WE BELIEVE THE WAY WE THINK IS HOW WE ARE

I have never actually questioned the way I think, and have always believed it to simply be "me" and that which is real to me and simply "true." While I have been aware that the way people think is actually interpretive and based on their perception, experience, world view, chemistry, etc., I have always tended to believe what I think, seeing it as more or less valid and credible. I suppose my thinking could be considered in many respects to be "depressive" by an external observer, though I have seen it as "sensitive, intuitive, deep, and profound." A few years ago, I felt that I was perhaps "suffering unduly" and questioned whether or not this was simply due to the way in which I thought rather than to any particular "truth of my being." I questioned the reality of my being, of my world, and decided to take an antidepressant. My doctor described it as just "changing my brain chemistry a bit," and it sounded doable to me. After a few weeks, I found that I was not only "happy," but rather extremely so. I was smiling at everyone, including adults, and petting dogs, god forbid. It was as though some happy alien was now living in my body, making me happy and think happy thoughts. It was horrendous. Much too much happiness; for me, a little goes a long way. So I stopped taking it, and, with a relief, was able to return to my normal, dark, somber, negative self, which made me very happy indeed.
     Now, a few years have passed, and I again am seriously questioning the truth and validity of the particular way in which I think and view the world. I am very aware of the highly subjective and interpretive way in which we think and consequently view the world, and behave (or not) in it. I am giving it another try to see if perhaps, by adding a bit of serotonin to my brain chemistry, my thinking might actually change, even improve. "Improve" is a "loaded" word, I know, but perhaps my stress level might lessen. I am a caregiver to people I love who are disabled, and this responsibility weighs heavily upon me; I perhaps "feel their pain" a bit too much. So a pill could perhaps actually help reduce this stress. Is this something I want to be sharing with "the world"? Since I'm not the only one faced with such a situation, I feel that to share it might actually somehow help someone, even if it's just one person. But no one even reads this blog, I'm old and don't care what people may think anyway, so I feel that it's OK to philosophize about the inner questioning that goes on. I'm surely not the first or only person to do it. I have talked with people, including my neighbor just yesterday, about taking serotonin as an antidepressant, and have heard different perspectives and outcomes. It may still be that I am happiest and most "at home" in my "depression," but I want to see what happens, so I am willing to be the subject of my own study. If I become a "happy alien", I'll stop taking it. Even though no one reads this, I'll still check in down the line.

THE FATE OF THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATES

Devil's Advocates are those who go against the grain and speak the unpopular or oppositional point of view in order to bring balance and reality (which may be compassion and understanding) to the conversation. The key word is balance rather than truth, for truth itself is elusive and usually simply an agreed-upon convention, often seen as "tradition." Devil's Advocates are often seen as contrarians (and just as often are), however, in truth (and it is the truth in my case anyway), the imbalance (or bias or prejudice or ignorance or narrow-mindedness) of the moment is simply so obvious and so ridiculous or unjust or stupid that they have to "make it right" for the sake of all involved. The true Devil's Advocate is not arguing for the sake of argument but is serving the need for understanding in this moment of harmful and damaging unbalanced ignorance. The Devil's Advocate may seem negative, destructive, arrogant and insulting, however, he or she will do what is necessary to bring healthy chaos in the form of self-questioning to the those who are so certain and righteous and, worst of all, unquestioning of their points of view. The Devil's Advocate will even be willing to play the fool, sometimes shamelessly so, in order to bring about enough confusion, if necessary, to cause people to question themselves. In a roomful of righteous believers in God, the Devil's Advocate plays the atheist, while in a roomful of righteous atheists (which is actually rather rare), the Devil's Advocate plays the believer in God, presenting a strong argument in either case. So, the Devil's Advocate must know what he or she is talking about and be able to present it articulately, even eloquently. The purpose is always to make people think, to cause them to question their unquestioned certainties. Jesus himself was accused of being a literal Devil's Advocate, was he not? A blasphemer who performed miracles by the power of the devil?
     Devil's Advocates are harder on themselves, seeking to bring reality and balance and understanding in their own being. They have restless souls and suffer from what Schopenhauer called "the pain (or sorrow) of the world." They feel unawareness and ignorance as a knife in their gut. They feel the harm caused by such ignorance and a crushing weight upon their backs, breaking their hearts. This causes them to seek greater contexts in which to exist. The truest and best Devil's Advocates are those who have "gone through it" themselves, those who have suffered and been humbled to the point that they do not act out of ego or a need to dominate, but rather out of selflessness and a desire to serve the good of humanity. It is a righteous, thankless path. We should listen to those who ruffle our feathers, who disagree with us, who cause us to question that which we hold so near and dear; they often speak the truth.

