The Progression of Pondering #2

The rational and symbolic "third-eye" is not a mechanism through which we communicate with external realms but a mechanism through which we delve into the infinity of the internal. Consciousness, rather than a sensory sensation is the sensory sensation of sensory sensation; consciousness is not feeling happy but the feeling of feeling happy. It's the inexplicable and intangible phenomenon in which the subject is a subject of their own mind.

Controlling, and perhaps quelling impulse, is a component of cerebral-consciousness, it's the ability to detect impulses and then decide to enact that impulse or quell it. Gaining control over impulse is permitted through symbolic competency, for myself, that is actualized through linguistic symbols, but symbols have many forms. Additionally, some achieve cerebral-control through consistent meditative states or psychedelic experiences. I liken consciousness to observing the observer.

We, at least some of us, can observe the observer, but there's an intimate relationship between the two, they aren't mutually exclusive. They rely on one another to maintain optimal performance. I envision them as being connected by a hormonal and perceptual tether. The awareness of sadness doesn't reduce the sadness, it needs to be expressed. That's where the observer of the observer can contribute; the observer feels the sadness, the observers observer perceives and directs that sadness.

Compartmentalizing the mind is a tremendously empowering tool. Assigning impulses to their respective compartments is a way through which the rational "third-eye" can manage the impulses, choosing to enact some and dismiss others. There seems to exist three different yet universal compartments: mind, body, and spirit. Spirit merely serving as a linguistic symbol for that intangible essence; the observer of the observer. The mind is the compartment responsible for generating fear in response to danger. The body is responsible for our urge to copulate and exercise. The spirit has the objective seat of observation; the spirit operates in our best interest, although it can be suppressed by allowing the other two influences to gain dominion.

Fear isn't a necessary response to danger, so our spirit would tell us. Fear is a fabrication of the internal but danger is a very present puzzle of the external, that's undeniable. Danger doesn't demand fear but fear will certainly impel you to respond; fear will elevate your heart rate, release adrenaline and prepare all the mechanisms of the inner-animal to respond, but that isn't necessary in most circumstances. For example, fear of future events, fear that something may happen to you if you embark on a risky endeavour, fear that you might get rejected by the girl you want to talk to, whatever your fear may be. Fear is not a necessary response to many dangers, in fact, fear is a hindrance. Think of all the times you may have seen someone who you wished you had said hi to and now you'll likely never see them again.

Imagine danger as an obstacle with many routes, fear is our immediate-route because it can instantaneously impel a response; rumination is futile when you're immediately presented with a predatory threat. But, as I've said, it's not necessary. It's an animal-mechanism developed over billions of years; but our spirit knows better. The best cage-fighters aren't the ones fueled by fear or adrenaline, but the ones who maintain an inimitable composure, the ones who harness fear not become harnessed.

The material-pursuit, the pursuit of monetary success, is a mirage of the mind. The monetary pursuit certainly breeds or impels a certain form of excellence, but that excellence is often devious and conniving. Business, although it doesn’t necessarily need to be, is a realm of deception, where the cruel manipulation of a population’s ignorance is rewarded. This is particularly prevalent in the food industry. To become irreversibly infatuated with the monetary pursuit, when done unethically, is a behavioral symptom of little-spirit and large-mind, two of the three mutual qualities of a human. It’s an imbalance, an imbalance of character. The observing observer doesn’t care for profits or rewards; only insight, experience, ingenuity, kindness and sharing, because these traits propel a prosperous outcome for everybody.

Meditation is a harnessing of the spirit to conquer the mind-body impulses. Not so that you may become immune to their grasp or spell but so that you may harness it for growth and improvement, so that you may harness it to your benefit rather than allowing it to harness you for its benefit. Meditation comes in myriad forms, it’s not just silence and humming while sitting cross-legged; meditation can be achieved through any activity that requires the best of you. Endurance running has helped me achieve meditative states because your mind is unremittingly bombarding you with the urge to stop but your spirit denies the request. That, and writing, have been the most effective and enlightening forms of meditation for myself and many others.

The spirit is merely a linguistic symbol to depict the intangible essence that is capable of perception despite having no external sensory stimuli. The mind and body are capable of responding to external stimuli in the absence of cognizant consideration; like I said, when you’re faced with an immediate predatory threat rumination is futile. That particular stimuli relies on an immediate and instantaneous response, but the mechanism responsible for responding to that stimuli is inherent in all animals, including ourselves. That mechanism, even with the advent of modern-civilization rendering it nearly obsolete, is still present and still influences our behavior. Our linguistic symbols allow us to investigate our instinct and question it. Spirit is a symbol itself that encapsulates the notion that consciousness is not a product of stimuli-response but the response to stimuli-response.

