Friday, June 15, 2018

FRAGMENTS IN A FIELD AFAR

                                          THIS MUCH IS "TRUE"
In my dream (of two nights ago) I ask Amy (my wife) a question requiring a “yes” or “no” answer. At that very moment, I am literally awakened by her saying “Yes” loudly as she lay sleeping right beside me. Amazed at what just happened, I check the time (7AM), get up, relieve myself (as it were), and go back to bed and back to sleep. In the dream that follows, again with her in it, she looks at me intently and says, “I am the Queen. You think my thoughts.”  
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As time progresses, or perhaps from the beginning, life becomes a bad habit.
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The “second wind” may come at great cost; the cure may in fact be worse than the disease. But nevertheless one undertakes to breathe as best one can in the circumstances. One hopes the blindness will pass, that they eyeballs will no longer stick to the eyelids. One finds oneself praying for deliverance from the bottom of the abyss which, by its nature, offers no way out, no escape, though one can be rescued by God alone, but one must be able to find such a God, the reality and presence of such a God. Otherwise one is held down by one’s own weight, one’s own history, even simply gravity itself. Falling to the bottom “knocks the wind out” of one. As one lies there unable to breathe, in that interlude in which one sees oneself, a reckoning may be made. The next breath comes, and then the next, and the next. But one must deliver oneself from such darkness in which one finds oneself. And this is possibly but most difficult because one purposely forgets and any “second winds” become fewer and much less likely. I don’t know if one “climbs out of darkness” or some miraculous light of power and agency intrudes into the prevalence and perhaps even preference of darkness. No, I do know; one must climb out, holding oneself above oneself as each rung is wrung from oneself. It is no different than this. There is no “easy way out”; it happens in the smallest of increments. It is a discipline requiring clear sight. And though very specific, it remains very enigmatic, for we are shadows unto ourselves, opaque at best, and “through the glass, darkly.” Innuendo and out the door.
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                                      The Curse of Technology

Technology moves us ever closer to the machine of ourselves, that is, to ourselves as machines, albeit fleshy and organic ones, as beings to be fixed and repaired, as cogs in a still greater technological framework. Technology moves us ever further from the soul and the spirit of ourselves as human beings. In its movement for control, which may be seen as improved and better physical and perhaps mental function, technology leads away from the heart of ourselves. Many might say that technology, like guns, is used as the possessor sees fit, for better or for worse social function; that technology is innocent of any blame by those Luddites who cannot fathom it. But this is not so true at all, for loaded guns are not to be put in the hands of infants; not that they will do evil with them, but that they might inadvertently pull the trigger and hurt themselves or others. “Forgive them Father, for they know now what they do.”
        But that is not the essence of this conversation. Humans now have technology as a great convenience and as an improvement in many fields, such a medicine and statistics of all kinds. Technology “crunches numbers” far faster than any human mind could do so in lifetimes. And it promotes both the notion while creating the reality that we are human machines. But technology aims outward and expands; it does not lead us inward in order to discover just who and what we are in this order of human being. Worse than being loaded guns in the hands of infants, it is a distraction from our discovery of ourselves, of ourselves as far more inner (or greater) beings which we must find if we are ever to be truly human and be able to live accordingly. Our inability to live accordingly makes us as infants—with no understanding of our world or mastery or control of ourselves. Humanity still lives in utter ignorance of itself, though now possess the technological means to destroy itself.  Technology wonderfully leads us away from ourselves as human beings into a cyborg reality in which we are as machines.
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That which has been most important to me in the living of my life is that I am “focused upon and engaged in that which is true, that which is real.” In so many words, that I do not waste my life. How does one measure the “value” of one’s self? I seem to think that a life spent in seclusion, “without distraction,” as a focused spiritual being, is best. I did spend some time in a Buddhist monastery as a Zen Buddhist monk and also spent much time at a Benedictine hermitage in Big Sur once upon a time. I was not so impressed with either. And I was especially not impressed with myself, for after a few days, I was not “peaceful and focused” at all but absolutely distracted. I had to face the fact that life itself, that living in itself, is distraction; that being in a physical body that is meant to survive and having to survive in it is a distraction; that thinking and thoughts and emotions are a distraction: a distraction from the “higher being,” the “spiritual being” which is the essence of life. I have often questioned my attitude towards existence in this body here and now; it would seem that I think I’m “above it all” in some way. I do somehow think this, however, I have also “made it in the world” by being successful in business once and making enough money, taking care of my familial and social responsibilities, and so on. While it may be true that I was a bit of a sanyassin in my 20s, I did find success by my 30’s and retired by 40 to take care of my children, one who was disabled and required active caregiving. Now, in my 70s, I am again an active caregiver (to my wife) but also see myself, appropriately, as a sanyassin, more or less, though I have to wonder rather than wander. I am glad I have responsibilities that are other than myself, for, to be honest, I am utterly boring and just about that bored with myself.
          I see my role as one of not only “finding context” for myself, but also being able to convey such context to those in need of it. “Knowing oneself” consists in knowing who you are, what you are, where you are, and perhaps even why you are. Of course, such knowing is probably impossible; we are as moving targets even as we ourselves move—there is no nailing anything down at all. I think the most we can do is take all these fragments and make some kind of interesting mosaic with them. We are an undulating jigsaw puzzle with unlimited pieces of no particular shapes that do not fit into each other. So we make these fragments into a fragmentary story of ourselves as best we can—which seems fine and good in itself but is actually detrimental to us because “our story” really isn’t like how we have put it together. We have created something that has taken on its own life and is now “me” as I see myself and believe myself to be. Upon death, all the pixels of seeming solidity and reality, dissolve into something else. But, even while alive, we do not quite live because we are only our (and our culture’s and our society’s) version of ourselves and not really who we are. We just don’t know who we are and, for the most part, would rather not know, instead using our opposable thumbs to send tweets about what we had for lunch, and taking selfies to prove to ourselves and others that we actually do exist and are not just figments of our own imaginations (which are actually no longer our own since we see only what we want to see and what is trending in the moment). Descartes proclaimed, “I think, therefore I am.” But once we are no longer able to think as ourselves, we no longer exist as ourselves but as units in the matrix, as it were. People now prefer to be cyborgs. Living is much more convenient and without real choices, much less consciousness.
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Fragments, by their very nature, are problematic, for they do not "fit in" anywhere and are thus never "convenient" or able to be "pigeon-holed". Normally, it would seem that framents necessarily "fly by" without being noticed. But I notice them. Trying to "make sense of oneself" with them is rather impossible besides being absurd, but this is what we humans do. 
                                                           

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