‘Absolute’ Truths

‘Absolute,’ as I identify the term, seems to be an evolving characterization as to the word ‘truth,’ and I continue to learn about that evolution of that characterization for myself over time. For now, using a term like ‘Absolute’ helps me orient myself to learn more and helps me revise my thinking as I go regarding my own ideas, as I understand myself under the circumstances of my situation, condition, and — well, really, just as myself.

In other words, it may be something to consider for any reader of anything I write to use their own interpretations of their own thoughts when reading my words rather than adopting a term like ‘absolute’ as to the work(s) of another person, such as me. I only mention this because this is the method I choose to take for my own contemplation so as to learn more from and about myself through myself and others.

Thank you for taking the grain of salt I’ve offered you, if you’ve taken it.

My name is Christopher John Pullman. I seem naturally to instruct myself, as a consequence of my own existence, to “Pull” myself together for the benefit of part of my last name, “Man.” Thank you for indulging my own discernment while I analyze my own data. I’m not sure what “John” means yet (at least, perhaps, not fully), but I’ll get there when I get there. I do, however, observe that “John” is at the center of my full name, so it may have at least some significance, as I’m inclined to intuit for myself at this time.

Andromeda’s Dream Song

The enslavement of some is a detriment to all. No detriments for me, if you please; thank you. I’m perplexed as to why there would be any detriments whatsoever in a world that can operate quite well using its own logic. But I’m only me, and I may only be me, which is a good thing from my perspective because that means to me that I only have control over myself.

How does one accept a single planet when a galaxy, or even multiple, seem not to do for everyone else, I wonder?

I am not entertaining this video while I write, but you may / 夢 (pronounced “yu-me”):


{ゆめてふ物はたのみそめてき} (These are some of the lines of a work by 小野小町 [Ono no Komachi] from a collection of poetry titled 古今和歌集 [Kokin Wakashū].) I would translate this, at this time anyway, to something like, “I have come to rely on matters pertaining to dreams.”

「ゆめてふ 」was confusing to me for some time. First, 「ゆめ」seems to me to relate to the word for dream, 「夢」(ゆめ). Perhaps there’s more there, but for now, I will go with that.

Dreams seem perplexing to me at the time they occur, but it seems as though to me that dreams unfold experientially over time, whether while dreaming or awake, whether aligning with my natural desire or not, as the case may be. Whatever dreams may be it seems as though to me that they relate to a sense of personal peace and understanding.

I’ve dreamt on at least more than one occasion of a peaceful lake setting in which I observe a simple stone lobbed gracefully into a clear lake. My intuition tells me that the lake is Lake Biwa in Japan, but there is no sign in the dream instructing me in that manner. Enough of me wishes to learn more about why I sense for myself that the lake is Lake Biwa. (I do know this answer for myself, but to share it now would be nonsensical, and I’d like to avoid nonsense, other than in the contexts of video games and music [media generally].)

Additionally, I crave to articulate the understanding I possess for myself as to why I am naturally drawn to Japan and why I continue to dream of a place to which I have not yet been as the person I am now despite multiple opportunities to experience Japan.

But, since I’m me, I tend to focus instead on things unrelated to traveling to Japan to experience Lake Biwa for myself, at least at this time. Instead, I enjoy asking myself:

  • Are our dreams allegorical representations of themselves?
  • And, if so, what else could they be, if anything?

I enjoy asking myself these questions and discerning for myself the answers through introspective and extrospective (what I refer to myself as “in relation to the observance of my own physical sensations, rather than my thoughts, upon gaining greater understanding of the world around me as I experience the world as to myself”) contemplation.


When I consider Pluto, I ask myself, “What is Pluto?” My answer is multifaceted: Pluto is an allegorical representation of itself. It’s also a planet. It’s also the name of a Disney dog. It’s also the shortened name of a fictional character — and was even further shortened to “Puu” as a name for a 「ふしぎな 」(‘magical/unknowable/etc.’ [I tend to disagree at this time with a term like ‘magic’]) device — within the manga/anime series 「美少女戦士セーラームーン」 (Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon), created by one of my favorite manga artists, 竹内直子 (Naoko Takeuchi).

