In Anatomy of an Epidemic, the author develops the perspective on prescription psychotropic drugs of seeing them primarily--and perhaps only--as simply causing perturbations in brain functioning. At the farthest remove, that can be said of just about anything I suppose, but more specifically, it presents a different starting place than the institutionally-taught perspective that these drugs are primarily "anti-": -psychotic, -anxiety, -depression, etc. There is a basic difference between seeing all effects as perturbations and seeing one effect as a "side effect" and another as a "main effect". As all believers in superstition of whatever stripe, it is not hard for believers in prescribed drugs to find ways to write off and/or justify harmful "side effects" while relying on "main effects" or intended effects. Since these packaged chemicals are considered to be psychotropic, their neurological and psychological effects (main and side effects) are often considered to be more important than primarily "somatic" effects like weight gain or liver dysfunction, etc. And again, in comparison, you can consider how something as simple as ingesting a very salty meal or mustard late at night can effect, can psychotropify, your dreams. The perspective that specific chemicals are more accurately considered for their intended use rather than as chemicals with a whole slew of influences is somewhat limiting and less realistic or straightforward than others. It falls into a normal human bias that over-rates intention while under-rating history.
I'm tired of all these love songs, they won't make you mine. But the songs eat up some of the pain.
The starting point of seeing anything we put into our bodies as primarily perturbations ends up rather rashly or irreverently categorizing Prozac with LCD with table salt. Depending on your overall health, consistent overusage of sodium chloride or sugar might be more dangerous to your longterm health than consistent acid usage. And from a religious viewpoint, depending on how stuck your soul is, anything that supports distance between you and divinity is a stumbling block to the clarity, beauty, and development of your soul. Now, just as I'm ok with considering SSRIs to be just chemicals, I'm ok with seeing souls as an interesting example of human imagination whether they "exist" or not. In some ways, the only koan is the rejection of suchness.
As a psychologist, sometimes to a perverse or fanatical extent, I end up asking myself questions such as, "What could be the point of depression?" And in search of answers that cut straight to the existential bedrock (if that "exists"), I spend time reading Prozac Nation while sitting in the hospital waiting to heal from surgery which, only "hopefully", removes seriously malignant cancer. And other things like that; if you're thinking of better examples of such instances, then good, we're on the right track. Folks like me sometimes need the hard way, hard rain, dark nights, the long way home, the narrow path, wide paths, or as Krishnamurti said, "The Pathless Land." Rumi spoke of circling something like a moth to the flame while Sigmund Freud spoke of "normal unhappiness" and a "death instinct".
Lately, I've been considering how silence seems to connect eternity-as-feeling with the instantly-passing present instant. To the same extent that misery loves company, it loves repetition, too. Kids love dizziness. Perturbations.
If I bring the angle closer than seeing everything as perturbations in consciousness and wider than how much monoamine oxidase inhibitors affect a few synapses in one brain, I find myself in the interactions between a loosely-constructed social reality and consistently different viewpoints on just that. Depression, as a somewhat consistent "place", is not at the center of that constructed reality. But neither is dizziness. By moving in a certain way, through similar steps repeatedly, a sense of rhythm can develop as we learn the dance steps. Some of these rhythms happen at the speed of a single neuron firing, maybe even faster. In our repetitions, a sense arises, passes, returns, and can consolidate.
Something beyond yet not exclusive of a sense of individual self, uhh, grows. Existential roots, or a backdrop, rises. It might eventually feel like sorting through your attic full of boxes full of stuff your parents put aside for you in order to find the one toy or picture or belonging that perfectly carries the feeling you want to share with your kid at some important right-now. Misery loves rhythm, so does joy.
I always like the studies of shamanism that point out that "finding one's power" often comes late in life. We have a lot of sorting to do before then. As some Chinese have said, "The young rush in order not to miss anything; their elders take their time, in order to not miss a thing." It is silly for me to feel like eternity is just that kind of girl, but some things are worth sharing.
Thanks for sharing, Amy. Wade, I lean on you sometimes.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Impulse, Effort, Intention, Grace
I'm starting to study the Lamrim teachings on Abhidhamma as my next step towards unconstrained awareness. At this point, I'm finding a definite commonality between my own explorations and this Buddhist method of categorization and applications. At the same time, I'm not certain that insisting on the infallibility of Siddartha Gautama's pronouncements and dialogues is a necessary aspect of moving forward. In other words, there are probably some simpler ways of presenting the next step--or next few steps--for many of us (as opposed to in-depth, long-term Abhidhamma study). You can also look at what I'm circling as a way of redeeming/utilizing projection and identification.
