Walking the line

The theme at Poetry Corner this month is dreams and plans. This is a song I wrote eleven or twelve years ago; a time when I was reconciling the plans I'd been pursuing, and acknowledging my outer limitations, and wondering where I was going, inwardly, if anywhere. Today I still occasionally wonder.

I edited a new video for the song, and ditched the old version from youtube.

BIG mind, little mind

Something got me thinking about that old conundrum again; the annoying observation that the one thing the human mind can't bear to contemplate is the human mind.

But I recall trying to explain to Aqualad why it sparks small terrors when I catch glimpses of my inner mind; how it feels like a crack in sanity when in a fugue, for instance, I catch little dreams which one should not see when awake but only in sleep when dreams come conveniently packaged with eraser pills so that you forget.. Little waking dreams which reveal that my brain is still busy trying to solve yesterday's dilemmas but sampling the wrong realms. Like trying to find my lost bottle of pills but searching my minecraft world for them. Mixing real life with a video game. That "error" should not scare me. That should not smack of mental deficit or craziness. I understand why these things seem to happen; how a mind can work through metaphor, or how my interpretations are lost in translation.

But it does torment a little. Not playing too much Minecraft might have dismissed that particular issue and so might getting enough sleep but that doesn't answer the question. Why does it push my buttons?

Today I'm inclined to think that it's not the subject matter of inner mind that spooks but simply proximity. I spent earlier years swiftly collecting revelations and small enlightenments and assuming there might be much to come in that journey; that a unity of mind was possible. And that set me exploring many things, like poets who seemed to speak of such oneness; such evolution.

But now I feel that unity of mind is the very thing we fear most of all. It is clear the instinctive mind is vastly more powerful than consciousness. Today I surmise that that imbalance is so tremendous that our real mind must protect consciousness from itself. Because there is some independence of course. The inner mind cannot control this new thing called consciousness; only influence it by playing tricks on it. But wait. Haven't I come to these conclusions before? And to imagine that consciousness might control inner mind is even more far-fetched.  

Oh well. The point is: I don't feel today that it is evidence of an inner mind's flaws that is so scary but merely the presence of the inner mind itself; even just a glimpse of it. It is like coming face to face with God.

And suddenly seeming... utterly... powerless.

Today is quite possibly a landmark day in the final accounting of my life, for reasons having nothing to do with the above thoughts so far as I know. I hope to return tomorrow and tell you about it.

Neography

NEOGRAPHY: the new but familiar landscapes I inhabit, to varying degrees as I suffer my good and bad days. The world looks entirely different when you have unlearned in a wholesale way in a real courageous pursuit of truth and in the course, gained a ridiculously rare appreciation for causality, illusion and human duality which should be compulsory to the human experience, the absence of which being close to the root of near every problem imaginable, great or small, and the root of foolishness in all our great collections of naive solutions which distract and divide us and stroke our preposterous egos and will never work.

Question N: If you had to move to a different NATION, which would you choose?

India, Cambodia or Vietnam, all for one shared reason and each for a unique one. It is only love for friends and family that keeps me in this place where I basically approve of nothing that goes on here!

The Query and the Question

Happy Q Day everyone. Still hanging in there with your quarantine survival, and your A-to-Z quest? I think we’re over the hump on both counts. Let’s renew our commitment and tackle that home stretch, eh?

So today’s assignment hails from the quiet, inquisitive, quick-thinking, quotable, master program facilitator; a gentleman and musician of the highest order; Mister Quickfingers on the guitar; the Soul Man. And he offers this:

Questions  

Yesterday I asked a dangerous question.

As a creative person you come up with original ideas. We must remember that originality is the act of integral creation. It lies in the process, not in the arbitrary matter of uniqueness.

We are tempted to turn to that Great and Powerful Oracle known as Google to plug in our creation and see if anyone has done it before us. Not a great idea. With 7-billion-plus on the planet there is an awful good chance that someone has, and knowing so is such an irrelevant downer.