A LETTER TO MY CHILD

I'm sure you are aware how I ask you now and then what your "philosophy of life" is, or what your "purpose in living" is, or what's most important to you. I ask because these are very important things; how we understand ourselves and life to be determines our ability to both understand what is going on with ourselves and to withstand that which life seems to throw at us or at least drop us into. It boils down to "knowing oneself."

All this latest stuff that may be occurring in your life is simply part of the play that requires a response from you. It's all just a play, a game of life in which we are involved and, in some way, have chosen for ourselves. But if we are unable to step back and see it from a greater perspective, as a kind of test we have chosen for ourselves, we may find ourselves so affected by it that we allow ourselves to be at the effect of its drama. In truth there are simply things to be done, actions to be taken, new parts of ourselves to be discovered. All the fear and confusion is just there, just part and parcel of life, and as we step into it, we find that it is just what comes with that which is new and unknown. Sometimes we may even believe that we're taking a step backwards, and apparently retreating, but finding oneself in and through "the swamp of name and form," to use the Buddhist metaphor, is a necessary action.

I wake up in extremely severe pain in my back. That's what wakes me up so early every day. It really hurts, and sometimes it makes me sad and anxious, worried that I'll become a vegetable, won't be able to take care of Amy, etc., etc., etc. But I realize it's all ok, that it really is as it is, and that it's fine; I even smile; I even laugh! Some might say that's crazy, but somehow I am able to see it all, including my life and me, in a greater perspective, and this gives me an understanding; it gives me compassion, which is a sense of humor, a sense of knowing on a larger scale. In truth we are much greater that we see ourselves; our minds, ways of thinking, thoughts can be changed by us if we are willing and able to leave our measly little selves behind--at least for a moment, at least a bit. What is so important to us, what we think, how we feel, is nothing when we realize the actual action to be taken or not taken, for that matter. It's not that life or ourselves are relative; rather, it's that life and ourselves are much bigger, much more inclusive, that what we see or think or feel. We hem ourselves in, as it were, and see no way through or out or beyond, even though all of this is right in front of us and available to us. We have to open ourselves and our minds. Once we recognize this, we are amazed at how small-minded and fearful we were. At that point we are able to leave Socrates' cave of illusion and shadow that we once believed to be real.

I hope this make absolute sense to you. It's all a game, even a heart-breaking one. Not easy by any means. Very challenging but also amazing. We're all in it. It's best to learn to play well, with great compassion and understanding.

RELATING WITH PAIN IN ALL ITS POWER

Physical pain is the one reality with which one cannot negotiate. It is the ultimate bully, in your face, in your body. It awakens one in the morning and puts one to sleep at night. It is not philosophical, cannot be reasoned with, does not go away unless it decides to go away. In that respect perhaps it has an educational purpose. We who have been so in charge of our lives, doing whatever it is that we have wanted to do, are now so not in charge at all. Pain has taken over, dictating to us what we can do and what we can't, even regulating our day, telling us when we can act and when we can't. Hating the pain, resisting it, fighting it makes it worse. The pain is in the body. To act like it is not there and try to push through it in spite of it only causes the body to break down more, causing still more pain. Of course, one might take various drugs to lessen or mask the pain, however, they create their own kind of physical pain.