Much of what I've been working on is simply a progression of perspectives. The question is: a progression towards what? A better experience of this lifetime. This goal can be seen as relative or small from a religious perspective, but it doesn't exclude religious perspective. One can include either the after-death progression of one's soul or non-self-self in determining how "better" could be defined and experienced.
Part of improving perspectives comes down to condensing information and also to presenting it in ways that are immediately applicable and fruitful. Here's the skinny. We can experience the desire(s) we experience as individuals as including a few different feelings. There is a continuum from nonconscious impulse (like instinct) to conscious effort (which is often tied up in personality disordering and negative habits/addictions) to intention (which can remain consistent even when our pushing/effortful energy wanes for a time) to something like grace (which can be seen as extending beyond individuality).
For anyone who does not simply want to fight against basic impulses and feelings, we can see a path from impulse of biological action potentials towards increasing consciousness and lack of constraints. One of the interesting things that happens when intention is included, though, is that we can feel frustration when we lack: the energy it takes to put in pushing/driven effort; achievement of the results we are looking for; consistency or clarity in intention; the smooth feeling of things working out "simply because".
An integrated perspective allows us to relate to impulse as the basic energy, effort as directing that basic energy, intention as potentially clearer and more consistent than effort (which will cycle with our need for food, sleep, etc.), and grace as a goal that may or may not end up as somewhat defined. These all web together (as something like sattva) if we can maintain that impulse, effort and intention may all lead towards grace while being willing to take care of--behaviorally attend to--whichever lower levels need attention. And it is possible to determine whichever levels need attention by simply moving downwards, checking each one as we go.
It works something like this. We never need to feel undirected because we can always affirm that, whatever more relative goals we may or may not hold, we are always looking for grace. We can always recognize that we may not find grace if we don't line up that intention to find grace (or whatever other intentions) with our ability to maintain effort in that direction. And we maintain effort through consisitency of intention and physical health (the wellness of neurology through psychology--crossover with stress, immune response, blood pressure, digestion, etc.).
The nice thing about this progression is that we don't have to believe that, "A tired man no longer cares." It takes less metabolic energy to maintain intention than it takes to maintain effort. The reality is that a tired man may no longer have the energy it takes to make the necessary efforts while he hasn't changed his intentions. Blaming oneself or others for unclear intentions, imperfect effort, or basic impulses keeps us from achieving grace. If we can maintain a consistent goal (grace), it is possible to change one's "local" intentions while retaining consistency. If we experience ourselves as moving towards grace, it is possible to dispense with the greater part of psychological wastes of energy such as blaming and excessive doubt.
Much of what I've been working on is simply a progression of perspectives. The question is: a progression towards what? A better experience of this lifetime. This goal can be seen as relative or small from a religious perspective, but it doesn't exclude religious perspective. One can include either the after-death progression of one's soul or non-self-self in determining how "better" could be defined and experienced.
Part of improving perspectives comes down to condensing information and also to presenting it in ways that are immediately applicable and fruitful. Here's the skinny. We can experience the desire(s) we experience as individuals as including a few different feelings. There is a continuum from nonconscious impulse (like instinct) to conscious effort (which is often tied up in personality disordering and negative habits/addictions) to intention (which can remain consistent even when our pushing/effortful energy wanes for a time) to something like grace (which can be seen as extending beyond individuality).
For anyone who does not simply want to fight against basic impulses and feelings, we can see a path from impulse of biological action potentials towards increasing consciousness and lack of constraints. One of the interesting things that happens when intention is included, though, is that we can feel frustration when we lack: the energy it takes to put in pushing/driven effort; achievement of the results we are looking for; consistency or clarity in intention; the smooth feeling of things working out "simply because".
An integrated perspective allows us to relate to impulse as the basic energy, effort as directing that basic energy, intention as potentially clearer and more consistent than effort (which will cycle with our need for food, sleep, etc.), and grace as a goal that may or may not end up as somewhat defined. These all web together (as something like sattva) if we can maintain that impulse, effort and intention may all lead towards grace while being willing to take care of--behaviorally attend to--whichever lower levels need attention. And it is possible to determine whichever levels need attention by simply moving downwards, checking each one as we go.