But yesterday I dared. It wasn’t a big deal after all; a shallow matter; just a silly word. I googled Pandamondayum…

… and got lucky! And now at the other end of the depth chart:

While writing had been a robust daily habit and one which had grown very deep in its ambition, as I stared at a blank page for long long periods searching for the most illusive beast of all; the beast called truth, I asked myself deeper and deeper questions and finally: Am I evil?

Of course there would never be a real yes or no answer to that. There are so many contexts and ways to define evil. And ultimately, evil is not a real thing in the universe. It is a human idea. But though there would never be a lasting meaningful yes or no answer, it was almost surely the most important question I ever asked in my life. It lead me into a new area of intense examination, one in which I found more courage than at any other time in my life, and one that set off a chain of effects that changed my life vastly and completely.

Asking Am I evil led me to deep understandings of how immensely terrible and how immensely special I was, and eventually the same such observations in people around me. And it was only then that I seemed to find myself. After I seemed to lose the world, and all my ambitions, and then got the world back again but looking completely different. Only then did I find my place in it. I’m pretty sure that’s what finding yourself means: finding your place. And though I may, in some ways, have lost it again; myself; my place, I know the experience was real because I still benefit from so much of that journey.

What Soul Man had replied to me, with regards to a Q assignment, was “Questions; not to feed our need for answers, but to feed our need for understanding." 

How doth the city sit solitary that was full of people--Lamentations 1:1

Life’s purpose

Well, here we go… falling behind again! It’s past midnight. In my defense I am a night-shifter who has not reigned in a proper sleep schedule of late. Every day is a new scheduling dilemma.

Our "L" Business is lent from the lovely, lippy, lyrical, literate and ever-so-lightly-lunistic… Doctor Lock! And he has provided the word along with some direction as to how I should feel about it. Let’s see what we can do:

Love (is inconvenient)

Having lost all interest in our typical societal model all-encompassing relationships (quite a while ago actually) and as well, due to age and/or poor health, pretty much lost my libido, leaves me in a pretty convenient state!

I waste no time or energy tinkering with dating web sites, chatting up someone I would otherwise have little interest in, fussing over my appearance, or standing around in dull, loud clubs looking for someone to engagingly scream at.

I waste no time or energy arguing with a life partner, negotiating household decisions, explaining my actions, or briefly considering murder strategies.

And I waste no time or energy surfing for porn.

This is a pretty good deal. With all the added spare time you’d think I’d be more productive.

For those who are still in the game - of directional love and/or of lust, love can certainly be inconvenient. Our attachments pop up where they will; not where we want them to, and in a society utterly entangled in superstitious rules and expectations, where the very same loving intentions can be seen as either exaltingly beautiful or abhorrently creepy depending on arbitrary bureaucracies of society and mind, such urges can be a terribly maddening distraction.

The classic broken heart for instance.

There is though, a very convenient form of non-directional love, which satisfies a deeply resonant core purpose of living, and avails the recognition of one’s own qualifications to design one’s own outer purpose, and the clarity which which to do it.

I once seemed to be in that very position, but I have no choice but to question that now, because though it has seemed for years now just an arm’s length away, it did not last.

Kindness

Okay, back to the A-to-Z where it’s K time, boys and girls. And the kind, knowledgeable, keen, kurious, kourageous, king of the kitchen; the kidneyless kid; the Earnest Chef has kicked in the following K word for our konsideration. Let’s do something with it:

Karma

I could write all day and night about this, which would not serve the A-Z enterprise well at all. Let me try to boil my thoughts down to their briefest essence.

When I have been most loving, not in specific moments but in periods of frequent moments, those are the same periods in which I needed little love in return. In fact when I have been most loving I have required NO love in return, yet in those same times I did receive the most love.

The give and take part sounds like Karma, eh?

But with the irony; that I received it when I did not need it, I can easily interpret the same causation which reveals that behavior and rewards can not be bought and sold. Religion seems to bribe you: Behave like an angel and you’ll be invited into paradise.

