OVERVIEW

When another person says something that leaves you speechless, they have rejected you in advance, probably because they were preoccupied in ways they don't even understand. Instead of encouraging you, or facilitating the natural flow of conversation, the other person abandoned you, leaving you speechless.

Tiny undercurrents of (1.) jealousy, (2.) control, (3.) hatred, (4.) anger, (5.) fear, (6.) greed, and (7.) intimidation, which they can't even feel, rise up from below their conscious perception and influence whatever they say, leaving you speechless. In short, they don't know what they're doing.

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(1.) Jealousy permeates our culture to such an extent, you can almost always assume it is present when you feel empty or at a loss for words. It frequently takes the form of snob appeal, eliciting our feelings we are aristocrats at heart — specifically, a self-abandonment for the sake of occupying a more powerful, successful, or well-to-do position.

Poetically speaking, whenever you make an effort to get along with them, your ship of rapport is turned back from the sea of perseity to crash upon the shores of nonexistence. They say things that imply you're prone to making mistakes or simply unable to meet their shifting directions.

You can almost always respond with a robust "—No doubt," or "—Very enriching," as in the following examples.

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(2.) Control is a balance between care and fear, such as in the care we take to hold a newborn baby, and in the fear we take not to drop it. When fear is applied without intelligence, it can take the form of a negative assumption. If you're quick enough, you can frequently respond, "—Really tough," or "—We'll manage," as in the following examples.

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(3.) Hatred needs its own language. Why, when the alarm clock started ringing this morning at four-thirty a.m., did I keep dreaming, "—We'll manage," as I groggily reached for the snooze button? "—We'll manage," I repeated over and over, at eight minute intervals. Wasn't I leading the damn clock on? Shouldn't I have been more honest, more true to myself, by just smacking it and saying, "—Bad timing," or "—That's all?" then rolling over and falling back asleep?

The only thing alarm clocks, or people who truly care for you, won't teach you is how to honestly reject them (if only for eight to ten minutes). So here are some slim ways to put people off, all filed under, "—Bad timing." ...

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(4.) Anger comes from all over the map and actually starts to make sense when you know the right words. Recognizing the language of pure rage isn't too difficult: oaths, curses, threats, or tantrums, frequently masquerading as provocative prejudices. So what we have left over is the language of veiled anger.

To recognize veiled anger, you have to build a shelter of privacy inside yourself, and set up rules for how and when another person can get inside. For instance, if someone implies they can read your mind, or can accurately gauge your inner attitude, they're probably invading your zone of inner privacy. The hardest thing to understand is that even if they're right, they're wrong. What's inside you is your inner cathedral, and you might think, "—That's strange," "—It's criminal," "—Or whatever," or "—The reverse!" whenever you notice someone bumbling near or gazing through the door.

The shortcut for recognizing veiled anger is to identify a particular person who expresses it, and you generally have to look no farther than a nearby boss or authority figure. Those guys go to seminars to learn how to pretend to like people, which is really strange when you think about it. I mean, even a dog knows how to steal your heart — or a free lunch.

Emotionally, anger is the means whereby a person or an animal makes itself appear larger than life, usually to protect its young. When misused, anger conceals emotions that betray the telling of lies, helping "the powerful" intimidate and "rise to the top."

When anger fails, some people resort to hitting other people in the imagination. Exploiting innocence, they say just enough to arouse another person's curiosity or inquisitiveness, then step back and pretend their veiled anger is important.

Notice, how in this example, I didn't stop to supplicate myself to the other person simply because they uttered four little words. ("That doesn't make sense.") Out of generosity, I replied with seven. If they continue interrupting me, I would repeat "—The reverse!" over and over again.

Certain managers use veiled anger to entrap their employees, so it's useful to think, "—That's strange," before they even start. Try to see them as frightened children who, in turn, are trying to get you to abandon your inner cathedral.

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(5.) Fear, in its purest form, is raw energy, brought about by a flow of adrenaline. For instance, on the freeway, when another driver "cuts you off," you really resent your own flow of adrenaline. It's your adrenaline that's cut you off from driving around, partly in a dream.

Sometimes the smallest amount of fear can cut people off from real perceptions of who other people are and what's actually happening around them in everyday life. When this happens, they try to replace direct knowledge of being alive, the truest of all perceptions, with some cultural ideal of being good, based upon irreconcilable childhood experiences.

Perched high up on a globe of goodness, under the banner of showing polite interest in other people, they intermingle puffed-up put-downs ("—What else?") with irrational questions ("—Whatever's fair,") until every bird at the party gets bored out of their trees and walks off.

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(6.) Greed is an illusion, a minor annoyance. Both greed and jealousy are almost unnoticeable — and difficult to spot — because they're built into the culture.

You have the right to stop people when they're being greedy — grabby for your attention, gluttonous for your time and energy, and ever so glad to separate you from your own personal experiences. Their greed is "—Quite unnecessary." Your life is your birthright, and you have the right to defend it, "—YOU could," for any reason whatsoever.

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(7.) Intimidation — On their side, they sell drugs and live in my neighborhood.

On my side, I take two little dogs for a walk, and I'm careful what I say to someone who can beat me up.

On their side, they carry out elaborate posturing and intimidating rituals.

As they walk by my gate, one of them reaches out and touches the front latch in a menacing way.

On my side, I feel a jolt of fear, and think, —Who knows?

But I'll never back down. —That's very interesting. — I'll mention it to the boys downtown.

On their side, one of them asks me, "What kind of dogs are those?"

On my side, I say, "One is a West Highland White, and the other is a Scottish Terrier."

A few days later one of them says,

I am about to say, —It pays to have a sense of humor, I'll tell you that, but I keep on walking.

A few weeks later a street bum keeps up a steady stream of personal questions, and I keep repeating, "—Who knows?"

Suddenly he breaks into a big grin and says,

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