Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 120

If you obsess (hyper-focus) on depression, anxiety, insecurity, and being a hypochondriac, it means you also have the capability to obsess (hyper-focus) on happiness, peace, confidence in yourself, and the vitality of your body and soul.

The only difference is your simple choice and two factors primarily seem to govern why people choose one obsession over the other; they inherently perceive one such state as their given norm and they have no desire whatsoever to apply any effort towards enlightenment/change or they subconsciously feel they get more attention from others in their given choice of displayed obsessive behavior.

Obsession in any direction is an addiction, and an addiction is only a means of withdrawal from reality. True spiritual growth sheds all obsessive behavior and tendencies, but for those unable to make that significant leap out the matrix, whilst they serve time in their purgatory, it is interesting to note that they choose the alternative of misery or happiness to obsess upon simply based on minimizing their effort and accumulating as much attention as they may for themselves.

The shift from negative obsession to positive obsession is often sold or advertised as true spiritual growth within an individual. It is not. True spiritual growth involves transitioning out of any delusion whatsoever into the realm of objective reality. The yin and yang between negative and positive delusion is only a process of suffering that involves standard cyclical behavior, spiritual stagnation, and the distraction of persistent emotional volatility.

Cribb          2016


Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 119

I cannot understand what pleasures and joys they are that drive people to the overcrowded railways and hotels, into the packed cafés with the suffocating and oppressive music, to the Bars and variety entertainments, to World Exhibitions, to the Corsos. I cannot understand nor share these joys, though they are within my reach, for which thousands of others strive. On the other hand, what happens to me in my rare hours of joy, what for me is bliss and life and ecstasy and exaltation, the world in general seeks at most in imagination; in life it finds absurd. And in fact, if the world is right, if this music of the cafés, these mass enjoyments and these Americanized men who are pleased with so little are right, then I am wrong, I am crazy. I am in truth the Steppenwolf that I often call myself; that beast astray who finds neither home nor joy nor nourishment in a world that is strange and incomprehensible to him.


Hermann Hesse         1927

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 118


Stability tends to respond calmly and without so much biased interpretation and perceived offense. It listens fearlessly and has a low emotional volatility, but may present an extremely formidable and intimidating presence when attacked or backed into a corner or a trap. Stability removes much cyclical insanity and the associated redundant stagnation of such. Its energy comes more from internal fission and less from external plundering or drain. Stability seeks progressive stability.

I have certainly been an unstable bastard myself, most pronounced in the sexual relationships that I thought I was cultivating, up until about four years ago. I wasn’t trying to be unreasonable, unstable, jealous, or egocentric at that time. In fact, I felt fairly justified in my frustration with the thoughts and actions, real and imaginary, of those whom I felt I cared most deeply about and whom “did not give me enough attention or consideration or love.” I shrouded myself in a cloak of superiority and greater rationale because “I was doing all this thinking and considering and pondering” and I told myself others were not. The times I would completely “bestow” (I am making fun of my own insanity) my “gracious” and emphatic love upon others seemed to me at the time to be the appropriate response I should give to them for “finally getting it” or relenting to my justified opinion. If they refused to do so, I would tend to attack or withdraw. I thought I was loving them more than they were loving me on a perpetual basis, but whenever they would come around to “see the light,” all became blissful and right in my world. If only they could be that way all the time, just “get it” more often, then we wouldn’t have any problems whatsoever and paradise would reign. But, the truth is far different from what my unstable mind packaged as reality. I was insecure and constantly over-dominating in the name of love, destabilizing those I professed to care about the most, weakening them and most importantly subjugating their free choice of independence…the ability to stay or leave my side as they desired.