It doesn’t work. The universe can not be fooled. When illusions are defeated the freedom is real. ACTING nice can draw others into ACTING nice to you. This is lovely but it can be a counterfeit currency. Nothing compares to the reality.

Loving because your mind is so clear that there is no other option but to love, that is real. And in that state nothing fools you. There are literally no fears or problems of any consequence because they have no power of illusion over you.

There are so many religious, poetic, mystical ways of looking at this stuff but the scientific way is a valid, beautiful, comforting method which can encompass the other… umbrellas.

When we are pure - which can be done in moments! Do not despair that such an evolution is out of reach! - when we are pure, the integrity that is our natural process brings out harmony, kindness, selflessness and what we get in return - call it Karma if you want - is the other face of freedom. It’s the joy we get in the immense privilege to be human. The joyful reality of our circumstance is unveiled.

The flip side: When our clouded deluded ego-infested mind exudes the selfish lack of integrity and we put bad things into our community we pay the price - again, call it karma if you wish. We forbid ourselves from participating in real freedom and real joy.

Karma is not magic. It is ever so precisely a reality that is measurable in the scientific view. 

The Brain

Hey hey, I’m back! Today’s bit is brought to you by the bright, bold, brave, brash, boastful, benign, bighearted (and bipedal)… brother of mine. And he has assigned the topic…

Blindness

One of the most fascinating bits of science documentary I ever absorbed was an experiment with regards to total blindness in individuals who suffered a dysfunction of the eye but whose visual cortex (in the brain) was intact, meaning they were equipped to interpret sight but not to gather the light to start with.

They were equipped with headgear featuring a camera, headphones and some software which performed this little trick:

The incoming video was converted into sound as follows: An array of musical notes played simultaneously at constant repeating intervals. Each tone referenced a row running across the video frame; the highest tone representing the top row; the lowest at the bottom. Each wave of sound in terms of its duration measured the row running left to right for each tone. The tone for a given column sounded softer or louder as it panned, in accordance to dark or light. Thus each brief wave of sounds referenced every (albeit course) pixel In the moving image. The sounds were delivered to the subject’s ears through the headphones.

And that’s it. There was no key; no primer; nothing to inform the brain what was being attempted.

The subjects would train by holding an apple in hand for instance, feeling the apple while their headgear camera filmed it.

Magnificently… amazingly… the brains of many of the subjects caught on. Using these devices the subjects gained rudimentary sight. They saw shapes and shadows.

Their brains made observations, recognized patterns and spontaneously put their visual cortex back to work. The brain assumed there was a problem that needed to be solved and of its own accord, it adapted in order to solve it.

These days they are working with neural implants instead of soundtracks to relay visual information but the science still has a long way to go in terms providing any rich degree of visual detail.

The original experiment, though, provides vital evidence that humanity has the capacity to evolve quickly, given the opportunity.

False start: Day 1

Here’s a little suggestion for the few of you who still come peeking around here now and then: If you’re home from work now or otherwise diminished from the COVID19 business, keep a little isolation diary. It’s a healthy pursuit for different reasons, and a chance it will help you learn from the experience by facilitating reflection. Solitude is critical to real learning.

The virus has stormed into my life like Ganesh and bulldozed nearly everything in sight:

My security shifts
Circle meetings
Dismas gatherings
“Poetry Corner”
Write-Ins
Movie Club
Regular visits with Gramps and the Flaming Liberal
“Tigers” training camp
Scheduling and preparation of video shoots and Trivia Night fund-raisers
Sponsorship endeavors
Family gatherings
A paycheque...

Oddly my cell phone has been simultaneously knocked out of commission which prohibits still other activities!

