Suppose that a person begins spontaneously to think for himself. He decides to inventory his knowledge to determine what he knows from his own experience undiluted by interpretations from others and what he has gleaned from the undifferentiated mass of culturally relevant knowledge authorized by the sycophantic straining of a social chorus.

Anyone who comes to the realization, no matter how belatedly, that his life long mental fog is in reality an applique that has been lovingly applied with the glue of conformity by obnoxiously normal people, needs to know that he has undertaken the most important exploration of his life and that he will encounter an eerily orchestrated resistance by those who claim to love him and by many more who won’t bother to make such a claim.

So, what does someone do at the very moment when he has noticed some movement in the fog? For it is only that, a vague apparition of common sense; instinct rising from the deepest layer of the icy mist to mock his complacency. How is he to distinguish the pallid echoes of a malnourished intuition from the rhythmic, omnidirectional shriek of a belligerent and collective insecurity?

By trusting his intuition, no matter how frightening, and realizing that it will be wrong frequently at first but, in time, will become extraordinarily reliable.


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