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Reasoning With An Optimist
Reasoning With An Optimist
Reasoning With An Optimist
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Reasoning With An Optimist

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This book seems short and simple, but is actually a guide to the depths of your relationship with yourself and the world. Through it, you may discover how to understand and manipulate your belief system, which will then alter (for the better) how you see yourself as part of a living, responsive world/universe. At every point, you will let your sense of health be your guide, and as you gain a sense of freedom, you will become more and more a master of yourself.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 6, 2020
ISBN9781733016001
Reasoning With An Optimist
Author

Jack Bresette-Mills

Hi!Write me at jackmills@mac.com and I will likely write you back. I hope you enjoy my books.

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    Book preview

    Reasoning With An Optimist - Jack Bresette-Mills

    Reasoning with an Optimist

    with twenty-two sonnets

    at the back

    by

    jack bresette-mills

    August, 2011

    For Barbara

    I f one listens to the faintest but constant suggestions of his genius, which are certainly true, he sees not to what extremes, or even insanity, it may lead him; and yet that way, as he grows more resolute and faithful, his road lies. The faintest assured objection which one healthy man feels will at length prevail over the arguments and customs of mankind. No man ever followed his genius till it misled him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal -- that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.

    --Henry David Thoreau, from Walden, published  1854

    CONTENTS

    confession

    contentment

    a life with meaning

    true believer

    mustard seed

    test

    superstition

    responsibility

    belief system

    thankfulness

    pretending

    coincidence

    communication

    relationship

    thinking

    being watched

    certainty

    quiet

    reincarnation

    proof

    spirit

    evolution

    redemption

    entering the picture

    stench of enlightenment

    karma

    wonder

    winner mentality

    directed thought

    birthday

    worthy task

    P. S.

    Sonnets

    Reasoning with an Optimist

    confession

    I am in the grips of an illusion that life speaks to me. You, too? Because of this illusion, I'm happy and content with everything I do; no, that's not you. That's just crazy talk. Just saying it, writing it, whatever, I cringe. As you can imagine, it's a bit distressing being this happy. The only other people like this are insane, or power-crazed industrialists, or yogis, and from an objective point of view we know they are obviously messed up.

    Of course, it's only distressing when I think about it. If I'm just living, reading a book, driving to work, I feel great. It seems like I am where I belong moment to moment, and that the right things are happening to me. You see how sick this sounds. I don't even seem to have any hidden quirks that make me respond to situations in ways I later regret. Either that or I've learned to take everything in the past as 'done,' and not worry about it. The reason I'm writing is that I certainly can't talk about this condition openly. The only time you want to hear about someone doing well is after they've died. (Since you're reading this, let's hope that I have.)

    It wasn't always this way. I vomited blood and was hospitalized when I was fifteen, apparently because I worried too much. As a little kid I clearly remember being the one in the car to remind my mom or dad that the gas gauge was below a quarter tank, this from a standing position behind the driver, so I must have been about three feet tall. One of my older brothers who definitely felt it was his duty back then to terrorize me apologized; he blamed himself for what seemed to be an ulcer. The doctors never actually found one, but treated me as though I had an ulcer just in case. What I apparently did about it was stop worrying.

    It took a while. But when your stomach tells you to lighten up, you listen. You listen or you die. My body has ever since been wonderful at thwarting me from enjoying any negative emotion. Within five minutes of my being jealous or angry or depressed or worried, I get sick, or I get a pain in some bad place, like my liver. It's very cool. I hear my body saying to me, If it's that terrible out there, then what's the use? My organs have tirelessly worked to force me to become someone who loves life.

    My aching liver got me out of a full-time teaching job. Although I loved the kids, I've been happy ever since. It turns out that successful teachers are a bit like politicians, and think a 60% approval rating is a good thing. If one parent or colleague was against me I felt horrible. That dear liver told me if I wanted to keep teaching, I would die. Okay. Thanks.

    Being forced to be happy or else is fine, and it might be the best way to get it done. But I've figured out a few things from almost forty years of force that would have worked just fine without the threat of death. Love life or die, is the anthem of every rebel. It has a nice ring. But who would give up a chance to love their life in any case?

    I have met some long-suffering people, bless them, who do not take clues from their body or the world, and face every problem as more reason to stick it out. That is not me. The slightest hint of something not quite right, a whiff of a funny smell, and I am out of there. Amazingly, life still gives plenty of worthy challenges even if you do your best to avoid problems. That is very cool.

    I'm sure lots of people lived as well as I do, but we hardly ever hear about them. If they become famous or wealthy they may write about their life, like Ben Franklin did, but being famous or wealthy is not at all ideal. I am neither, which is much better. You must see this. The burden of fame and wealth, whatever you have been told, is monumental. Contentment without wealth or fame is true gold. With luck, I'll never be rich. If you paid anything for this book, and

    I'm still alive, then let me assure you that I let that money trickle down like it's supposed to do and drip on someone who needed it.

    But I'm still bugged. I'm happy without being rich. Who doesn't want to be rich? I am either mentally ill, or have stumbled upon a life-attitude that is priceless and universally coveted. In any case, the illusion of happiness is still happiness, so sharing how it has come about could be useful to you; unless this is all gibberish, of course. How can I know? Maybe I can help you to have the illusion of happiness. That would be nice. Sharing is nice.

    contentment

    As long as I don't think about it, life is good. That's the same way it is with egotism, isn't it? We can be ego maniacs as long as we don't think about it. That's not exactly what I do with this happiness thing. I see it, realize it's working, then back off. We are all egotists, if we are conscious. But we look at it, see that we are egotists, admit it, then get back to what we were doing, which in your particular case might actually be helping someone other than yourself.

    If I am legitimately happy, I must have helped someone else fairly recently. The other kind of happiness, of sitting on top of whatever you just received, money or fame, is not really a legitimate happiness. It's the happiness of a full belly, digestive in nature, and it doesn't last. The king was in his counting house counting out his money. If you're exceedingly stupid, this counting might keep you happy for six months, maybe. Being useful or interesting to someone else is what allows a calm contentment; it's something

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