It works something like this. We never need to feel undirected because we can always affirm that, whatever more relative goals we may or may not hold, we are always looking for grace. We can always recognize that we may not find grace if we don't line up that intention to find grace (or whatever other intentions) with our ability to maintain effort in that direction. And we maintain effort through consisitency of intention and physical health (the wellness of neurology through psychology--crossover with stress, immune response, blood pressure, digestion, etc.).
The nice thing about this progression is that we don't have to believe that, "A tired man no longer cares." It takes less metabolic energy to maintain intention than it takes to maintain effort. The reality is that a tired man may no longer have the energy it takes to make the necessary efforts while he hasn't changed his intentions. Blaming oneself or others for unclear intentions, imperfect effort, or basic impulses keeps us from achieving grace. If we can maintain a consistent goal (grace), it is possible to change one's "local" intentions while retaining consistency. If we experience ourselves as moving towards grace, it is possible to dispense with the greater part of psychological wastes of energy such as blaming and excessive doubt.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
From Grunge to Intersubjectivity
All of this, for me at least, is some kind of spiralling inward towards a genuine grasp and expression of meditation. Earlier on in my life, there was more sense of ecstasy and perhaps less serenity or what feels like some degree of equanimity. I felt a particular euphoria in focusing on a sense of disembodied love connection that best seemed to fit with Rumi's ecstatic sort of poetry.
Dr. Lorna Smith Benjamin presents the perspective that psychopathology (especially so-called "personality disordering") results from an unrequited gift of love--to our parents, our God(s), our fellow human beings, etc. I find that my own patterns of unhelpful, uncreative habituations seems to follow that sort of blueprint. Although this is a very deep point, it is not necessarily all that subtle if you think about it. How many unhappy people create unhappiness in their own lives and with those around them because they do not feel adequately loved and loving? If you feel loved and loving, do you want more fame/power/money or would you rather sink into that loving as a sensual, intimate, delicate indulgence in and expression of the beauty and wonder of life?
There's a lot of energy or power or whatever you want to call it in that spiritual-disembodied affirmation of love and a lot of the same in the negative feeling and habituation of unrequited love. Depending on what we are able to feel and express, we either project more of a shadow (echoes of unrequited love) or a halo (emanations of affirmation). And other people respond to what we project, what we bring to their lives. Feel the love?
Ajahn Chah gave the metaphor of meditation as being like sitting quietly by a still forest pool at night. If you are quiet and still enough with your mind, animals will come out of the dark forest to refresh themselves at the pool. If you are loud or startle them with crashing around, movements, expressed dissatisfaction, you disturb their "wa"--their inner settledness--and they run away if you even get to see them at all. The same is the case when we are unable or unwilling to leave the the confines of a solid self-identity; we never see what is out there in the rest of that universe. In responding to others, most of us feel the value in the wildness and delicacy of connection with the aspects of ourselves and our universe.
That delicacy challenges the primacy or importance of what we project while responding directly to what we (ourselves) and others both feel and project. Besides the positive or negative feelings, there is a degree of stillness and subtlety that can lend towards serenity. And there is a well of energy in which we can feel stillness running infinitely deep. Things change when we begin to experience ourselves as one (or perhaps as many) of those wild forest animals that returns to this pool. In regards to love, feeling this wildness in your soul can bring us also in touch with intensity from a different direction.
Most folks are used to feeling intensity as pressure or as a rush. For those who can get in touch with their own potent-and-delicate wildness, it's possible to begin feeling that intensity comes from that still pool, that infinite-living reservoir of energy that is life itself. When that happens, we start to register pressure as extra or unnecessary, as karma, samsara, judgement, punishment, whatever. Pressure as pressure pushes us into that shadow which follows each of us always.