Willful Ignorance - A (very) Short Story

In the stillness of the open meadow, all he could audibly register while he was intently gazing into the reaches of eternity were a few distant critters scurrying about. His backyard was an expansive field of grass in the distant country, very far from any light-distortion. As he lay with his hands resting on his chest, returning the gaze which was cast on all matter, he became acutely aware of his heart thumping in his chest. Each thump perpetuating his cognizant existence yet causing it to recede, the mortal paradox. As he was tuning into his internal chatter he felt his body dissolve and his spirit unshackle, he became a singular component of the cosmos, with everything else also becoming a singular component. Diminutive fragments of an unfathomably colossal cosmos. Everything, in this eternal moment of connection, radiated with elaborate harmony. The orbits of every star, the interactions of every molecule all amalgamated into a single symphony. It was as if he were partaking in the vastest symbiotic symphony conceivable; every decision spawning an infinity of possibility, contributing to the direction of the cosmos. In these moments he did not feel insignificant but inconceivably powerful, with the power to influence the course of eternity. He sat up, gasped, and walked inside.

Infinite Wisdom - A Short Story

Infinite Wisdom

Thump, thump, thump, the incessant chatter of his heart persistently reminded him of his mortality as he lay in bed. His thoughts constantly reminded him of the trauma, his heart constantly reminded him of his imprisonment. As he tossed and turned in his bed he concluded that sleep would remain elusive for tonight, so he sat up and reached for the light on his bedside table. Beside the light rested a bottle of Jack Daniels, the usual solace for a restless night. He grabbed the bottle and made his way to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Once in the kitchen he reached for the cupboard which stored his glasses for occasions such as these. He began to pour the alcohol, watching it pour like a waterfall; seeking escape yet finding imprisonment. 

He regularly sought alcohol when his problems became unbearable, when his heart wouldn’t stop beating and his head wouldn’t stop talking. Although, and he realized this every time yet never changed, solace in alcohol is akin to entering the boxing ring against Mike Tyson with your hands shackled behind you. It never solves the problems, only revitalizes them and disables you from properly solving them. In fact, it would seem, alcohol only exasperated his problems. But his culture hadn’t equipped him with any other tools; there weren’t any resources within his reach.  There was a liquor store in every city, though. 

As his glass reached its capacity he hastily moved it towards his mouth and poured the first burning sip down his esophagus. When it reached his stomach he felt his entire body revile at the foul liquid, but his mind forced him to continue pouring it down. Sip after sip he continued to pour it down until his glass was empty and once his glass was empty he would refill it. Once he was pleasingly intoxicated he stumbled to his front door, haphazardly threw on his shoes and opened the door. Into the night he went, a lonely and troubled man who would wander with his thoughts until he passed out. 

As soon as he started the walk the thoughts bombarded him. Everything that ever traumatized him seemed to strike him all at once in an overwhelming whirlwind of assault. As the thoughts began to bombard him he began to talk to himself, telling himself he was a failure and all he was good for was how much alcohol he could consume before becoming intoxicated. 

When he was young his mother had abandoned him, she was a young female, perhaps too young, and she became overwhelmed by the responsibility of a child. She had walked out one night and never returned. His father, shortly thereafter, became depressed, seeking solace in alcohol. All his parents had instilled in him was that you can run away from your problems, and if that doesn’t work, you can numb them until they shut up. So here he was, the lonely man who never had a loving parent, who stumbled through the streets at night crying and talking to himself.

Now, he was sitting outside a local gas station, his head spinning, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. In his head, an entire army of thought seeking to demolish him from the inside out, as he was staring down at the concrete with tears streaming down his face he overheard a person walking near-by, heard them drop something. He didn’t see the person because he had looked up too late but he saw what they had dropped: a journal. He stumbled towards it, tossing his cigarette mid-way, and picked it up. It was empty.

He began to stumble towards his house; it would seem sleep was now not so elusive because now all he wanted was to rest his head on his pillow. As he reached his front door, he sluggishly twisted the handle and opened it, stumbling into the entrance of his home and stripping his shoes off. Down the hall and through the door, now he was in his room. The world around him was spinning, as though he himself had a rotational axis and an orbit. He crashed down onto his bed, unable to even remove his clothing before he passed out.

He awoke dizzy and disoriented. He turned his head and saw a blue notebook lying on his bedside table where his alcohol usually rested. He must have put it there before he passed out. As well, he felt something in his pocket. He reached into his left jean pocket and extracted a blue ball-point pen. He couldn’t remember how it had found his pocket but it had. 