My wife's pain is far, far more severe and disabling that mine. I don't suffer all the time; she does. And it is in her body. At a Zen Buddhist discussion group, this became the topic of the conversation: whether pain is real and what causes pain. Apparently, the Buddha said that physical pain in the body is real and that there are no ways to make it go away; it must simply be borne and experienced as it is. He said that it passes, however, I say that one's own life may pass first. Except for the one Zen "priest" who acknowledged the reality of physical pain and our powerlessness over it, every other person in that room denied its reality, saying that it comes from the mind, from one's thinking. When in severe physical pain, one cannot think, much less meditate. Rather, one is occupied by the pain, which is different than being occupied by thoughts, by thinking. When I am in pain, I am with the pain; I feel it. At this point I respect it, though pain, unlike thoughts, is not like a cloud in the sky obscuring the sun; rather, it is as a red-hot anvil placed in one's body. Pain of this kind has its own mind, which is not ours. One learns to respect this single-mindedness of the body itself, realizing that it is the indomitable source of pleasure and of the survival instinct itself. 

Pain also has the effect of causing one to move away from the physical life urge, and identification with the physical body. For myself, I live to dream. For those in very severe pain, the pain is so extreme that they must sleep. Paradoxically, it puts them to sleep, during which the pain, for a time, is gone. I dream dreams of significance; uplifting "spiritual" dreams of insight, understanding, humor, love and, finally, context, in which I am shown the purpose and place of pain. Those in severe pain disidentify from life in the body and are readily prepared to leave it when the time comes. It is much better to have such an awareness before one dies; it is much less of a shock, yes, but it also leads one to search in the appropriate places for the necessary information pertaining to the purported circumstances following dearth, before one dies. A word to the wise.

Pain in this view may be seen as a friend, even an ally. However, such a view held too strongly, leads to an avoidance of life, if not a rejection of it. For me, like is simply too beautiful to be avoided or rejected. My wife, my children, the trees, the wind are just incredible in their beauty; they take my breath away. Pain sometimes takes my breath away as well. Pain also develops compassion for those who suffer; one feels the pain of all beings. And one knows the despair, which is not simply physical pain, that accompanies pain, aging, and the breakdown of the body. And Buddhist says that life is suffering, that desire is suffering. It is a suffering we willingly choose, for initially, for most of us, in our youth the pleasure far outweighs the pain. Even now, for me, the pleasure of life's beauty far outweighs its pain, though the pain does become palpable, particularly as one opens up to the world, to life, to the hearts, the being of others.

SEEING OURSELVES NOT IN THE SAME WAY

I think that I have something to say that comes from me, and is authentic in that regard. And then I realize that I do not know at all, and in fact doubt, that that which I express comes from "me" at all. Lately, I have been reading Jean Gebser, a mid-20th century philosopher or at least thinker, and also referred to the I Ching yesterday. I found myself thinking along these rather divergent directions, essentially taking something in, further "refining" myself, and, in doing so, redefining myself in some slight way. Thoughts and insights that come to me, including those from books I read and people I talk to, change my composition in some minuscule way. i write my thoughts and feelings in journals; someone has to listen to me, after all. Rereading what I write, which happens at times, most of it is so utterly mundane, though often heartfelt; I do know the writer, after all, and life can be difficult for him.

This blog is so difficult for me to write because, when faced with finding the "me" to write it as "me," I have nothing to say; I do not want to be put on the spot as "me." Yet when I read someone else's thoughts in a book, I can be both impressed by or critical of what they are saying and how they are saying it. Some very stupid people are incredibly eloquent and articulate, while some very creative and intelligent people express themselves incredibly badly and inarticulately. If someone has an "edge" in their thinking, that is, they move right along the brink of understanding, I will and can stay with them. Hell, I read the whole of The Secret Doctrine and Isis Unveiled, sometimes forcing myself, but still in good faith. So far, so good with Gebser, but Jung, the blowhard, could never hold my interest. I smell phoniness a mile away though try to stay with it as long as possible. 

An important theme of existence for me is often that of "leaving something of value for others to understand and benefit from," some kind of system of understanding life, something that can be "applied" like some kind of magic ritual. Here's something from my journal: He knew too much, too much to bear, but could not put it into words; there were no words. Nor did he have any other way to convey it. It was simply an awareness, a knowing beyond all awareness, all knowledge; a singularity beyond all complexity, inclusive of all of it; an understanding that could evidence any such understanding, a speaking of no possible words, an unutterable sound. It was simply too much.