It has not bulldozed:

Work on the kids easy-reader storybook.
Work on the Crazy Legs race horse novel
Blogs (I have another anonymous blog)
A ton of other writing and research projects
Work on Tigers web site, social media, articles, research etc.
Prep for April A-to-Z, Camp NaNo and Story-A-Day-In-May
Reading
A plethora of video pieces and board game projects
Bedroom restructuring
Sleep improvement project
Diet change
Exercise (no pools though)
Several other self-improvement endeavors…

Somehow it has forgotten to knock out Mindcrack and the youtubes. Day-one I did too much of these things. My only productivity was in correspondence and failed attempts to fix the cell-o-phone.

Perhaps it is up to me to manage the distractions and diversions and to make use of this golden opportunity to put some of my life back on the rails.

And I wonder… I dare to wonder… could solitary confinement be part of the answer that allows me to re-engage spiritually again; to value people again; to retreat from some of this contempt, back toward pity, back toward love. I know the wisdom of it. I have not forgotten.

Absence has made the heart grow fonder before.

Growing up

I am so old that my life can now be conveniently measured in centuries. This week I officially turned .5 centuries old. And I feel like it. Though I seem to remember youth as though it were very recent, I have felt old for years now. In physical terms this age brings growing hardship. In terms of emotional health it is a comfort.

My older friends are aghast when I report being old and they insist that no, I am young. But I cannot abide their optimistic view. They seem to imagine that they are still young and that all these physical ailments are some cruel offence against us. But of course we are old. These wonders of technology and medical wizardry are a perversion to natural life (for which I am grateful!) and so of course they come with costs. These tricks prolong life but not youth. We are a race of elderly. Of course we should expect to suffer. Unfortunately there is no fairness to it. I have suffered less than my share while others whom I love have suffered more. When my dues finally mature I only hope to make peace with my own ills.

Meanwhile this milestone comes at a convenient juncture. As the many symptoms of my own neglect ramp up and finally weigh so heavily that I am truly moved toward self-improvement, so does this 50-year marker remind me how little I have accomplished in terms of the outer purpose I so easily recognized for myself years ago. I seem to have taken the easiest, most optimistic approaches to this goal, expecting myself to have the ability to successfully communicate when the moment calls for it, and for others to easily catch on, and perhaps most significantly: for others to make the rare assumption that I actually possess (or may possess) the rare insights I hint at.

Well this all has to go.

I have toyed with many organizational structures for documenting my learning and many attempts at writing THE BOOK. I have tried it as biography and other forms of non-fiction and also as eclectic collections by different themes and structures. No attempt has lasted long.

Recently I believe I may have realized finally what angle I should approach it from, which I intend to explain later. 

Aqualad told me recently that teaching is a good way to learn, and I get that. I am thankful for that reminder and reinforcement. And this, after I confessed my own doubt in being a teacher to him, for the reason that it might - it might - be fair to say that the program I dared to teach is one that I have not truly graduated from myself.

The first step toward everything; a program for others, a one-off problem solving tool for others, a book that “the world” might need to hear, and perhaps most important of all: a written “proof” behind my condition; a consolidation for my own confidence, was completed - oh - more than a decade ago. And still I have not taken the obvious second step! Which is to flesh out the framework; the complex hierarchy, into a proper outline. To assemble all the math, in other words.

Why have I avoided this so long! Subconscious fear? Laziness?

I have to do this. And I realize that this is probably a test. If I do it - and I must - I will appreciate a result. Maybe I will be reinforced and emboldened. Or maybe I will fail and fall into doubt, and turn to some other outer purpose.

Together

I’m noticing, over the last few days, how increased mindfulness (or wakefulness etc.) doesn’t only avail wisdom but also the simplest intelligence. I have had many meetings and social engagements lately and have been a little more on the ball and have noticed how much clearer I see the relationship dynamics without the nigglings - the wisps - of pride and paranoia twisting my perception. All these relationships look so much more joyful, beautiful and worthwhile and full of possibility through detached observation.

The word detachment seems to scare people off though. I’m talking about perception that is without these false filters of need; dependency; expectation. I find this hard to describe. For me it comes through organic trust in the lessons I have learned, first-hand, about the illusions spun by instinctive mind. For me detachment has no negative connotations. It is not about lack of love, for instance. In fact it avails so much more love.

