"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
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Volume 9 Issue 2
Page 5
I haven’t the remotest idea of what he’s trying to say, I thought as I tried to listen to
his words more intently. He was a highly intelligent man, with a huge heart, full of the
best intentions. He was a gentle man for whom there were not enough words to
express his deep thoughts; he quietly waited upon the willing ear that would give
opportunity for his thoughts to bubble forth. I sat, listening.
  He would have loved to live today on the threshold of neuroscience and the cutting
edge of neuroplasticity and the revelations of brain/mind science. His was a world of
the past as expressed in his library of the world’s greatest thinkers, drinking deeply
of their thoughts and trying to fit them into his life. He was slow to judge, patient in all
his doings, detailed in all of his thoughts and words. And, he was my father-in-law,
John Junell. In another life, John would have been a theoretical physicist or perhaps
a guru. In this life he was a highly skilled and respected watchmaker and in so many
ways, my teacher.
  John didn’t just have a lot of jumbled thoughts running amok through his head, he
thought about his thoughts and the thoughts of the great thinkers, contemplated them,
and weighed them, fitting them together like the inner workings of a fine time piece.
He didn’t just look at things, he observed them, carefully examining the minutest
detail and when asked, carefully explained them and what they might mean. He gave
me a lot to think about then and although he’s been gone for many decades, he does
so even today.
  John’s explanations of things were never ego-centric; there was no sense of any
need to impress, and he was gentle in his intentions, manner and copious words. He
shared his thoughts without having to convert the listener. In his explaining things to
me I had the feeling that there was an undercurrent of him explaining it to himself. In
our many discussions there were differences of opinion, never disagreements.
Words were a bit like the wide variety of the tiny intricate sprockets, levers, springs
and jewels of a fine watch... each unique piece had a particular place and purpose,
fitting together somewhere, somehow. The purpose of the mind was, by way of
thought, to look into that infinite variety of parts, selecting from among the bits and
pieces and fitting them together into something meaningful, something useful,
something new.
  He worked wearing a jeweler’s loupe, carefully examining, shaping and fitting the
tiny little pieces into tiny little places in ways that worked smoothly, consistently and
accurately. In like manner he contemplated the thoughts reflected in the words of
others. And yet there was an inner knowing that life was not just gears, cogs,
bearings and springs; that thoughts were so much more than words strung endlessly
together. There was something more; something more than the words in the books
he treasured, an inner something that inspired those great thinkers and writers,
something within every one of us, no matter how deeply hidden. It did not have a
name, was not defined by any religion or scientific theory, it simply was and always
has been. John did not try to put a name on it or to define it. It was the wellspring of
inspired thought, of knowing beyond knowing that transcended the cosmos. Great
thinkers somehow tapped into it. You and I, he knew, can tap into it. Whatever “It” is,
it is everywhere present and available. Decades ago, I borrowed one of his books –
the writings of Marcus Aurelius. In it I found this line that speaks to the flow of his
deeply motivated thought: “Look within. Within is the fountain of good, and it will ever
bubble up, if thou wilt ever dig.”
   As I said before, John did not simply look, he observed, peering deeply within the
intricate mechanisms of time-pieces to understand how they worked and how all
things fit perfectly together; he looked within the words of others in like manner. And,
he looked within himself – the workings of his mind and the inter-workings of his
thoughts. Because he was always digging, there was always something bubbling up.
I treasure those times sitting across from him, listening, trying to hear what was
actually being said. The words bubbled forth and I, in that moment, not having the
remotest idea of where his thoughts were going... ever so slowly I was being led to
understand that the value in what he said was not in that which I already knew, but in
the new thoughts and awareness his words kindled within me, those thoughts that
inspired me to dig deeper within my own awareness.
Digging Deep
By Jimminy Cricket
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