312:

I HAVE FIGURED IT OUT.

And by IT I mean MYSELF.

I just awoke mere minutes ago. I had to sleep in late, because I was so happy, and for fear of squandering this happiness I needed to retain a Dream Record that could salvage a strategy for its insemination in the future. I do not want only to ADMIRE the Tree. I do not desire only to BECOME the Tree. I wish to HARVEST and PLANT MORE trees! The seed for Elation rests in the Dream of the Truly Happy Man. After having lost some seeds to Mother and Father’s rowdy morning preparation noises (Mother of course HAD to put those clogging shoes on BEFORE she was ready to leave the house), I returned to Dreamland, but not before removing my underwear and sleeping naked (for Academic Purposes, of course). I was roused once more, by a phantom telephone, and spent the remainder of my now Afternoon Nap (unknowing that it was even the Afternoon!) in a pair of familiar boxers. As you can tell all ready: my satori yesterday awakened my SEXUALITY. You recall what I said? That my Anima is an E.N.F.P? Well: let’s just say we fucked. On the Fifth Dimension, obviously. So even more awesome than losing one’s physical virginity.

I have just removed the tea kettle, at 3:24 PM, according to the Kitchen Oven’s Clock. When I first set foot into the Kitchen today, the time was 3:12, an other Synchronicity not out of accordance with the MIRACULOUS Incident yesterday (which feels now to have been Eternities Ago). And as I conclude that sentence my Word Count reaches 264. Now 275. 277. 278…

This reminds me of Kurt Vonnegut. I read Bluebeard and was confused about why Vonnegut uses so many bizarre interjections and turns of phrase. I recognize this now as Extraverted Dialogue. AT THE TIME: I spoke in such turgid prose that this world seemed like some sort of bizarre Avant-Garde trick that only my retired Literature Professor could have dissected. REALISM was far from my mind upon readin the words “I can send out for pizzas if necessary. Come in, come IN.”

My DREAM:

It ended in a manner as idiosyncratic as the means by which I kept a record of it, and ALL MOST (If I may be facetious, perhaps) as idiosyncratic as my means for recounting it to you now. The details can wait for a Meeting In Person, which I don’t doubt now to be imminent in due – perhaps short – time. What I will say is this: before going to the kitchen and receiving the pleasant shock that I had overslept on God’s Own Watch, I wrote down notes on the LECTURE that had been the Dream, in the form of WORD GAMES on GRAPH PAPER.

Yesterday I watched one of my favourite Breaking Bad episodes with Mother, wherein Walt has to flee and make the family disappear, but Skyler has given away a substantial portion of his money to Ted Beneke. You would remember if you saw it. (Ahh: sweet memory! The bane of every E.N.X.P. and the delight of his or her more Introverted Neighbours: Introverted Sensation.) I remembered where I was in Life when I first watched it. I had taken a page from Walt’s book and started trying to hook up with a Scorpio barista whose sign I guessed on point at a Starbucks in Rancho Bernardo. I would try to send her coded messages via the Internet. I used Anagrams. This I still do for fun, from time to time. I even used the technique to name a reversed sound I designed (or “engineered”) yesterday which You will be hearing soon.

In the dream, I kept thinking of you. Of how you are to me as Rachel is to Bruce: my only chance at a Normal Life. I think now on how I had watched that movie with the family back in 2013, and how much I hated Mother for ATTACHING so much meaning to the Romance in it. My sister had to calm me in typically I.N.F.J. fashion.

Speaking of I.N.F.J.: it was JUNG who warned that the practice of Yoga by Westerners would only aggravate their neuroses. But did Alan listen? Did Joe? Did Aldous? NO. E.N.F.P. never learns, it seems, from the mistakes of others. It only uses them to get away with its own, either by following the example, or by pretending that one mistake deserves an other, as though the other were the only available alternative to the one.

As I kept thinking about you, the voice of the Dance Instructor, a GORGEOUS Libra Yogi, the kind that would work at Coyote if she were not too Headstrong, kept muttering, with feminine zeal and love, about the “Shadow”. It was like listening to an A.S.M.R, but the kind that triggers you the WRONG way because it makes you TOO relaxed. I kept fighting the hypnotic suggestion, telling myself that I NEED this. But how does a Pacifist say No to Peace?

As it turns out, I remembered, in a moment of Revelation, upon recounting these incidents in a sort of crossword puzzle, (upon Waking, of course) that it was the REPRESSION OF THE SHADOW PERSONALITY that created the Scapegoat and thereby the justification for WAR.

Here is how I remembered, and here is my Conclusion:

My EGO is Detached.

But my SHADOW is ATTACHED.

And my SELF chooses between the two.

My EGO all ways had sought to be Zen as Zen can be, but only so as to avoid CONFLICT.

My SHADOW, conversely, was full of CRAVING, DESIRE, PASSION, and CROSSWORD PUZZLES. ALL of which were demonstrated by my failed attempt at courting Cassidy the Scorpio.

It was my SELF that chose which path to take: the tender but ungrounded I.N.F.P, or the passionate but self-destructive I.N.T.J?

In the words of BoJack Horseman: that man you loved. That was me. But that other guy. He’s me, too.

Dm.A.A.