no thinking

Political correctness - a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.

January 2017
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The End of the World

The end of the world was quieter than expected. It seemed that I had somehow slept through it. As I walked through the house, I noticed that the power seemed to be out and even battery operated devices no longer worked. I looked out the windows and saw no sign of my neighbors or any of the ordinary activities outside.

Stil naked, I opened my front door and took a tentative step out. I looked around me and took a few tentative steps into the yard. I had never before experienced silence to this degree. The sounds of humanity were absent – no voices, no radios, no cars – only absolute quiet. Not even animals or insects could be heard nor could I hear any natural sounds such as the rustling of leaves. The only sounds I could hear in the slightest were my breathing and the internal chatter in my mind which in comparison with the silence around me was almost deafening.

The silence seemed to enhance my other senses, particularly my sense of touch. I could detect the ever so slight breeze as it silently caressed my exposed skin and my bare feet intensely felt the dampness of the dew on the grass.

It was as if I was now the only living being on the planet and perhaps I was. Had every other living creature departed Earth without notifying me or leaving a forwarding address? The only evidence I could see that humanity had ever existed was what they had created and left behind.

Were there others who, like me, had survived the end of the world? Or was I the last remnant of sentient life? If that was the case, how long could I expect to survive? As that thought popped into my head, panic set in. It lasted but a moment before reason took over. I needed to think about this turn of events.

Silently, I sat down on the cool, damp grass. I assumed the lotus posture and rested my hands upon my knees in Gyan Mudra. I closed my eyes and began to meditate. At first, the frantic voices of my monkey mind careened about inside my skull, their echoes drowning out my silent mantra. But after a few minutes of controlled breathing and gently but persistently repeating my mantra, the mental chatter died down until all that remained was the mantra. Soon, even the mantra itself slipped away and I was at peace as I became one with the silence that surrounded me and, shortly thereafter, I became one with the Universe.

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