The deep mind underlies the superficial mind. Much as the stones on the bottom of a clear, swiftly flowing stream are blurred by the rushing water above, the deep mind can be detected, but not directly experienced except by tactile sensation. It forms the substrate over which the everyday mind blithely and blindly courses. When the irregularities of younger, less polished rocks–perhaps recently kicked into the stream by a startled deer or careless hiker–produce increased friction with the water, creating a minute disturbance of flow almost too small to detect and perhaps bloodying the plantar surface of your wading feet, you take more notice, but the visual input is no more clear than before. Mind you, the water is extremely clean, but the current obscures detail.
Imagine now that you could halt the downstream flow, just for a second or two. What would you see? That’s the deep mind. You can find it by carefully moderating your relentless speed-surfing of neural circuits. Slow, or even stop the current, and pluck one smooth stone from the bottom.
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Note: None of this applies to Petaluma.
I won’t say where, exactly, because I forgot. It’s just a parking lot on top of a hill on the western edge of the valley. You can drink some water, if you brought some. It’s hot up there in the summer, and if you did not bring water then you should just keep going, unless you are falling asleep in which case get the hell off the highway because the life you save may be mine.
© Pseudocognitive