Peace or serenity or that pool of stillness-as-intensity, on the other hand, opens up the possibility of relating without pressures. Rather than trying to push towards whatever we might feel as good or--as Ken Kesey said, fighting/leaning against evil--we live (in Rumi's words) "in a field beyond right and wrong", gone beyond, parasamgate. Rather than carving out a space for self-identity, rather than being in this world but not of this world, rather than being spirits in a material world (sure, I grew up listening to the Police), we live in and of and as and with the universe as pluribus and unum. In Zen, it is asked, "If the many return to the One, to what does the One return?" I have described meditation as the willingness to return. It's not that the animals or spirits of the forest live only in and of the still pool, but they return. And you know why they return. I'll sometimes refuse to meet you somewhere other than there. Even when you don't KNOW why, you feel it.
Dr. Lorna Smith Benjamin presents the perspective that psychopathology (especially so-called "personality disordering") results from an unrequited gift of love--to our parents, our God(s), our fellow human beings, etc. I find that my own patterns of unhelpful, uncreative habituations seems to follow that sort of blueprint. Although this is a very deep point, it is not necessarily all that subtle if you think about it. How many unhappy people create unhappiness in their own lives and with those around them because they do not feel adequately loved and loving? If you feel loved and loving, do you want more fame/power/money or would you rather sink into that loving as a sensual, intimate, delicate indulgence in and expression of the beauty and wonder of life?
There's a lot of energy or power or whatever you want to call it in that spiritual-disembodied affirmation of love and a lot of the same in the negative feeling and habituation of unrequited love. Depending on what we are able to feel and express, we either project more of a shadow (echoes of unrequited love) or a halo (emanations of affirmation). And other people respond to what we project, what we bring to their lives. Feel the love?
Ajahn Chah gave the metaphor of meditation as being like sitting quietly by a still forest pool at night. If you are quiet and still enough with your mind, animals will come out of the dark forest to refresh themselves at the pool. If you are loud or startle them with crashing around, movements, expressed dissatisfaction, you disturb their "wa"--their inner settledness--and they run away if you even get to see them at all. The same is the case when we are unable or unwilling to leave the the confines of a solid self-identity; we never see what is out there in the rest of that universe. In responding to others, most of us feel the value in the wildness and delicacy of connection with the aspects of ourselves and our universe.
That delicacy challenges the primacy or importance of what we project while responding directly to what we (ourselves) and others both feel and project. Besides the positive or negative feelings, there is a degree of stillness and subtlety that can lend towards serenity. And there is a well of energy in which we can feel stillness running infinitely deep. Things change when we begin to experience ourselves as one (or perhaps as many) of those wild forest animals that returns to this pool. In regards to love, feeling this wildness in your soul can bring us also in touch with intensity from a different direction.
Most folks are used to feeling intensity as pressure or as a rush. For those who can get in touch with their own potent-and-delicate wildness, it's possible to begin feeling that intensity comes from that still pool, that infinite-living reservoir of energy that is life itself. When that happens, we start to register pressure as extra or unnecessary, as karma, samsara, judgement, punishment, whatever. Pressure as pressure pushes us into that shadow which follows each of us always.
Peace or serenity or that pool of stillness-as-intensity, on the other hand, opens up the possibility of relating without pressures. Rather than trying to push towards whatever we might feel as good or--as Ken Kesey said, fighting/leaning against evil--we live (in Rumi's words) "in a field beyond right and wrong", gone beyond, parasamgate. Rather than carving out a space for self-identity, rather than being in this world but not of this world, rather than being spirits in a material world (sure, I grew up listening to the Police), we live in and of and as and with the universe as pluribus and unum. In Zen, it is asked, "If the many return to the One, to what does the One return?" I have described meditation as the willingness to return. It's not that the animals or spirits of the forest live only in and of the still pool, but they return. And you know why they return. I'll sometimes refuse to meet you somewhere other than there. Even when you don't KNOW why, you feel it.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Somewhere, uh, Musically, Beyond Grunge: II
How do we get unstuck and in touch with our own sense of inspiration? For some people, the first step is to acknowledge feeling stuck. For others, it is to notice the moments when they do feel at least hints or flickers or whispers of inspiration and to follow those hints. If you take my walls and fluidity description, you can be very consistent in looking for cracks in the walls and looking for places where water seeps through. Earlier, I wrote about the process of PSYCHOLOGICAL CHANGE. You can take ANY moment, anything you notice and choose, as a sign to begin priming for inspiration. Got despair? That's a sign that you want change. Got hope? Another sign. That sort of perspective leads to priming oneself for the actuality of change rather than letting change or inspiration remain as some idealized thing that doesn't seem to touch your life. When you start thinking of yourself as someone who wants inspiration and therefore takes anything as a sign to look for inspiration, we star flowing through a different form than the form of suffering. That attitude/perspective and the priming it allows is a beginning, but it's not the whole process.