A year later our troubled protagonist was now fitter than he had ever been in his life and had a steady relationship with a woman who fulfilled every desire he had ever had, she comforted him and assisted him whenever he needed it and he would do the same for her. They became a symbiotic force of affection, the power of love had seized him and he willingly allowed it to. He had found a job working at the local newspaper, writing all sorts of articles but he particularly focused on self-help. 

That morning he had awoken dazed and disoriented he began a habit that eventually persisted through-out his life. When he extracted the pen from his pocket he began to journal. Initially, it was just a pass-time; but eventually it became such a fundamental habit that when he felt the urge to intoxicate himself, he would resort to the pen and paper. The pen was the tool of infinite wisdom, although it summoned all his demons it also equipped him with his suit of armor and sword. They do say the pen is mightier than the sword; perhaps it is also more powerful than any drug.

Contentment - A Short Story

Night had fallen and as per usual, he was outside, performing his self-assigned duty. He was a middle-aged homeless man, subsisting under the poverty line happily. Because, although he was poor by societal standards, he was rich by personal standards, he may have had no money at his disposal but he still took it upon himself to ensure his cities neighborhoods were kept tidy and that his message was spread. He was a selfless man, by day he would collect cans scattered on the road and sidewalks to recycle them and earn a modicum of change to feed himself and by night he would clean up the day’s accumulation of trash on the streets. For this man, this was not a problem but rather an occupation-opportunity. He sought solace in ensuring the neighborhoods were kept clean for all the children, parents and seniors that inhabited them and in spreading his message. He had no material possessions beyond his clothing, and in this, he was content.

He wasn’t always homeless, quite the opposite. Several years ago, he was living the “good-life.” He had an exorbitant home atop the hill with a view of the entire city, where the rich gaze upon the city-dwellers from their fortresses. He was an accountant for a large corporation, one which sold asbestos-ridden materials to developing countries, countries which had no other option and had no idea how insidious asbestos was. He was perpetuating the capitalism system, preying on the weak and profiting. By any regular means of measurement, he was a success, he made his mommy and daddy proud by suffering through math and accounting courses in university so that he could wear a nice business suit and pollute the world.

It would seem money can, in fact, buy happiness. Until you’ve bought all your happiness. He was very happy living a life fueled by money, in fact, he was relishing it. He had bought numerous cars, some he didn’t even drive, he had filled his home with antiques and lavish furniture, and he decorated his exterior, hiring landscaping companies to upkeep a garden that would even make the Garden of Eden appear inferior. He wasn’t committed to a single mate so he was a free bachelor with an enormous savings account, satisfying his urge to fornicate frequently. Plainly, he appeared to have everything a man could desire from the 21st century.
It all came crumbling down on him when he was diagnosed with lung-cancer, given only a fifty-percent chance of survival. Accordingly, he used his enormous savings account to pay for all the best treatment he could.

When in the hospital however, he witnessed people of all societal classes coping with the same affliction as he, he saw that any and every human is bound by mortality, regardless of wealth. He saw children with no hair and no muscle, skeletons with a layer of skin, he saw seniors who now spent their receding-days bound to a bed, and he saw seemingly healthy young folk confined to a bed, also only given a fifty-percent chance of conquering their ailment. Regardless of his enormous savings account, he now had to rely on his own body and his own instruments, surrounded by people suffering the same affliction and by people suffering even worse afflictions.

By some mystical, perhaps unexplainable stroke of luck, after being told his chances of survival had diminished below fifty-percent to a meager ten-percent, he survived. In the duration of his fight against cancer, however, he developed relationships with other patients who didn’t have the same luck. He talked to people of all ages, got to know them very intimately and even shared a cry with each.

After being omitted from the hospital he systematically relinquished all of his possessions, starting with the contents of his home. How he did it was quite remarkable, he would package things in a box, leaving the receiver unaware of what was contained inside. In the package he would leave a note with a succinct and simple message: “Pay it forward.” Once he had packaged everything he spent the following few weeks walking around aimlessly, knocking on doors and proffering his package to any home or person. He would visit homeless shelters and offer some of the food he had stored in his kitchen and would offer to take them out for lunch or dinner and allow them to order an unlimited amount of whatever they chose. He went to hospitals to encourage patients not to give up in the fight, that with the proper determination and belief they could conquer their ailments and that when they did, their lives would be enriched, not diminished, by the disease.