So, the main issue that confounds stability is insecurity or the inability to truly and devoutly love yourself. If you don’t learn to genuinely appreciate and love yourself, you will never be able to believe that someone else is capable of loving you (this is usually experienced subconsciously by the insecure/unstable person). If you do not think people will love you via freedom of choice, you will turn to tools of control. manipulation, and over-dominating to “make them love you” or “to secure their love.” Such tricks obviously get rewritten by the psyche to be anything but what they truly are. It has to be someone else’s problem when they feel so bad and insecure about themselves. Someone else must be guilty. That someone or even everyone else, must truly, madly, and deeply feel that they are as worthless as they actually feel about themselves. Stability is getting out of your own mind and processing reality over your own fears. It is accepting that another is capable of truly loving the real you for whomever you are. With true love of the self, the need for over-dominance of others and the necessity of persistent distraction via emotional volatility fades away. Self respect accepts the validity of respect from others and all that comes with it. It allows love to be acknowledged and exchanged. The free exchange of respect, of love, without coercion or tomfoolery or bastardization or hidden cost is stability. If someone does not believe in such a thing they will never be able to see it or find it. It is a simple choice.



Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 117

Pretext Note: The passage below regards Leon Gabor, an institutionalized paranoid schizophrenic who believed himself to be God/Christ, who at a process in his psychotherapy, abruptly decided to change his name to R.I. Dung aka Dr. Righteous Idealed Dung. This was an obvious withdrawal technique and it appeared related to the pressure of a continuous conflicting identity crisis with Joseph and Clyde (mentioned below) who also claimed to be God/Christ. The rotating chairmanship was a technique developed and instituted by the supervising therapist to allow a rotation in control of group meetings by each of the Three Christs.

This leads to another, somewhat paradoxical, aspect of Leon’s motivations which we have not yet considered. The months immediately preceding his change to Dung—beginning with the institution of the rotating chairmanship—were relatively peaceful. The issue of identity did not arise; both we and the men refrained from bringing it up. During this period there were many instances of co-operation and many expressions of friendly feelings among the three delusional Christs. Leon was less withdrawn, more friendly, and he was, much of the time, in contact with reality. He was in other words, getting better. It is our guess that Leon did not want to get better. He did not want to get any closer to us, or to Joseph or Clyde. He was only too aware of the implications of getting better, and he was frightened of them. He had become sick originally for good reasons, and the reasons had not changed. Thus, although he needed companionship, he wanted it only up to a point, and this point had already been reached and passed. He was beginning to care too much for Joseph and Clyde (and perhaps for us too), and he needed to return to his earlier state of isolation from his fellow man.    

The Three Christs of Ypsilanti

Milton Rokeach          1964    

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 115

“I believe in truthful bullshit,” Leon said. “There are two types of bullshit. The genuine is truth and truth can be compared to dung: it looks like dung, smells like it, and acts like it. When you put it on the top of soil, it makes it grow.”

Leon Gabor (institutionalized paranoid schizophrenic)

The Three Christs of Ypsilanti

Rokeach          1964

Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 114

“But then people don’t read literature in order to understand; they read it because they want to re-live the feelings and sensations which they found exciting in the past. Art can be a lot of things; but in actual practice, most of it is merely the mental equivalent of alcohol and cantharides.”

After Many a Summer Dies the Swan

Aldous Huxley          1939

Cribb Comment: The point is unfortunately undeniable. I wish it were not. The number of people out there who read seems to diminish more and more every passing day, which is depressing enough, but then another half or more of those that do read, don’t actually “listen” or “absorb” or escape their own addictive shackles long enough to experience literature (and of course, life itself) in its intended extrinsic existence, perspective, and relevance. Without moving beyond the constructs of addiction and distraction, whether overtly apparent or passively employed, of their own minds, people will never be able to digest literature or personal experience or life itself, in the way they are meant to be perceived. To believe that you are reading while not or listening while not, is the greatest mindtrap pitfall that must be surmounted to escape the pathologic and often ignored isolation that the mind most often clings to.

Cribb         2016


Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 113 – Huxley on Solar Power, Bosses, Jeffersonian Democracy, and the Constitution from 1939 (Part 2 of 2)

(continued from WPMY 111)

“Public ownership of the means of production,” Mr. Propter repeated. “But unfortunately governments have a way of regarding individual producers as being parts of the means. Frankly, I’d rather have Jo Stoyte as my boss than Jo Stalin. This Jo” (he laid his hand on Mr. Stoyte’s shoulder) ” this Jo can’t have you executed; he can’t send you to the Arctic; he can’t prevent you from getting a job under another boss. Whereas the other Jo…” he shook his head. “Not that,” he added, “I’m exactly longing to have even this Jo as my boss.”