Since I speak so many words, I am probably a "windbag," as it were. I also am weighed down by a need for "context," a place in which to be able to exist, much less live my life. Here is something else from my journal: Sometimes I am clearly in the greater context, the whole, the beingness in which everything occurs. At such time, every person I see I somehow am; I am in them as them, seeing their thoughts and feeling their feelings. Even the trees, I know their drive, their being, though they are not personal as persons are. I know the wind too; I am the wind; I came from the wind. The wind gets around; it knows more than anyone else: To "get wind" of something is true.

My mother was part Indian (Choctaw and Cherokee). My father teased her, saying that her grandfather was named "Chief Breaking Wind," which he meant as a racist insult. I always loved the wind, even as a child, and found such a name to represent the powerful, breaking wind. How many insults carry great inspiration? The wind has no particular self who speaks, rather, the wind, which is all wind, speaks. Gebser would call this a representation of the "magical mind" in which all is reductively included as one, without individuality. I, on another hand, see it as absolutely true. In a recent conversation, in a philosophical discussion with a neighbor, he repeated the phrase: If we do not learn from history, we are condemned to repeat it. My response surprised even me. I said: But if we learn from history in the same way we have always learned from history, we remain condemned to repeat it. 

GETTING TO THE TRUTH OF THINGS

A primary recurring theme for me is "getting to the truth of things." A variation of this is "the way things are." But what is this? How much of anything is "the way it is" and how much is "the way I see it"? A tree does have "its way of being" which is "the way it is," while it is also "that which it is to me," i.e. my interpretation of it. And it is still something else: a part of me even as I am a part of it; I know it as a part of "myself," my being on a larger scale that is no longer so much "me," but a greater being that is inclusive of me and the tree. So "getting to the truth of things" may be a moot point, depending on just what level of myself is doing the "getting."

I hope to add to this soon.

OUT OF TIME

Perhaps one becomes aware of being out of time as one gets older. This is true in more than one sense: One senses that there is just not enough time left to accomplish new ventures, much less finish old ones, and also one no longer perceives oneself as existing within the established conventional framework of time as a measurement of one's life. Of course, I speak of my own experience but believe it must be true for others as well, though I could be wrong in my assumption. 

I think this sense of "being out of time" comes with a gradual disidentification with the changing society (and its conventions) in which one lives, but also with the body in which one exists. As we age, our bodies begin to "wind down" to put it mildly. Our body can no longer do what it once did, we get tired more easily, we feel like "our time has passed," and it probably has; we are on the downswing. Hopefully it is a gradual, not too painful process. Many of us who have cared for family or spouse or someone who is otherwise deteriorating, already have the experience of heading towards our own end. In this period, we do begin to disidentify with our body and recognize ourselves as something more, which may be simply wishful thinking that "I" will continue on and on, and not vanish into nothingness. 

All that I'm saying is probably so obvious to most people, including myself, but I am trying to get at something deeper here, which is elusive. To "be out of time" is also to "be out of space", i.e., out of the body itself. It is like being in a dream in which we inhabit a body, and move through a physical world, perceiving through the body, but not being limited by it. It is as though we watch everything that goes on--other people in their activities, our own selves in our activities, the wind in the trees, the news on TV--but it is like a movie in which we are participating, playing a role. The measurement of time and aging is of the movie and not real. Even the natural part--the trees, the wind, the earth--are not quite real. We know on a certain level or levels that all this that is occurring is only real to a certain extent, that it exists within its own matrix or grid of time and space and matter, that it materializes as we descend into its more dense realm or dimension. 