Once you begin seeing your life circumstances and internal reactions as signs that show you as an individual who is looking for inspiration, the question moves to that of how you can begin truly engaging inspiration. There are two major ways that we can engage. The first is to hold onto our walls for as long as possible, to allow "mind" to pile up behind our walls like water piling up behind a dam. The longer we try to stay the same, the more the pressure builds. And eventually the dam breaks. That can be terrifying and exciting. Because the psychological universe is closer to how dreams work than actually facing a real flood, death is not a serious concern even if it is a fear. We--unrealistically--fear that "I" may die when the walls of my self-identity are broken. Think of how often you have felt fear in a dream. How many times has that fear-in-a-dream lead to your actual death? Fear concerning losing our self-identity's walls is like that. It is more likely to lead to us waking up than actual death. Are you curious about what is outside those walls, wondering who might be there with you when you wake up, considering walking out your front door?
So one way is a sort of "forced change" when life breaks something in us. These breaks can lead to breakthroughs or breakdowns. Since I'm not a big fan of breakdown in my own life, I tend to recommend steady change. Let a little water in or out, take the walls down piece by piece until you are certain that change is nothing to fear and can't be avoided anyway. Change is not something that happens to you; it is you. Mind moves; you cannot spiritually be leashed any more than the nature of water can be leashed, although you might pretend to be leashed or imprisoned. There is no way to actually fight the movement of time. Utilizing receptive states or moments of receptivity allows us to take change when we are most open to change--but make no mistake, change is happening to us all when we are aware of it or not. The dam may not be breaking at this moment, but water pressure is building.
Now, some of you are wondering, "In all of this talk of fluidity and universes and change, what about that fountain of youthfulness?" Let's get back to that. Inspiration is the fountain of youthfulness--pure and simple, natural. When we feel inspired, we live; when we don't, we age. Another way of describing it is to say that trying to remain small, trying to remain within the psychological walls of our chosen self-identity, cuts us off from the normal and continual replenishment that comes from exchange and flow within the entire universe of imagination in which we live. Take a moment with that idea: we live in a universe of imagination, our minds are constantly and unavoidably fed by the universe of anything-being-possible. The challenging part of that is that it means if we imagine or idealize God, part of the power in our psychological universe resides in "God". That's okay, but it means that we will want to commune with God in order to feel our power, to feel alive. The catch is that if you can imagine evil, you will have to relate to evil--you won't be able to simply set it outside your walls and keep it there forever. The pressure will build up, and nothing that men can build will last forever. The things we try to set aside are powerful, just as the things we try to draw near are powerful.
Rumi suggested dealing with everything that comes to your door as a guest. That includes external circumstances as well as our internal reactions to circumstances. What sort of mindset does it take to invite God in or accept that invitation to come out? What sort of mindset does it take to admit that evil is not only somewhere outside of my house, to admit that evil is as much within me as without?
It's been very interesting to grow up with Grunge as the most unique and defining musical influence for me, descriptive of my age cohort. (Rap may be as defining of a musical moment, but rap began earlier and seems more lasting.) I'm really enjoying Chris Cornell's solo work lately. Overall, Grunge strikes me as less resilient than the Blues. It's more of a dirge, like singing for one's own funeral. And Curt Cobain is certainly one of the defining characters whose life and music defines Grunge. But if you maintain through that Zeitgeist, if all of what goes into angst and disappointment with life and resignation doesn't break you, you come out the other side changed. And there is something to be said for Dave Grohl and Chris Cornell not only singing about hearts and butterflies. There's something real about Grunge, and something real about making a good life for your self, maybe getting married and living in France, maybe making music somewhere, uh, I guess one could say "beyond Grunge".
