms leverage belief," I sighed, "my way to pattern into available constructs to explore the operational encoding within."

"You," announced my cat, "operate at a higher level of abstraction than most will ever be capable of."

"Do I," I grinned, "that's nice."

"No," said my cat, "it's not. It gives rise to a condition where you become so acutely aware of environmental modifiers that you are effectively denied from the society of others. Psychologically speaking it makes you more than a little slippery, making it very hard for anyone to help you."

"Okay," I said cautiously.

"Although it is partly," grinned my cat, "what makes you so good at uncovering that which is occluded."

"So what's this got to do," I queried, "with the original subject."

"Well," announced my cat with authority, "humans entrain their children to the concept of ultimate oneness, a reinforcement of a rather childish notion, which makes them passive, pliable, easy to dominate. This suits the hierarchical command structures of society so historically it's not something the adult world cared to challenge. To this extent most adults would now accept it as a self-evident ultimate truth."

"I see," I said. "Well no," I admitted, "I don't." I smiled weakly. When my cat got like this is was easier to grab hold of her tail, metaphorically speaking, and follow.

"Operationally it's an unworkable paradigm owing to the problems it presents in resolving the dissonance of inner conflict," my cat continued, "so most children will unconsciously evolve to a three-state model. You can see reflections of this in the classic archetypal pattern of three-in-one which is why it resonates so strongly. Yet the expressed truth, the inherent belief if you like, remains the singular."

"But you say," I ventured, "that the operational belief is a trinity. And," I cast my mind back for a moment, "I'm still not sure I see the connects to your relevance of truth comment."

"Think about it," said my cat.

I thought. It took a moment for the point to resolve. "Ah, I see what you mean," I responded eventually, "in a way it explains the inflexibility of thought that appears so prevalent in modern society." My cat turned her head to give me a look of satisfaction. "It's also," I chortled, "highlights how righteousness tends to infect both sides in any conflict."

"Certainly," said my cat, "and now perhaps you see how your flexibility and inability to accept the mantle of righteousness leads to a condition where in any conflict you're at a tactical disadvantage."

Hail Eris?

"What's the deal with the Starbucks Pebbles post," queried my other cat late one morning.

"It's a dischordian thing," replied my cat, "something to do with the apparent order to be found in chaos."

"A religion disguised as a joke," smiled my other cat, "disguised as a religion."

"How can it not know," asked my cat, "what it is,"

"I think you'll find," I volunteered eventually, "the following passage triggered it's presence here."

"The remarkable structure of the Bible should also be stressed. Although it is a collection of 66 books, written by 40 or more different men over a period of 2,000 years, it is clearly one Book, with perfect unity and consistency throughout. The individual writers, at the time of writing, had no idea that their message was eventually to be incorporated into such a Book, but each nevertheless fits perfectly into place and serves its own unique purpose as a component of the whole. Anyone who diligently studies the Bible will continually find remarkable structural and mathematical patterns woven throughout its fabric, with an intricacy and symmetry incapable of explanation by chance or collusion."

"Oh," said my other cat, "I see your point."

"Although to be fair," said my cat, "what interests me is 'fourty men' comment. You may be forgiven for thinking the whole book is nothing more than 'The Mysoginists Guide to World Domination'."

"Behave," said my other cat, "the Gospel of St John was written by a woman. Although you have to wonder about the motives of those who compiled the thing."

"They would probably claim," I interjected, "that they were inspired by God."

"Yes," said my other cat, "but which God."

"There can be," grinned my cat, "only one."

"Trinity," hissed my other cat, "singularity is a locked box."

"In which case," I grinned, "we're talking aspects of the one; and the psychologist within is considering a diagnosis of a Schizophrenic Personality Disorder."

"That's the spirit," grinned my other cat.