Of course, the catch is "we" or "I", for before we/I descend into this dense realm, there is no "me"; "I" do not exist on that level; there is rather a "oneness" or "allness" or "nothingness" even. We are so used to ourselves, our "I-ness," that to not exist in that way is too alien to perceive. When our physical bodies die, we are disconnected from that level of being. It is believed by many that, due to our physical and psychological egoic identification, and also to our need to develop and evolve, we quickly reincarnate. This is something I'll talk about another time. I remember many "past lives" but need to determine whether this is story or history, though, in fact, it is probably both. To have history, you must descend to the level of matter, time and space. 

REDEMPTION VIA TRUTH? WHAT IS THAT? WHERE?

We have heard that "the truth shall make you free" so many times that we believe both that we know what that means and that it is valid. So, as I did in my first blog, we "tell the truth." We believe we "owe it to ourselves to tell it to the world." But is "freedom" really earned by such self-exposure, especially if we are made vulnerable by such exposure? I think shame or guilt only follow such an act when it is somehow not the way it actually is to us, when we still hide a part of it that waits to be exposed. Revealing ourselves allows us to be free of having to be that particular aspect of ourselves; of course, there is always more. We probably reveal only what we feel is finally "safe" to say, to admit. Such honesty may actually help others to reveal themselves, and, perhaps more importantly, allow them to see themselves and to hear themselves, to respect themselves as they are, at least a bit more. I don't have answers so much as I have questions. I state them here for both myself and for anyone who might read this. Would I read this if I were not me? I might, for I have an interest in how others think and how they see things; sometimes they actually give me something new and different to consider. 

I relate a bit of my journal: He felt he was getting closer to "the truth of it" (by his revealing his "secret"), while simultaneously becoming more aware that there wasn't even such a thing as "the truth of it." He was understanding that it wasn't "knowing the truth" that mattered so much as being able to take in whatever happens, as having an ability to be "properly impressed." Perhaps a presence of "the truth" figured into such an ability to "properly" receive what events befell one, but "the truth" in itself is indecipherable in fact and intent. According to Bohr, clarity is inaccurate, and accuracy is unclear. Nothing real is understandable or to be understood. Rather it is to be taken in well, i.e., in all humility and attention. How do I receive? How do I experience? I must realize not only that I do not know anything, but that nothing is known. It is only my belief (and the cultural belief for the most part) that I know anything. Even what is "known" is both partial and by agreement. Yet we glibly speak of "finding the truth."

Continuing journal: The real thing, then, is in the story told, in our telling it and our hearing it, and not in whether or not it is "true." Do we listen to a story because it is true? No, we listen because it is "real" to us, because it "speaks" to us, because it resonates with "that which is true" within us, which even we do not know and could not know or "find" even if it could be known, which it cannot. If it could be, I don't believe we would even exist or have a need to exist, though, if we are "all things," I may be wrong; we may be and also not be.

Continuing: I seem to be just bantering words about, engaging semantic argument, but I believe it is more omenic argument, for I am speaking of the reality of omens, i.e., of the power of that which is impressed upon us, which is at least partly up to us and our ability and willingness to receive, though the omen may reach us in spite of or in addition to ourselves. Isn't that how "God speaks" to us--not because we consciously want to but because we unconsciously (which can be "God") want to?

"NAME" IS THE EFFECT OF WHO YOU ARE, WHAT YOU DO

I didn't want to publish the first segment because I felt it to be "too personal," "too revealing." I didn't even know why I divulged that information about myself. But as I thought about it, I realized that to move through the "swamp of name and form," you have to first know just what that is. Otherwise, they're just a nice, abstract Buddhist metaphor to ponder on and not take too personally. Karma, the effect of one's actions, is at the essence here, and it is not an abstract, intellectual exercise; it is the actual "human imprint" that you make by being who you are and doing what you do. It is absolutely personal and you are the person to whom and for whom you are responsible. And you have to realize just who you are, that is, the being that you present in the world, before you can even begin to think about being able to move through the "swamp," the miasma, the quicksand, that you, your name, your identity, creates in the world. This is not about philosophizing about "self," or "karma," or an image you would like to have of yourself. It is not about "consciousness" or "soul" or "psyche," but about you, me, us, and the endless effects and reverberations of our actions in the world. Nor is it about feeling guilty or ashamed of the mistakes we have made in our obliviousness or ignorance or willfulness. Rather, it is about recognizing ourselves and the effects we have--not abstractly or mentally or in any way detached, but, rather, viscerally. To realize the suffering that we have caused others is terrifying. Shame and guilt may initially appear and be experienced, but to stop there is both insufficient and irresponsible. We have no right to remain in Hell; self-punishment is not enough. We must move through it by realizing that there is more to the process of self-understanding than simply allowing ourselves to wallow in the "swamp of name and form." Part of this realization is that, if we are more aware of what we are and what we do, we do, in fact, do things better, that is, without making big negative waves in our wake that inundate others and ourselves. We begin to see through our name and form, that is, our identity, our flesh, and both what we have made and has made us--our world.