Once you begin seeing your life circumstances and internal reactions as signs that show you as an individual who is looking for inspiration, the question moves to that of how you can begin truly engaging inspiration. There are two major ways that we can engage. The first is to hold onto our walls for as long as possible, to allow "mind" to pile up behind our walls like water piling up behind a dam. The longer we try to stay the same, the more the pressure builds. And eventually the dam breaks. That can be terrifying and exciting. Because the psychological universe is closer to how dreams work than actually facing a real flood, death is not a serious concern even if it is a fear. We--unrealistically--fear that "I" may die when the walls of my self-identity are broken. Think of how often you have felt fear in a dream. How many times has that fear-in-a-dream lead to your actual death? Fear concerning losing our self-identity's walls is like that. It is more likely to lead to us waking up than actual death. Are you curious about what is outside those walls, wondering who might be there with you when you wake up, considering walking out your front door?
So one way is a sort of "forced change" when life breaks something in us. These breaks can lead to breakthroughs or breakdowns. Since I'm not a big fan of breakdown in my own life, I tend to recommend steady change. Let a little water in or out, take the walls down piece by piece until you are certain that change is nothing to fear and can't be avoided anyway. Change is not something that happens to you; it is you. Mind moves; you cannot spiritually be leashed any more than the nature of water can be leashed, although you might pretend to be leashed or imprisoned. There is no way to actually fight the movement of time. Utilizing receptive states or moments of receptivity allows us to take change when we are most open to change--but make no mistake, change is happening to us all when we are aware of it or not. The dam may not be breaking at this moment, but water pressure is building.
Now, some of you are wondering, "In all of this talk of fluidity and universes and change, what about that fountain of youthfulness?" Let's get back to that. Inspiration is the fountain of youthfulness--pure and simple, natural. When we feel inspired, we live; when we don't, we age. Another way of describing it is to say that trying to remain small, trying to remain within the psychological walls of our chosen self-identity, cuts us off from the normal and continual replenishment that comes from exchange and flow within the entire universe of imagination in which we live. Take a moment with that idea: we live in a universe of imagination, our minds are constantly and unavoidably fed by the universe of anything-being-possible. The challenging part of that is that it means if we imagine or idealize God, part of the power in our psychological universe resides in "God". That's okay, but it means that we will want to commune with God in order to feel our power, to feel alive. The catch is that if you can imagine evil, you will have to relate to evil--you won't be able to simply set it outside your walls and keep it there forever. The pressure will build up, and nothing that men can build will last forever. The things we try to set aside are powerful, just as the things we try to draw near are powerful.
Rumi suggested dealing with everything that comes to your door as a guest. That includes external circumstances as well as our internal reactions to circumstances. What sort of mindset does it take to invite God in or accept that invitation to come out? What sort of mindset does it take to admit that evil is not only somewhere outside of my house, to admit that evil is as much within me as without?
It's been very interesting to grow up with Grunge as the most unique and defining musical influence for me, descriptive of my age cohort. (Rap may be as defining of a musical moment, but rap began earlier and seems more lasting.) I'm really enjoying Chris Cornell's solo work lately. Overall, Grunge strikes me as less resilient than the Blues. It's more of a dirge, like singing for one's own funeral. And Curt Cobain is certainly one of the defining characters whose life and music defines Grunge. But if you maintain through that Zeitgeist, if all of what goes into angst and disappointment with life and resignation doesn't break you, you come out the other side changed. And there is something to be said for Dave Grohl and Chris Cornell not only singing about hearts and butterflies. There's something real about Grunge, and something real about making a good life for your self, maybe getting married and living in France, maybe making music somewhere, uh, I guess one could say "beyond Grunge".
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Somewhere, uh, Musically, Beyond Grunge
Creativity is the most fundamental level of subjective development in mammals--including those that walk upright. Isn't that something? Chuang Tzu woke from dreaming that he was a butterfly and wondered if he might not actually be a butterfly dreaming himself a man. We are so fundamentally creative that we can even imagine ourselves to be uncreative, uninterested, and boring. Frankly, I prefer butterfly dreams to L'Estranger, but Camus certainly did have his moments.
For most adults I've met, disinterest is a bigger problem than an excess of wonderment. Most of them rarely ask why it is this way. We're a little TOO certain that we are not the multi-colored living art fluttering by, living on sunshine and kisses. (Luckily for me, I'm dating a butterfly.)
I've addressed in other places why creativity is fundamental to mammalian life. That leaves the questions--if we are fundamentally creative--then how do we come to see ourselves otherwise and what do we do about it all anyway? How we get this way is a sad story and I feel too celebratory today to tell it, although it is a good story. The "what can we do about it" part is a good story too.