“You’d be fired pretty quick,” growled Mr. Stoyte.

“I don’t want any boss,” Mr. Propter went on. “The more bosses, the less democracy. But unless people can support themselves, they’ve got to have a boss who’ll undertake to do it for them. So the less self-support, the less democracy. In Jefferson’s day, a great many Americans did support themselves. They were economically independent. Independent of government and independent of big business. Hence the Constitution.”

“We’ve still got the Constitution,” said Mr. Stoyte.

“No doubt,” Mr. Propter agreed. “But if we had to make a new Constitution today, what would it be like? A Constitution to fit the facts of New York and Chicago and Detroit; of United States Steel and the Public Utilities and General Motors and the C.I.O. and the government departments. What on earth would it be like?” he repeated. “We respect our old Constitution, but in fact we live under a new one. And if we want to live under the first, we’ve got to recreate something like the conditions under which the first was made. That’s why I’m interested in this gadget.” He patted the frame of the machine. “Because it may help to give independence to anyone who desires independence. Not that many do desire it,” he added parenthetically. “The propaganda in favour of dependence is too strong. They’ve come to believe that you can’t be happy unless you’re entirely dependent on government or centralized business. But for the few who do care about democracy, who really want to be free in the Jeffersonian sense, this thing may be a help. If it makes them independent of fuel and power, that’s already a great deal.”

Mr. Stoyte looked anxious. “Do you really think it’ll do that?”

“Why not?” said Mr. Propter. “There’s a lot of sunshine running to waste in this part of the country.”

Mr. Stoyte thought of his presidency of Consol Oil Company. “It won’t be good for the oil business,” he said.

“I should hate it to be good for the oil business,” Mr. Propter answered cheerfully.

“And what about coal?” He had an interest in a group of West Virginia mines. “And the railroads?” There was that big block of Union Pacific shares that had belonged to Prudence. “The railroads can’t get on without long hauls. And steel,” he added disinterestedly; for his holdings in Bethlehem Steel were almost negligible. “What happens to steel if you hurt the railroads and cut down trucking? You’re going against progress,” he burst out in another access of righteous indignation. You’re turning back the clock.”

“Don’t worry, Jo,” said Mr. Propter. “It won’t affect your dividends for quite a long while. There’ll be plenty of time to adjust to the new market conditions.”

With an admirable effort, Mr. Stoyte controlled his temper. “You seem to figure I can’t think of anything but money,” he said with dignity. “Well, it may interest you to know that I’ve decided to give Dr. Mulge another thirty thousand dollars for his Art School.” (The decision has been made there and then, for the sole purpose of serving as a weapon in the perennial battle with Bill Propter.) “And if you think,” he added as an afterthought, “if you think I’m only concerned with my own interests, read the special World’s Fair number of the New York Times. Read that,” he insisted with the solemnity of a fundamentalist recommending the Book of Revelation. “You’ll see that the most forward-looking men in our country think as I do.” He spoke with unaccustomed and incongruous unction, in the phraseology of after-dinner eloquence. “The way of progress is the way of better organization, more service from business, more goods for the consumer!” Then, incoherently, “Look at the way a housewife goes to her grocer,” he added, “and buys a package of some nationally advertised cereal or something. That’s progress. Not your crackpot idea of doing everything at home with this idiotic contraption.” Mr. Stoyte had reverted completely to his ordinary style. “You’ll always were a fool, Bill, and I guess you always will be. And remember what I told you about interfering with Bob Hansen. I won’t stand for it.” In dramatic silence he walked away; but after taking a few steps, he halted and called back over his shoulder. “Come up to dinner, if you feel like it.”

“Thanks,” said Mr. Propter. “I will.”

Mr. Stoyte walked briskly towards his car. He had forgotten about high blood pressure and the living God and felt all of the sudden unaccountably and unreasonably happy. It was not that he had scored any notable success in his battle with Bill Propter. He hadn’t; and, what was more, in the process of not scoring a success he had made, and was even half aware that he had made, a bit of a fool of himself. The source of his happiness was elsewhere. He was happy, though he would never have admitted the fact, because, in spite of everything, Bill seemed to like him.

After Many a Summer Dies the Swan

Aldous Huxley          1939