BEING AWARE OF OURSELVES AND THE EFFECTS OF OUR ACTIONS

Right before I wake up in the morning, right after my last vivid dream, what comes to me in my thoughts is so lucid, so clear. I see things as they actually are. I see responsibility and opportunity to act exactly as they are. And then, since it's still quite early and I am still tired, I go back to sleep briefly, tending to forget everything that came to me. But sometimes I get up or don't quite sleep, and my earlier lucid thoughts are remembered. All in all, there is a "swamp of name and form" to be moved through, not just for me but for all of us. When I first awaken in the morning I actually wonder how I can get through another day of mundane, absurd existence in this body. My dreams are so vivid and alive and not in the flesh that my awakening in the flesh is a rude one that does dismay me initially. Each day it takes an hour or so to adapt once again to being in this body, in this world, this illusory, false world of social convention and sheer need to eat and otherwise survive in the flesh. I am made so aware of the profound limitations, especially in that which I am able to see, to notice, to be aware of. Awareness is so utterly limited; we miss so much that is there, that actually should be noticed, rather than the things we have been trained to notice, like, for instance, not only what others are saying in so many ways that are the total opposite of what they may be saying or doing, but in ourselves as well. And when others do speak the truth about how they may feel or how they perceive, rather than actually hearing what they are telling us, which is their truth, we instead "take it personally," feeling hurt and misunderstood. I say "we" and mean "I", though it is not just true for me. 

In fact, I, in my self-centeredness, ignorance, and simple obliviousness, have affected others to the extent that I did much to destroy them and their lives. Not knowing myself adequately at all, and not even being particularly interested in this, I made mistakes that directly influenced other people, doing immense damage to them and inflicting destruction to their very lives. And when they have had the guts to let me know this, I, who believe that I am truly a "good person" who is "doing the right thing", have been hurt and insulted. That I have been ignorant rather than malicious, unintentional rather than intentional, does not mitigate the effects of the mistakes made. I call them "mistakes" because they were not intentional. But once the harm is done, one cannot undo it. I should have at least learned from my mistakes; that's the least we can do. I never even expressed "mea culpas" since I could not even see, much less acknowledge, mistakes I had made. Let me be specific: In one instance, I simply repacked a box of my wife's things and piled it a bit higher in the garage. In repacking it, I put more things into it "to save space", and never even considered that it might now be too heavy for her to lift. Then I added to the problem I had created by putting it further out of her reach. Then, while on a ladder she then needed in order to reach the box, she tried to lift it, and the accident happened that caused her to be disabled and in severe perpetual pain. All I needed to have done to avoid this catastrophe was THINK about what I was doing. That's all. But I was simply my automatic self, doing what I do. When I asked my doctor about my culpability in the accident, he said, "You were just the straw that broke the camel's back. It's not your fault. It would've happened sooner or later." No. He was wrong. It wasn't just an accident waiting to happen; it was a mistake that I made in my obliviousness that severely negatively affected another's life. I must take responsibility for that. How does one take responsibility for such a thing? First, my realizing that one is responsible, and, second, by becoming aware of what one is doing and how one is being. I do take care of my wife but I wish I hadn't been so much in my stupor. This is a hard mistake to learn from, and one that is so obvious that you would think that I had learned from it a long time ago. But it took seven years to finally see what I had done. And, once I saw that, I began to see all the other things that I had done that affected others.