The few people throughout human history who have undertaken the task to awaken-from-the-dream, achieve-enlightenment, etc., could be aptly described as men who struggle to solve-a-great-mystery,
with its front-end, but commonly ignored feature being:
“Exactly what IS the mystery?”   All who venture into this unconventional activity
believe from the outset that they fully grasp the nature of mystery (the goal),
but Boy! are they mistaken  – and precious few of the few ever reach the point of realizing this.
Any man professing to be one of the special-investigators who will, in detail,
explain the case to you, still hasn’t discovered the first clue.
Even should it take twenty years of seemingly serious effort to suddenly recognize
that up until this very moment you haven’t known what you were doing  –
THEN you begin to know what you're doing.
Being able to verbally detail who your opponent is means nothing if he is an illusion, and you don’t realize it.

Where ordinary men seek knowledge is always much argument, debate & contention;
where the revolutionist pursues his is mostly silence.

Dialogue Twixt A Father & Son.
“I know you feel no allegiance to any of the usual things,
but do you even feel any to Life itself?”
   “As much as it directs me to.”
Note: Things always work out nicely for a man-who-understands-what's-going-on
(even if they don’t work out nicely for him individually).

After flashing a card that identified him as a Free-Lance Social Commentator,
a chap standing in the doorway of the bus station commented:
“‘Tis a sad life men lead when the most excitement many of them ever have
is being sick.”

After years of seemingly futile efforts to improve his natural intellectual properties,
one man posted a sign on the front line of his head which said:
“Commercial Potential  –  Could Be Re-Zoned.”

One Monday mused a man: “What is being-asleep and unenlightened
but not realizing in real time that what you're saying is bullshit!?”

Question: How many brain cells does it take to change a light bulb?
(Or an opinion, or any other intangible thing)?
Answer: The same number as an ordinary man has operating at the moment.
    (“Yes, it's true: it’s all I can do just to hold-my-own.”
           “Yes  –  and that’s all that you're supposed to do            if you're ordinary.”)

The ole man (pretending to be dying) pulled the kid up close to his face and said:
“I know your time with me ain't always been easy, and I'm aware that much of what
I've told you seemed vague if not downright improbable, but (cough-cough)
before I go I want to leave you with one thing on which you can forever depend:
a mental anchor to secure your safety in the troubled waters, the primal flow of ordinary intellectual uncertainty (hack-hack): you can rest assure that anything another human  tells you is ‘Absolutely and unconditionally true’  –  is not.”
(And he was so pleased with how this scene had played out thus far
that he went ahead and pretended to die.  “My motto being: ‘Always leave ‘em.’”)

Expressing his personal take on the untidiness of reality,
one chap was heard last week to say: “Nature abhors a vacuum cleaner.”

As he was dining, one chap so discoursed to his table companion:
“‘Twas once said that an erudite fool is a greater fool than an ignorant fool,”
(he took a bite and continued): “Later someone said that an erudite fool is a greater danger than an ignorant one,” (he sipped his wine, then picked up his remarks) “But I believe man has progressed to the place that even this needs to be updated,
we could now say that an erudite fool is more wearisome than a routine one,”
and with that, he paid his bill and fell asleep in his soup.

If what ordinary men call “gods” did answer what routine man conceives of as “prayer” – men would finally be in direct contact with their own consciousness.

Thoughts expend energy in two fashions: solving problems, and fighting boredom. (The latter accounts for men writing & reading novels and making & watching movies
[among other miscellaneous mental diversions.])
    “But the inner-revolutionists have a third outlet, do they not!?”
         Oh indeed.

The same dynamic responsible for civilization is also behind faith-healing
and miraculous cures of all sorts.
 

In his private attempt to avoid the obvious and overworked proverbial symbols of dogs-&-fleas, pigs-&-mud, et. al., one poetically inclined fellow has thus writ to convey a similar message:
“Lay down with Milton –  get up with Blake.”

One father instructed his son in the art of: “Thinking at right angles.”

There's a guy who says he's searching for a religion or mystical system with a name something like:
“No Need To Call Ahead  –  Even If You Could, It’d Do You No Good.”
(You surely haven’t forgotten the God Scouts motto: “Prepared?  –  We Invented Prepared!”)

Hint Related To An Earlier News Item.
Cells are the epitome of civilized behavior.