Sailor Pluto from Sailor Moon has the ability to stop time so as to consider the circumstances of her and her friends’ situation(s). This ability provides enough space for pause and reflection as the character(s) decide on their next step for themselves.

Sailor Pluto also has an ability called “Dead Scream.” I, for one, am less interested in offensive things, such as attacks, so I would rather understand the allegory of Pluto for myself in a way other than through the disconnection from the reality I understand for myself. Accordingly, I tend not to follow paths — not even thought patterns — that I sense for myself as tending away from constructive efforts. I prefer constructive efforts for myself.

That’s not to say that the allegory presented by and through “dead things” are not instructive to how I should move forward for myself. “Dead things” are instructive as to what data might make sense to me as I move closer toward a better understanding of myself before deciding on whether and how such a “dead thing” might be instructive to me as I further contemplate my own circumstances. In that manner — and only in that manner — do I concern myself with “dead things.”

I make conscious efforts for myself not to contemplate the topic of “death” itself as that seems less constructive than the satisfaction that contemplating my life provides for me. That’s not to say, however, that a greater understanding of both of the topics of life and “death” do not occur to me through the contemplation of my own life as I continue to experience it for myself. I enjoy that.

There seems always to be more for me to uncover about myself. I have found for myself that there are matters that are to me immutable as a result of the occurrence of my birth. Those matters are so fascinating to me as to cause me the desire to contemplate them further before identifying enough certainty so as to allow me peace of mind as to a discussion of them online. For my own personal sense of peace and fairness to myself, I would wish to communicate those matters in writing after I understand them better for myself.

That said, I do know myself well enough to establish as fact for myself that I am, as a natural consequence of my own birth, myself.

[てふ] : A misunderstanding, perhaps?

These two morae (the plural of the term used for Japanese “syllables” — morae are slightly different from syllables, see generally the work of Professor Natsuko Tsujimura, my former Japanese Linguistics professor), 「て」(te) and 「ふ」(fu [or pu, depending on, so it seems, the age of the text — Japanese seems to have evolved as to its sounds as well as its text constructions over time]) are usually translated as “center,” and pronounced, 「ちょう」(chō), instead of 「ちゅう」(chū), which seems to be its modern similarity: 「夢中」(muchū), which can translate to “within a dream.” The two characters are naturally identifiable to me as “dream” and “center.”

What does “the center of a dream” mean? Where is its center?

Within a dream seems simple for just about anyone to understand, but what is the “center” of a dream?

Perhaps it’s easier to consider something tangible: Where is the center of a pie, for example? The center of a pie is not everywhere, but I seem able to point to a general location when I see one.

The reason I ask myself this is because I know for myself that a pie is at at least a three-dimensional object, not a two-dimensional one. The center is, for me, not so easy to point to. If the pie is perfectly round, it seems like I’d be able to find a general center for myself. But the center would also float, wouldn’t it, since it’s a three-dimensional object.

How am I supposed to find, with certainty, a floating, even moving (if I pick up the pie), point in space? If I open the pie to find the center, would that center not change? It seems to me as though it would.

And so, I tend just not to do it: I do not locate the center of a pie or the center of a dream. It’s not because I’m not fascinated by the question; rather, it’s just not something I’m naturally inclined to identify, if I’m being honest with myself.

My appreciation for this piece goes to the people I mentioned above as well as Professor Edith Sarra, who taught the Classical Japanese course I attended (and loved!) during my time at Indiana University.

My understanding of the nature of my own reality was expanded multiple times during my life, and the expansion I continue to experience in relation to my understanding of Japanese continues to provide to me a depth of understanding that is so encompassing as to allow me innately to focus myself.




My sobriquet here derives from a character from Nova, a novel by Samuel R. Delany. I’m a musician; I have backgrounds in Japanese linguistics and law.

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Chris Pullman

Chris Pullman

My sobriquet here derives from a character from Nova, a novel by Samuel R. Delany. I’m a musician; I have backgrounds in Japanese linguistics and law.

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