I heard wild dolphins "thinking" through a treasured friend of mine, with the meaning swimming in and out... of focus. You'd think you understand it, then so quickly it is found... *understanding* has some different kinds of locus.
Your top is inside out, and you find there's room for doubt! Any meaning flatly crumbles in your hand. You are lost and non-replete, disadvantaged, incomplete, and the values that you're missing you're not built to understand.
What follows? An example of a dolphin's special spirit. A look inside the process of a "mind." It's not what you're expecting, and you're off if you're detecting "understanding" in the *pictures* that you find...
Simplicity, eccentricity, glove-feeling liquid space!
Pair and touch, and fly for brunch — our pleasure is our grace.
Free and clear, if one large fear, but spread out in the POD;
the girls provide solidity, it's them who talk to _*_.
Murky water is a clarity we din't see in ultra sound,
that the water is her body makes my lover more profound.
We see undulating liquid ... it's the beating of our heart.
Our brains aglow with energy, our fins are fairy art.
Our thoughts are more enduring than the canyons out beyond;
It's our presence is a blessing —We know a Truer God.
The *mindless* ones are not about to suffer any folksters.
Those senseless ones who live up-out are enigmatic youngsters.
A mystery are these *human-beings* who stay in the *above*,
made captives of their *fingers* they are lost, depraved, benumbed.
The water's getting deeper, and we wonder what they'll do.
We hope they don't move out with us, unless of course they'll grok the blue...
...And frabble in the narb way, or mittle in the greeb,
and never, never slap their nill to growl a hapless dweeb.
Wouldn't it be rapture if they hammeled out their carns?
If they leedled in the brimy with their vornals in their slarns?
Is it feebled artful noffle? Or do they plother other falien ...
...And it's then, right here, you have to stop! The thoughts just get too "alien"!
They're accusing and they challenge what we humans hold so dear. They see us as deficient, and it's us, friend, causing fear. It's us, wrong minded and obscene; it's us to waste resources; it's us to sow our disrespect, and tack the errant courses. It's us to foul their briny homes; filth eats them all alive! It's us to catch them in our nets — then hate them as despised. And still they won't molest us, or give out like they get. Even Orcas won't ingest us though we've swum with baby seals, yet!
The point? We don't communicate with "folks" some still think FISH! Some humans even EAT them — a refined and genteel dish! Expand that illustration to the folks just down the street — maybe slightly better eating... 'til you smell their burning meat...
Now we impose our motives, folks, on creatures from "black space"! We would box them into category, we'd assign to them their "place." We, who know so little, would pretend to make distinction; we, the "gross untested" who provide our own extinction!
We would call them *bad* or *good*, and write for them their ethics. We'd pretend to understand them, and predict, for them, aesthetics. We would make pronouncements on their conduct or their badness. We would place a value on the methods of their *madness*. We would squeeze a dollar from our wan pontifications, and then mock a search for honest truth so lost to obfuscation!
Why, we can't "speak" to human beings who are the very same... yet we'd "humanize an alien," and ascribe to them our blame! We make them strangely subject to the whims of our psychology; they sell our cars, machines that wash ... they ape our weird philosophy? We're, sure (!), our most dishonest when we deal amongst ourselves! How in hell can we decide their program; (please!) do tell!
- Especially when no real *looking* is going on — except of course by an accepted minority of honest, talented, and largely concerned individuals, individuals decidedly apart from the mainstream and found in a deplored ufologist *fringe*. At least, good reader, as that "fringe" is characterized by largely self-interested persons who profit in support of a dodgy klatch of errants caught under that VAST malapropism of... the mainstream... ... a mechanism of psychopaths struggling furiously to profit the few at the clear expense of the many... ...and so not any kind of real "mainstream," really, at all.
- Still — UFOs are jammed up our nose in peculiar, self-limiting, if salable ways... at every conceivable opportunity... Somebody is *paying* to keep the possibility of the *other* alive. But a safe possibility — a "controllable," and therefore a malleable or "deniable" one?
- Simply but that we really are... ...not alone, reader! Take a moment to let that sink in...
- This causes the unelected leadership to re-consider and revamp its self-serving by-laws, codices, and rules. This is something they are loath, even if understandably, to do. No one wants to redo work thought done... ...A pox upon them for their self-serving infidelity.
- Moreover, the very idea of an intellectual "solitude" in the multiverse, it's found, is ludicrous and wasteful. That root idea as expressed has a potentiality so close to zero that you'd win a dozen lotteries before arriving in a universe where the aforementioned "ludicrous" was still, remotely, possible! Truth, I suspect.
- Forget the, too constrained, Drake Equation! Dr. Amir D. Aczel, a Massachusetts University mathematics professor and author of ...Probability 1... (about a minute in on James Fox's Out of the Blue documentary) shows that the likelihood of an *other* is so close to 100% (a decimal followed by an unending succession of "9"s), that its ultimate value is indistinguishable from one chance... ...in one!
- Reader! Indistinguishable! One hundred percent!
- Remember too, truth-seeker, that humanity itself is its own proof positive that the *other* exists... it's own proof of concept! How does that work?
- Here it is: Nothing that can happen at all... ...happens just once, reader! Not in this universe.
- If it's happened "once"...?...it's happened a million times.
- We "happened..." Verily.
- With regard to Fermi's Paradox? Where are they? Where are these *others*, then?
- Well, seven categories of very compelling evidence, evidence enduring every risible and highly organized effort to deride, dismiss, and despoil same... ...says... ...*they (plural is obvious)*... ...are here! Run off into the forest screaming, now... I'll wait for you to come back...
- [...Jeopardy Music plays...]
- ...What does the preceding mean to you? Outside of being removed from the playpen and given the supervised run of the *house* (...cosmic neighborhood/suburb/state/nation...planet?)? Not a damned thing! You can stay in the pen!
- ...Yes, you can remain in your straining status of imagined cultural stasis, watch the fly-ridden and increasingly fetid feces-piles stack up in somebody else's corner, endure that which is shoveled down upon you, yourself... get increasingly more sick and infirm and then... ...and then expire gracelessly in a misery so profound that Greek-like tragedies would be penned, ultimately, in mournful remembrance of it... great legacy for the kids, eh?
- ...Don't think they don't know it, either.
- The alternative?
- Well, that's summed up in spreading your arms, neatly cleaving your heavens... ...then deliberately soaring to a spot far in advance of what the "crib-dwellers" keep so far away from them to their fronts...reader. What you'll be perceiving, yourself, as left far behind.
- Behind is the toxic afterbirth of our tortured spawning.
- Ahead? A universe of potentiality, profundity... permission—dammit... a responsibility!—to explore these things as an intimation of our conjectured immortality.
- You choose for humanity, reader. Alone sullenly masturbating in a stifling closet quickly filling with your own fecal matter, or making a productive and multi-faceted intercourse with a galaxy of *other* beings... ...the evidence says are there... and already interacting with us! What's it going to be?
- The concrescence LOOMS, folks!
- Consider. Even in the dim, dim unlikelihood that we were alone, reader. We're much better served by functioning culturally in a manner like we were not. Be that as it may, our largest humility with regard to the matter would NOT be unjustified.
- ...Think that alien just conjectured doesn't realize Cetaceans are people?
- Restore John Ford, but read on.