I’m sure that Tolle or Buddhist literature would describe a different path for finding this detachment; a path or paths which I seem to have forgotten precisely. I recall these readings too dimly at the moment. For me it came through the habit of creative solitude and a bottomless fascination for truth; or more accurately it turned out, the absence of truth and the forensic study of its displacement. It is why, in my more powerful state of former years, I was strong in leveraging influence; nudging people more toward creativity, before I began faltering and eventually withdrawing, more intentionally of late.

I am reminded the advantages of clarity when one is not so self-interested in the dynamics of relationships. It is enough that we are all alive, human and imperfect together, and taking on this great drama together, as witnesses to the universe, and to our own potential as a creature of harmony; both internal and collectively.

Friends and neighbours

I took Aqualad out for lunch at the Great Old German restaurant; his favourite Scooterville eatery where it is decidedly uncorporate. Large portions. Barely marked-up wine. We tackled the Plate for Two which I will describe only as a mound of exciting food over a thick giant schnitzel on a platter on a hot plate set between us. We are accomplished Pro Devourers though both on self-improvement courses and less indulgent than usual. I insisted he take the leftovers home.

It’s funny. The task of writing is much more than a report of what has been on your mind. The very act produces new thoughts. It is an invaluable act of reflection; of internal conversation. And here at this moment I am realizing that he reported (let it slip?) that he’d been present there two weeks ago. That makes sense as it was his birthday at the time. By coincidence that would have also fallen just after my first proposal that I take him there as a reward for surviving his dental surgery and flu combination. Which means that… not only was I not invited to his birthday dinner for the first time in years, but I was very deliberately not invited.

Strange perhaps that I don’t feel especially hurt. I am accustomed to thinking of them as my second family and that, clearly has become an indulgence worthy of embarrassment so I will stop.

I have seen Earth Writer and Dog Whisperer only twice in the last half year; Aqualad three times now, and his delightful girlfriend zero.

There were awkward moments at the cottage last summer and I’m confident that there were complete misunderstandings about matters of no real consequence to me. If their cooling stems from only that, then that is a tragic mistake. And if it stems from more than that, which I assume it must, then I am at a complete loss. I am blissfully unaware of whatever failings I have perpetrated, at least in terms of friendship. But failings have been a theme for me for some time now. No reason to assume they should all have fallen onto my own radar.

The greater tragedy is that Aqualad (if I understand correctly) is in essence turning down the greatest gift a human being could receive for reasons that do not sound sincere but might be. I think it more likely that he is humouring me; managing me; not wanting to say that he has no reason to believe in me.

And it’s true there is no reason to believe in me; no reason for anyone to. I look for opportunities to help those I love and those who demonstrate the rare mental fortitude in the rare and vital realms that I have advance experience in. But I did not graduate from that rare academy. I got close and then backed away. Or did I flunk out perhaps?

Aqualad cannot possibly have much understanding of what he is turning down. We’ve discussed it far too little. But a close bond remains between us it seems. And there is no deadline. Whatever I do manage to accomplish when I break out of this fucking cocoon, may change his regard for me, and in the mean time I will look for opportunities to nudge him in useful directions as opportunities arise.

Not that our dynamics are a motivator for me now. What motivates me is honestly just between the universe and I. And the universe, I must remember, is not ours to command. We can only offer our best advice and then let causality do what it must.

It really is surprising though, that I don’t feel especially hurt. I would have expected to be.

At the core of my “2019 resolution” whether it shows between the lines or not, is the intention to be mindful. Perhaps already I am.

I returned home from our German smorgasbord, parked afar, and walked; exercised. I heard my next-door neighbour’s door opening, a usual precursor to awkward endearments; a fantasy that this perversion called suburbia is some sort of community. But I found myself looking eagerly, and it was the man who emerged and he wore a great smile. My own was immediate. We traded happy comments on the lovely mild weather. Mine were sincere and I’ll assume his were too. Then as I turned up the drive way the lady appeared. “I can’t believe it’s 2019 already!” she said.

