October 11, 1978

[DELETED SESSION]

[OCTOBER 11, 1978 9:32 PM WEDNESDAY]

(Today I finished typing final copy for Session 733 of ")

Unknown ["] Reality--- [leaving just 11 to go to finish the book. Last Tuesday I mailed to Prentice-Hall Jane's second novel on] Seven. (Since she seemed to be at loose ends, I suggested we have a session tonight, to "give her something to do." She was going to pass it up again. As it turned out, I think the session was well worth having.)]

Good evening.

(Good evening, Seth.)

Remarks: it has been said that when the imagination and the will are in conflict, that the imagination will (amused)

always win.

It might be a good idea to examine that statement, for in the truest sense of human motivation, the fact is that despite all appearances to the contrary, the imagination and the will are never in conflict.

However scandalous or unrealistic this proposition sounds, the fact is that people do not "will" a specific outcome of events while their imaginations vividly portray the opposing outcome.

Some of the reasons for such activities are sketched in our new book.

But what you have is a learned pattern of face-saving self-deception and nefarious (with amusement) techniques, taught by parents to children; so often you pretend to want one thing, and you may say that you "will it" to happen---perhaps because what you really want is unacceptable, or so you have been taught: it is demeaning, or evil, or whatever. So in many cases people's true motives "escape" them.

It is very important to know what you want. You may discard or dismiss "what you want" as unworthy, evil, but you must first be aware of your motives. This sounds quite simplistic, and yet it is quite practically true, but you have people professing to desire wealth while obviously doing everything possible to insure the continuance of poverty. They may state their purpose as often as they wish, and yet their imaginations carry vivid pictures of future deprivation, so it seems in such cases that the will and the imagination are in conflict.

Such individuals, however, want poverty. They use both will and imagination to seek their goal. They may think that poverty is demeaning or humiliating or threatening, yet want it despite those conditions for other reasons that may or may not have anything to do with money, per se. So the question in such a case is, of course, "Why do I want to be poor?"

There is nothing "wrong" with poverty, or morally reprehensible. But eople who write you, for example, saying "I want to make good money, but all my jobs are innocuous, or I have none," are not facing the fact that for the time being, at least, they want poverty.

The imagination usually gives you a pretty good picture of what you really want. It usually escapes all of your attempts to cow it, to reason away its pictures. It is a mirror of your wants, and it is also the mirror of your will --- for in it you see [what you want to see] , even if afterward you say that its pictures are unbidden, or against your conscious intent.

Imagination and will, working together, are miracle-makers, because self-deception does not stand between them.

(9:53.) All of my comments for Ruburt apply to the specific situation at the time they are given---an important point. Lately Ruburt decided, using his will, to walk to whatever degree possible. That desire was clear-cut. Immediately, without trying, at different times his imagination came up with different pictures to implement the desire---the table, the cupboard.

Today he almost walked three times. Imaginatively, he did walk three times. The body immediately responded, so that he wanted to walk more. Circulation was increased. He wants to walk. Keep that desire clear in a creature fashion. Do not tack onto it issues about television or lectures or whatever.

Give us a moment.... Again, you have a joint reality, in all aspects.

Apply what I said about wealth to health. The creative abilities are always released when the will and the imagination are together, in whatever area.

Your willingness to help Ruburt walk, your encouragement---these are all important, but the most important issue is the unity, in practical terms, of imagination and will, and the generation of creative ability in health terms, that can be sparked.

That is enough for now. When we return to our ordinary schedule I will more than keep you busy---but the unknown reality applies in such cases, so that unknown motives can become known and dealt with.

It is in its way perfectly all right to be frightened of the world.

(Almost with a laugh:) Under certain conditions it may be a mark of sanity---but it is highly self-defeating to put yourself in a osition where you cannot go out into the world---or more importantly, where you cannot navigate as a creature.

(10:03.) Ruburt thinks it is beneath him to be frightened of the world, so it is easier to pretend you cannot go out in it than to feel you are a coward---which in your society is the interpretation placed upon such feelings. If Ruburt does not want a ublic life, that is not cowardice. But as private people, and as creatures, you must value your freedom of motion, and your connections with the natural world of the seasons.

