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The Dormouse Says -- TM's Mantras Are NOT Secret!




Alt.meditation.transcendental's resident Dormouse, Lawson English
reveals a TM secret - TM's mantras are NOT secret. You just can't tell anyone!



Original Post:
Subject: Re: Mantras
Date: Sat, 20 May 2000 13:09:17 -0500
From: askolnick [askolnick@stopspam.mindspring.com]
To: Lawson English [english@primenet.com]
Newsgroups: alt.meditation.transcendental, sci.skeptic


Ah! Another fine example of Lawson English's TM-speak:


> Mantras, by the way, are not a "secret" in the sense that you shouldn't
> tell someone else your mantra, but in the sense that you shouldn't speak
> it aloud or write it down.



Right! Your mantra is not a "secret." But you can't speak it or write it down. Otherwise, you can tell anyone you want!

Lawson doesn't have drunkenness as his excuse. Too bad -- eventually drunks get sober:

SEVEN DRUNKEN NIGHTS

As I came home on Monday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a horse outside the door, where my old horse should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns that horse outside the door, where my old horse should be?

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before.

As I came home on Tuesday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a coat behind the door, where my old coat should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns that coat behind the door, where my old coat should be?

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a woolen blanket my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But buttons on a blanket, sure, I never saw before.

As I came home on Wednesday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a hat upon the chair, where my old hat should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns that hat upon the chair where my old hat should be.

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's just an old chamber pot my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But a hat band on a chamber pot sure I never saw before.

As I came home on Thursday nigh, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw two boots beside the bed, where my old boots should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns them boots beside the bed where my old boots should be.

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
Those are the flower pots my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But leather flower pots with laces I never saw before.

As I came home on Friday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a head upon the bed, where my old head should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns that head upon the bed, where my old head should be.

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's a baby boy, that my mother sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But a baby boy with his whiskers on, sure, I never saw before.

As I came home on a Saturday night, as drunk as drunk could be
I spied two hands upon her breasts, where my old hands should be.
I called to my wife and I said to her: Will ya kindly tell to me,
Who's hands are these upon your breasts, where my old hands should be?

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool, and still you cannot see
'Tis nothing but a Living Bra Jane Russell sent to me.
Well, it's many a day I've traveled a hundred miles or more,
But fingernails on a Living Bra, I never saw before.

As I came home on Sunday night, as drunk as drunk could be.
I saw a thing. inside my wife, where my old thing should be.
I called my wife and I said to her: Would ya kindly tell to me,
Who owns that thing inside the thing where my old thing should be?

Oh, you're drunk, you're drunk you silly old fool, and still you cannot see.
That's just that lovely tin whistle my mother sent to me.
Well, tis' many a night I've traveled, a hundred miles or more,
But such hair upon a tin whistle I never saw before.


And remember, the "F" in "Yogic Flying" is silent.

--Andrew


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