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 2)

Forty-eight hours in:

Ever since I was a pre-teen, angered by my parents’ authority to tell me when to go to bed, when to play outside (play what?  with whom?  in the heat and humidity of South Carolina?), I’ve been driven to work for control over my own life.  This drove me to leave for college at 16 years old, to select a career that allows a great deal of control over my day, and now to retire relatively early and practice saying “no” to potential commitments. 

            To be honest, I think my love of painting (especially in opaque media) manifests my desire to control.

            Now that I’ve gained that measure of control I’ve striven for, I need to learn to let go of some elements of control.  Most importantly, how can I deeply recognize that I don’t (never have, never will) control the key elements of health, wealth, and death?  Less importantly, how can I become more resilient in the face of tiny shocks:  a sudden noise, someone walking into a room unexpectedly, a dead bird on our deck, a power outage, things like that? 

            What can I learn from times when I have shown resilience – when something happened that could have made me “crumble,” but I didn’t? 

1.     Play to my strengths.  My predilection for organization is not a bad thing.  In fact, it’s an important basis for resilience – I know what and where my resources and strengths are.

2.     Just tell myself to be resilient.  I would like to be less high-strung and startled by surprises, but I think that may be the way my nervous system is wired.  So when I’m startled, flick that switch that says “Surprise (or dismay) has been registered.  Get over it.”

3.     Use temporal perspective.  At my age, everything is temporary.  Let’s say a disgusting, gun-toting, bigoted, ill-tempered, homophobic couple buys a house next door or across the street.   Within five years, either they or we will have moved away or died.  At 25, five years is a long time (time enough to get through college, or marriage and first child, or grad school).  At my age, five years is merely another 1800 days.

4.     Try repeating three mantras, perhaps as I get out of the shower, as I stretch, and during that 2:30-3:30 a.m. hour when I am usually wide awake in bed:

a.    I am not in control.

b.    I am part of everything, and everything is part of me.

c.     Death represents the loss of body and ego.  It will be wondrous.

Perhaps work on the wording until they’re more rhythmic and more meaningful.

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.