WHAT CAN BE DONE? We probably all know people who blithely or beautifully respond, "Dance, sing, love." And many of us tack onto that a, "...for tomorrow we die." (I guess I'm letting some of my internal Eyor show.) There is something to be said about being stuck here, something to be said for being there (dancing, singing, fluttering, etc.), and something to be done about getting unstuck in order to allow our inherent singing out. (You know you like hearing Elton John's "Tiny Dancer".)
One of the first things to realize is that the fountain of youthfulness (because a Fountain of Youth is just a fairy tale) is not a triple espresso, an adrenaline rush, a hot affair, or a vacation away from anything. Youthful creativity--vitality--comes from living, never from avoiding the actual circumstances of one's life. The struggle is only about recognizing creative playfulness as the most fundamental aspect of who we are and being able to touch and express it. I'll leave how you're going to express it to you, and--at the risk of seeming the frotteur--stick, for now, with the touching part. Once we find out how to get in touch with that aspect of ourselves, that aspect becomes more interesting, fun, and convincing than any explanation of why creativity is fundamental. So I like hows, how it happens.
A friend of mine recently sent a link to the Mental Bank self-hypnosis site. In the introductory 2-hour talk, the speaker emphasizes the importance of entering a suggestible state and then utilizing that state by including goal-directed affirmations and structured measurement of progress towards specific goals. The program itself is not really exciting but it may be effective, and if it is, the results can be exciting. Part of this speaker's point is that one naturally enters a relatively suggestible or receptive state in the last half-hour or so before falling asleep. By utilizing this time, we don't need someone else to implant suggestions for us, we don't need to try any extreme cultish groups or techniques, and we can essentially--with no special skills--begin to interact with our ongoing unconscious flow.
This idea of utilizing more receptive states holds a lot of promise. Dream yoga is a somewhat more intense or radical way of interacting with one's streaming subconscious. We find something similar in being part of a crowd that we are moved by, aroused physical states (in which the arousal is above average but not so intense as to overcome intention and memory), relaxed states, novel situations in which we don't feel threatened, etc. Basically, if we aren't just acting habitually within our comfort zone, something interesting happens; we let the wonder in. Rhythm can set us up to be receptive, narrative, art, you name it.
Part of what amazes me is that anything that you can imagine is part of your subconscious subjective universe. That's a lot of stuff. Based on personal choices and social pressures, we create a sense of how we want to be and try to carve out part of that universe as "who we are". And then, in order to maintain that construction/facade/self-image, we have to build psychological resistance-walls against all of the material in our imaginative universes that is "not me". Is the man "not-Chuang-Tzu" or is the butterfly "not-him"? In this conscious construction, every thing or form has its foil, its opposite. When we identify with our conscious constructions to the exclusion of the rest of our imaginative universe, we give up our psychological power, we decide that all of that creativity is "not me". Interesting, neh?
The trouble with that set-up is that the conscious construction is only a small part of the bigger universe. The more exclusive our psychological walls are, the less fluid can we be, the more we have painted our selves into a corner. We might, then, invest a great deal of energy in maintaining our walls. There is a very interesting psychological law that is similar to time. Time always moves; you can never step in the same river twice, as Heraclitus put it. Dreams are a great example of how this psychological fluidity works. Timothy Leary got high on LSD's ability to open up conscious access to this "fluidity". Artists search for moments in which they can bring a degree of fluidity to their craft and mix it with some sort of excellence. So what happens when we believe in solid walls? Napoleon comes along and kicks our ass or Hitler blows through the Maginot line; life moves beyond our walls and eventually moves US beyond our walls. We end up investing increasing amounts of energy into maintaining certain forms and denying others, and since it is the nature of mind to move, any form that we want to maintain takes a great deal of effort. Like trying to fight the flow of a river. Only you are trying to fight the flow of your own mind, of your psychological universe. Then we look around and wonder why we feel tired, why we don't feel creative. It's mostly because we've decided to keep investing in stability when that is an interesting idea that has little bearing on the way minds actually work. Mind moves.
For most adults I've met, disinterest is a bigger problem than an excess of wonderment. Most of them rarely ask why it is this way. We're a little TOO certain that we are not the multi-colored living art fluttering by, living on sunshine and kisses. (Luckily for me, I'm dating a butterfly.)
