How do you decide that something is true?

Wittgenstein wuz a rather clever sort of chap and demolished centuries of epistemological...that's the study of how we get to know things...epistemological theory when he wrote...at the beginning of...I think...The Blue Book...."If you grant that here is one hand we'll grant you the rest"...drekking brilliant, that....hold your hand out in front of you right now....does it exist?....of course it drekkin' exists, it's right there innit!...okay; so do the buildings and the birds and the bees and the experience of sex which slides through your awareness like molten honey as you slide your hand up...up...ah...ah..

Oops.

Sorry. ...where was I?...o yes....ontological truth....that's the facticity of things existing at all...of course this begets the question of how it is we come to think about anything in the first place....boy would I like to know that one... flip over the motherboard of my awareness and dicker with the wires...I'd pull out the ones for rumpy pumpy in one crackling flash and install a timer designed to allow me to reconnect with my concupiscent consciousness in, say, August, when these saprising energies begin to wind back into the morphogenic ecofabric of the implicate subtle....

Then there's other levels of truth embedded in the ontological cement....knowing what is right and real in the relationships which...in a sense...we are...for example....somebody dear to me says something kind or rude or sexually provocative or silly and what is ontologically true is that one or more of my chakras or other bits of my energy field get impacted upon and i feel that....and i think stuff in response.....but there's that intuitive truth that has no guidebook that tells us whether what we believe about that other person's motivation is right or real or requited...and how to respond.....

This radar...partly honed through an open-hearted lifecourse, partly samskaric insight born of fortunate karma....this radar tells us when to hold fast to the rudder of our will as we flow boatlike down the  fast young river of the  lebsenweldt, the lived-world....and when to let go and let it carry us through those painful emotional rapids we need to ride out...or diving ecstatically over deep waterfalls into tairns of  moiling congruence and pleasure....and when to draw up to the boats that are others, square amidships....and when to cast off and say our au revoirs for this particular lifetime river....and when to anchor and when to hoist sail...and now I'm just in the riverworld and have lost sight of the analogy..bugger it...and...fuck me it's nine and I gotta go to work......

Finally...gosh, gosh...another sort of truth...is it true that Jackson Pollack is a brilliant painter cos you oughta see the state of my cellar when lewis has finished spraypainting his namegraffiti on the wall...splatt-o-rama.....is he a genius and can i retire on the proceeds of lifting my plarster walls canvaslike out of the den??????

Warmly, Jon xx