Control? (Moving into action)

Life has no “purpose,” it just is.  Linear intellect and instrumentalism are tiny, tiny portions of what is and what can be observed.  “My” “life” is so important to me because it’s all I’ve been aware of – but it’s a tiny portion of what exists. 

First exercise: 

1)    Stretch each of my major muscles.

2)    Stand;  using a wall as little as possible, begin to teach my muscles how to support my body on one foot.

3)    Stand on both feet;  dim the lights.  Close my eyes;  breathe.  After a bit, imagine that I’m dead.  “I” am gone, kaput, a memory in a few people’s minds, but not in my own.  What remains?  A great deal, and what certainly is gone are all my concerns.  (Those concerns were not silly or trivial – when there was an “I” to protect, they made “sense.”  But without an “I,”…)

This was surprisingly successful, though I couldn’t keep it going for very long.

Control? (Day 3)

I’ve spent much of the past three days reading Michael Pollan’s 2019 book How to Change Your Mind.  I’m not a book critic, so I won’t rehearse its strong and weak aspects.  Nor will I try to encapsulate it – rather, here’s what I’m taking from it, even if some of this was not in the book.

Most successfully functioning adults have honed a strong ego that dominates our consciousness and actions.  We have things to accomplish, so we seek to use our prior experiences to simplify, categorize, and objectify situations, cause/effect, objects, people, and even our feelings.  Our frustrations, tensions, and fear of death stem in part from our understanding that we as individuals are: 

·  the only way we can understand and be in the world (“I don’t perceive it, so it’s not there.”)

·  rational, logical, and efficient

·  in control of cause and effect.

            What I’ll call pyscho-active substances (“drugs” implies manufacture, but some of the substances are easily ingested from nature) numb the parts of the brain that control ego (the sense of self) and allow more parts of the brain to come to the fore and to interact with one another.  What most “trips” have in common:

·  the destruction of the sense of individual existence, separate from other things, life forms, and people;

·  recognition that existence is very much possible without a “self”;

·  much heightened awareness of everything that surrounds us:  light, music, memory, objects, people, life forms -- experienced as if for the first time;

·  connection among these things – so that light may become music, music becomes life forms, memory becomes objects, life forms become music – and allowing changes in any of these things to affect the awareness and perception of any of the other things.

            As a result, many people experience a strong sense that:

·  everything is connected;

·  one’s self and one’s body are shells that get in the way of recognizing these connections;

·  stripped of ego and concerns for one’s body, one becomes comfortable with and even supported by these connections, recognizing that memories are real and existence (but not of the self) continues before “birth” and after “death” of the self.

            These experiences/recognitions explain the effects of these treatments:  seeing everyday things as if for the first time (rather than relying on a memorized checklist: “trees,” “rain clouds,” “John”);  the outpouring of support and empathy (love) that subjects feel during and after the experience;  reducing the existential dread of death.  The opening of connections among senses and experiences allows some people to break free of recurrent fears or well-honed habits like addiction.

            Similar (but usually less strong) responses result from affecting the brain through Buddhist training, meditation, or rhythmic hyperventilation.  This gives me the tiniest bit of insight into the practice of meditation.

Control? (Day 1)

Twenty-four hours in:

I’m relaxed, and a little more thoughtful, but still have “monkey brain” – thinking of other things while I’m doing or thinking about something.  (This is a major reason I still keep a detailed task list, even in retirement – if I can get to my computer and record the thought or the thing that needs to be done, I’m pretty able to put it out of my mind.)  I can read, but only for about 30 minutes at a time.  Reading thoughtfully (as opposed to reading to get information, which is how I’ve spent the past 42 years) requires that I convince myself that I have nothing else that needs to get done.  That’s among the reasons I’m taking these three days / four nights off. 

            My nocturnal nature has returned with a passion.  I recorded some notes in bed, then read for a bit, turned the light out, and went to sleep – for 90 minutes.  I put a cloth over the bedside clock, and spent the next eight hours reading, using my computer, sleeping, sketching ideas for paintings, and sleeping – in some inchoate order.  I got up at 8:15, but napped repeatedly during the day.

            I feel no need for coffee, background music, or alcohol.

Control? (Prologue)

Ahh – I’m undertaking something new.  I’ve moved materials and food into an underused room in our house, and will sequester myself for three full days – I’ll have a bed, bathroom, phone, and computer, but no caffeine nor alcohol, and no commitments to do anything at any time.  (I realize that some folks have faced this for months now, and that others could never do this because of childcare or eldercare requirements.) 

My main task is to try to figure out how to need less of a sense of control – maybe figure out why control is so important to me.  Less control would make me less “high-strung,” would reduce my (I think normal) fear of death, and would probably help my art work.