I've addressed in other places why creativity is fundamental to mammalian life. That leaves the questions--if we are fundamentally creative--then how do we come to see ourselves otherwise and what do we do about it all anyway? How we get this way is a sad story and I feel too celebratory today to tell it, although it is a good story. The "what can we do about it" part is a good story too.
WHAT CAN BE DONE? We probably all know people who blithely or beautifully respond, "Dance, sing, love." And many of us tack onto that a, "...for tomorrow we die." (I guess I'm letting some of my internal Eyor show.) There is something to be said about being stuck here, something to be said for being there (dancing, singing, fluttering, etc.), and something to be done about getting unstuck in order to allow our inherent singing out. (You know you like hearing Elton John's "Tiny Dancer".)
One of the first things to realize is that the fountain of youthfulness (because a Fountain of Youth is just a fairy tale) is not a triple espresso, an adrenaline rush, a hot affair, or a vacation away from anything. Youthful creativity--vitality--comes from living, never from avoiding the actual circumstances of one's life. The struggle is only about recognizing creative playfulness as the most fundamental aspect of who we are and being able to touch and express it. I'll leave how you're going to express it to you, and--at the risk of seeming the frotteur--stick, for now, with the touching part. Once we find out how to get in touch with that aspect of ourselves, that aspect becomes more interesting, fun, and convincing than any explanation of why creativity is fundamental. So I like hows, how it happens.
A friend of mine recently sent a link to the Mental Bank self-hypnosis site. In the introductory 2-hour talk, the speaker emphasizes the importance of entering a suggestible state and then utilizing that state by including goal-directed affirmations and structured measurement of progress towards specific goals. The program itself is not really exciting but it may be effective, and if it is, the results can be exciting. Part of this speaker's point is that one naturally enters a relatively suggestible or receptive state in the last half-hour or so before falling asleep. By utilizing this time, we don't need someone else to implant suggestions for us, we don't need to try any extreme cultish groups or techniques, and we can essentially--with no special skills--begin to interact with our ongoing unconscious flow.
This idea of utilizing more receptive states holds a lot of promise. Dream yoga is a somewhat more intense or radical way of interacting with one's streaming subconscious. We find something similar in being part of a crowd that we are moved by, aroused physical states (in which the arousal is above average but not so intense as to overcome intention and memory), relaxed states, novel situations in which we don't feel threatened, etc. Basically, if we aren't just acting habitually within our comfort zone, something interesting happens; we let the wonder in. Rhythm can set us up to be receptive, narrative, art, you name it.
Part of what amazes me is that anything that you can imagine is part of your subconscious subjective universe. That's a lot of stuff. Based on personal choices and social pressures, we create a sense of how we want to be and try to carve out part of that universe as "who we are". And then, in order to maintain that construction/facade/self-image, we have to build psychological resistance-walls against all of the material in our imaginative universes that is "not me". Is the man "not-Chuang-Tzu" or is the butterfly "not-him"? In this conscious construction, every thing or form has its foil, its opposite. When we identify with our conscious constructions to the exclusion of the rest of our imaginative universe, we give up our psychological power, we decide that all of that creativity is "not me". Interesting, neh?
The trouble with that set-up is that the conscious construction is only a small part of the bigger universe. The more exclusive our psychological walls are, the less fluid can we be, the more we have painted our selves into a corner. We might, then, invest a great deal of energy in maintaining our walls. There is a very interesting psychological law that is similar to time. Time always moves; you can never step in the same river twice, as Heraclitus put it. Dreams are a great example of how this psychological fluidity works. Timothy Leary got high on LSD's ability to open up conscious access to this "fluidity". Artists search for moments in which they can bring a degree of fluidity to their craft and mix it with some sort of excellence. So what happens when we believe in solid walls? Napoleon comes along and kicks our ass or Hitler blows through the Maginot line; life moves beyond our walls and eventually moves US beyond our walls. We end up investing increasing amounts of energy into maintaining certain forms and denying others, and since it is the nature of mind to move, any form that we want to maintain takes a great deal of effort. Like trying to fight the flow of a river. Only you are trying to fight the flow of your own mind, of your psychological universe. Then we look around and wonder why we feel tired, why we don't feel creative. It's mostly because we've decided to keep investing in stability when that is an interesting idea that has little bearing on the way minds actually work. Mind moves.
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