Presently, he was just beginning his routine nightly-cleanup of some neighborhoods. He would walk with a shopping cart covered by a few flattened plastic bags he had recovered so that small garbage would stay inside. Diligently and happily he was collecting garbage for the sake of everyone else, so that other people don’t have to suffer the inconvenience of garbage.

As he was finishing his last neighborhood around one in the morning, he heard a loud thumping, as though a powerful speaker system was nearby on full volume, playing a series of thoughtless thumps. The music of the youth, he thought to himself. As it grew nearer and nearer he also heard people, it sounded as though they were celebrating something, perhaps a birthday. A limousine, he confirmed when he saw it come into view. Atop the limousine, poking out of the sun-roof was a young man in a nice buttoned up t-shirt and slicked hair, his friends congratulating him, yelling “He’s graduated!” In his hand was a bottle of booze, he was chugging it down like life had no end and consequences were a fabrication. As he emptied the bottle he threw it to the ground just ten meters from the selfless garbage-man, shattering it into hundreds of fragments.

The message behind this story: Just like this, we can chug from the bottle of life with no restraint, as if we’re immortal and there are no consequences, but eventually, just as the bottle of booze becomes empty and shattered by its beholder once it has been saturated, you too will experience the inevitable shatter. When life becomes empty, once you’ve drank the drink and danced the dance of material-pursuit, you will shatter, and how you cope with that shatter is your burden.

The Progression of Pondering

The Progression of Pondering

I’d like to firstly present a potent quote that I recently read in the novel I’m currently engrossed in entitled Dune and it’s written by the brilliant Frank Herbert: 

“Many have marked the speed by which Muad’dib learned the necessities of Arrakis. The Bene Gesserit, of course, know the basis of this speed. For the other, we can say that Muad’dib learned rapidly because his first training was in how to learn. And the first lesson of all was the basic trust that he could learn. It is shocking to find how many people do not believe they can learn, and how many more believe learning to be difficult. Muad’dib knew that every experience carries its lesson.”

Envision society as a celestial ball, much like our Earth, with a labyrinth of layers with an elaborate interaction between each of these layers. Within each layer is an independent level of complexity, nonetheless, each layer is reliant on the other layers to maintain a sound structure. Human society has defective or perhaps corrupt layers, but in order to manufacture the solution you mustn’t dwell on the layer as the sole perpetrator or the sole culprit. Flaws in a particular system, be that biological or societal, must be dissected and evaluated as a puzzle with many pieces, some pieces need re invigoration or improvement, but some could remain. 

I enjoy many aspects of society, generally, I’m very satisfied that I live in a colony of humans. I relish in knowing that I will not be harmed when I leave my house so long as I myself restrain from dangerous activity and I relish in the guarantee that my next meal is immediately attainable and I relish in the ability to rest and relax in a secure abode. I’d like to think that we could all harmonize and dwell in our colonies safely, but this is often not the case. There exist other, antagonistic, colonies of humans who don’t share the same fundamental characteristics: their morals are different, they’re bred and raised differently and taught to believe in different things.

Gradually, through the inevitable process of accretion, we will surpass this, so long as we maintain a reflective and responsible populace and seek to bridge the gulf between cultures by unifying our people and ideas. Kind acts begin by first understanding thyself.  A reflective person, one who inwardly explores themselves intimately and frequently, is less likely to cause harm to another person. It’s difficult, for me at least, to wish harm or verbal-affliction on another person because I have spent much time alone with myself and my own thoughts.  

 I’ve cried completely by myself, I’ve deconstructed my ego and sobbed as if I were a child. Although that’s a very personal journey, it is universal in nature. We all experience sadness whether we enjoy sharing it or hiding it. The deconstruction itself, although very crucial, is not the focus. The deconstruction process is imperative for the re-construction, and that’s where you can instigate all the change you’ve been surreptitiously formulating in your mind or you can return to your normal routines, the same ones that led to your distention.

Our brains are intricate mechanisms; the soil for ideas is often cultivated beyond our cognizant recognition, the thoughts you are thinking today, given you’re thinking creatively, were probably being forged in the depths of your mind in the days past. I, just today, had a very intimate and personal experience where I had to be by myself in order to cry due to an experience I had yesterday coupled with numerous other influences in the past which only came to fruition today. After that lengthy deconstruction, where you’re absolutely stripped of your egotistic barriers which we all harbor, the man had to take the reins and recover from the collapse. The collapse was inevitable for the re-construction and I am now a decidedly stronger person with a stronger grasp on my intentions. 