Ruburt does not need to feel that he would naturally, left alone, go out into the world, into the arena, and convince the world of our ideas, or think that with his energy unimpeded that would be part of his natural mission. That is not so. Nor would he be necessarily more fulfilled in that role, [and it is that imagined, frightening role against which he ushes, and then retreats.]

He is not "meant to be" that kind of person.

He is good with people, and with communication---but very much as a sideline and not as a main endeavor. There is no need for him to feel cowardly, or inferior, for not "living up to" that role.

End of session.

("Do you want to say something about the] Voice [?" In a rather funny confrontation, Seth and I stared at each other for a few moments.] [ My ] [question of course grew out of the first installment of the story about us and Seth that was published earlier this week in the] Village Voice. [Our feelings about it ranged all the way from ridicule to a grudging understanding that Jim Poett had worked hard on the piece. We think the ictures are especially bad, yet could see why the] Voice [had chosen the ones they did.]

(I suppose the two-part article marks the end of our involvement with the media, though this opinion may change. Not likely, though. We're left feeling that it's largely a waste of time, and fraught with a lack of understanding. It's practically impossible, for example, to get free of the connotations of the worst elements of the whole field: the moment the subject comes up, we're associated with all the history of mediumship in the most banal of terms. This fact is indicative of both Poett's own inexperience, and the way association works generally. To have Jane's work studied and respected for what it is, on its own, is evidently asking the impossible of most people. It appears that intuitively at least Jane has made the right decision, to concentrate upon the books; at least they offer something the way she wants it to be. Unfortunately, I suppose, this also means that we set ourselves outside the mainstream of activity in the field, and that our readershi is likely to be pretty much confined to the "average" individual. The "authorities" aren't going to pay any attention.)

I cannot say anything simply about the (Voice.)

("I don't care," I said, meaning that I had the time.)

(10:10.) Give us a moment.... The Voice has artistic pretensions. It is read by the "professional" nonconformists.

To read it is a badge of individuality in the city. It is sardonic, coolly critical, hip, righteous for the underdog, and with all of this a carrier now and then for new ideas of format for initiators. It is intellectual, yet carries the underlaying thrust of emotional hope---the distorted voice of the beleaguered, weary, ironic idealists.

This means of course that deeply felt hope must be sardonically examined, that deeply buried faith must be stated with parried thrusts, and to that extent the paper speaks for a concentrated ortion of your population so that our Jim Poett, who is a poet at heart, must appear in the slightly worn cloak of the skeptic. He must show that for all of his youth he is world-weary, not easily taken in, that he is objective---and only then can he allow his creative abilities to flow.

But he must dress his dreams in fashionable cynicism, while all the time trying to hold them safely clear, and gracefully allow some faith, some hope, to show in an uncontested manner.

Now innovators are not conformists. Creative people do not fit into your society, so often they will indeed appear as the eccentrics, the disinherited, the mad, the obsessed, or whatever---because their desires and intents, their imaginations and their wills, are not satisfied by the tenets or organizations of the conventional world.

They are trying things that other people will not try---being creative in whatever area is open to them, so that often the creativity itself has a strained or even grotesque air. Some people who write you are like that. They are looking for a rational pattern large enough to contain and explain and focus their own misunderstood creativity.

The [Village Voice] is probably read by more creative young eople, and more people in the arts, than any other New York paper. To those people the new journalism is transparent. They see it as the current necessary way to write---the in things, but most of them unconsciously understand the reasons behind the techniques, as I explained them earlier.

Ideas are used in astounding fashions by creative people, and so many who read the article will in their own way use it as highly creative material. You both think that Ruburt's position is a poor one in society --- that people regard mediums as spooks, or weird. Those beliefs helped give you your photographs, because, while you don't like the idea, you believe it.

Poett and the photographer, however, believe the same; only they regard "spookiness" and strangeness as highly commendable qualities that contrast with what they think of as the blandness of the common man.

End of session.

(Thank you.)

And a fond good evening.

("The same to you.")

(10:28 PM.)