‘Can I ask what exercise you’re doing, sir, apart from exercising your thumbs?’ The copper is wearing a perfect sneer. I get the impression he has been waiting his entire jobsworth’s life to be able to reprimand someone for sitting on a park bench and writing a text message.
Beneath all our evolutionary conditioning, beneath all our cultural mind viruses and power-serving, power-promulgated belief systems, beneath the chaos and confusion of life in an insane society, there is a deep stillness.
We all know deep down in our guts that that stillness is there, and that it is our natural condition. That’s why we all spend our lives trying out different strategies for coming to inner tranquility. Most of those strategies are unhealthy and doomed to fail, but that inner stillness at the root of our being is what we’re always reaching to experience.
Like an obstinate commander who refuses to internalize his terminal condition, he manufactures in his feverish mind divisions and squadrons and sends them to the front. The force commanders surrounding him, whether for fear of his wrath or out of empathy and pity, play along with him. They come and go, pretending to be doing things, pretending that as long as he’s there, there’s hope. He looks at their faces and wonders what’s going through their heads. Who will defect, who will betray. Who will rise against him. …
Whoever said that politics is showbiz for ugly people has been proved more right than they could ever have imagined in their wildest dreams.