Much as every human must experience the collapse of ego and then embark on the re-discovery or re-construction, so too does society. Much as when you collapse into the emotional whirlwind of sadness, you don’t emerge as an entirely new entity, you are that same entity with a stronger grasp on your intentions, on your proclivities, on your ambitions, on your influences, on everything that comprises you. The infrastructure remains:  you’re still a habitual, hormonal ape. How you proceed with that infrastructure has been drastically re-aligned though. The healthiest way to re-construct society is not by rioting and destroying everything, which has happened in the past and in extreme cases those belligerent apes have destroyed key-pieces of intellectual property that set humanity back, forcing us to re-discover old ideas. The healthiest way for society to evolve is through accretion because unlike the forces of natural processes, we can reflect. We have hindsight and we can correct mistakes, we’re quite omnipotent in that. We’re an organism, accreted through unreflective and random processes of biological interaction, which can reflect. An unreflective universe created a reflective organism.

 Through reflection we can seek to identify the defective traits of our society and seek the solution. The solution to problems is often multi-faceted and layered though. I’ll give a personal example to illustrate this. I initially wanted to write this blog because I thought the youth, on a general level, were not thoughtful enough and was not contemplating the future consequences of present actions. This stems from my fundamental belief that you cannot change the world but you can most certainly change the way you yourself live and influence others.

So, I wanted to share my ideas and offer some practical tools, well how do you that most effectively? On the surface it’s a simple sentiment but it harbors intricate implications. First, you have to write daily and you have to write for lengthy periods of time, so there I had to foster an entirely new habit, catering my supplementary tendencies to writing. What I do outside of writing must not detract from my ability to write. Writing is also far from facile too, writing requires tremendous ability: the ability to reflect, the ability to amalgamate copious influences into a single idea, the ability to convey your idea in your unique voice… Then, I had to start studying as well because you need the proper information in order to convey the sentiment you wish to convey. Then again, my life had to adapt to that activity so that when I choose to study I can do so with attentive thoughtfulness. As well, I needed a medium to present my expositions through; ideas deserve dissemination, so I had to create an entire blog around my ideas and advertise it and ensure it’s interesting enough to engross readers. You can imagine the implications of that, it becomes quite a job. Additional to all this, you can’t seclude yourself in your room and write until your fingers fall off, you need to then learn to convey your ideas vocally and concisely so that you can quickly transmit your idea. You don’t have the luxury of an empty word-document and unlimited time when you’re interacting with someone face-to-face. So, hopefully that illustrated the intricate nature of any undertaking, although it does go deeper, for the sake of brevity I’ll end it at that.

It’s brilliant that people are aware of how defective and faulty our system is, don’t misinterpret me, awareness is absolutely vital. Awareness is not the sole component of change though, how you utilize that awareness is also present in the equation of change. Let’s say you realize how defective our educational system is and then feel compelled to tell people: “School only manufactures cogs to feed the machine.” Well, that’s brilliant, yes, indeed, it does. But is it correctable? Do you understand how and why our system is defective? Where does it begin? Are we bred to mindlessly contribute to a system during infancy? If so, does that begin through the educational system or does that begin through inadequate parenting? Are we not allowing our youth to experience enough things that harbor lessons, when our children fall and scrape their knee do we pamper them too much? An injury must be tended, not complained about. So you can see how awareness is imperative but that awareness itself is inadequate. Whenever I recognize a defective trait in myself or in the “system,” I spend hours writing about it and systematically coming to a conclusion that suffices my mind.

 If the system is corrupt, but the system is fundamentally inter-connected to the youth, are we doing enough? Lessons are not instilled but rather garnered through personal means. Touch the stove top and then you’ll understand why to keep your hand away from it. Insult someone and handle the retaliation to understand why it’s beneficial to abstain from insults. Love someone and understand why it’s imperative to love every human – even if it’s not evidently expressed – the way you love your mate. The best way to teach a person to build a house is not by giving them a home but rather giving them the tools to make a home.

 So perhaps our educational system is not the folly, but rather our parenting methods are, perhaps we’re raising children incapable of extracting lessons from every minute influence. Personally, I grew up with little to no parental guidance, I wasn’t grounded for poor behavior or punished for the things I did. My dad, perhaps unintentionally, allowed me to suffer the consequences of my actions for myself. If I stayed up too late, the next day was mine and mine alone to suffer on an insufficient amount of sleep, so I learned the importance of sufficient sleep. If I feasted on sugar I suffered the crash. He allowed me to personally cope with the consequences of my actions, this method isn’t inscrutable or perfect by any means, and perhaps another kid would need more guidance to cultivate the ability to extract lessons; for me, it worked.