“I know,” I said, then sincerely: “Time is cruel.” She laughed. I smiled.

Maybe it is some sort of community.

 

Hi. How are you?

Hi. How are you?

This has long been a strange question to hear. Not that I criticize. I use it myself all the time.

But how to possibly generalize? At every moment there is always so much good and so much bad.

How are you, according to whatever peculiar perspective you are currently inclined toward? ...is perhaps the long form of this question.

Lately, as I frequently hear this question, I have often found myself responding with some loose variation of the following: Well I’m alive, I’m human and living on a paradise called Earth. I’ve won three of the best lotteries in the known universe. Other then that there’s a lot of room for improvement. I heard myself tell one dear associate recently: But I haven’t won the lottery where I remain permanently enlightened at every waking moment.

Dog Whisperer gently consoled me, indicating that perhaps no one is, or few at least. That is well said but of no comfort.

The knowledge that I am logistically at rock bottom in my life - or at least my post-twenties life - is surprisingly of no alarm to me. It remains a curiosity. And curious it is that this disinterest may be a good sign; a form of selective mindfulness, or that conversely it may be some symptom of disaster perhaps! A function akin to depression? I haven’t been feeling depressed. Do depressed people know that they are such? I would think I would know.

There are good signs of late, in the last week; chiefly small improvements in personal relationships which overall have declined in 2018.

One good yard stick as to the state of my mind is the reaction to selfish drivers on the road: to observe that I am disinterested, or that I feel pity for them; for the freedom they are forbidding themselves, or that I am annoyed, or downright yelling in their direction. The clues have not been promising.

In my memory it seems like it was not that difficult to get to that gateway where I lingered a long time. Looking in; looking back. In and back… and back I eventually went.

The path to return to that gateway does not present itself eagerly. Why?

I won’t find it out of desire. It would not be the right path.

And I won’t find it out of egoistic pursuit. Again it would not be the right path.

I found it before out of new curiosities. Because for a time I had literally lost all interest in anything at all except truth.

Perhaps some other way will emerge, or perhaps the right brand of curiosity will re-emerge.

Perhaps rock-bottom’s rebound will provide that curiosity. We’ll see. Something is going to change. That I feel sure of. Still though, I am not inclined toward the driver’s seat.

I am deeply intrigued

Ninety minutes ago I scanned the Netflix menu and chose the documentary AlphaGo; an odd choice, because it didn’t immediately smack of a useful educational opportunity nor a good inspirational one. I chose it short-sightedly because it had something to do with board gaming apparently, which might be quite pleasurable, and having been very sick lately and thus, per my usual M-O, self-entitled, I felt I deserved a cheap entertainment.

Well.

I was in for a surprise.

It was a simple documentary put forth by the programmers of AlphaGo, an AI computer system designed to play the game Go which is ancient; the oldest continually-played board game on the planet and probably the most profound given the incredible simplicity of the dynamics versus the near-endlessness of the actual possibilities. The game, essentially impossible to master, is huge (as chess is to Russia) in places like China and Korea.

The AI team put their creation up against a human opponent who would later go on to win the European Go championship, and to the human professional’s tremendous shock, it defeated him five games to zero.

The machine team then arranged a battle against the reigning champion of the world, Lee Sedol of Korea. The match was massively publicized and densely covered by the press. It was seen as the most important test to date for the human mind to prove itself against the spectre of artificial intelligence. It should be mentioned that the common theory had been that AI was still about ten years away from becoming worthy of the best human opponents.

Sedol stated that he had played many games for himself and many for his country and now he felt that he was playing on behalf of humanity.

The results were interesting to say the least.

Sedol who assured all from the outset he would win five-zero, was immediately surprised by many of the computer’s moves, and the programmers, who gathered in a separate space watching many of the background computer processes on a myriad of monitors, were also often surprised. The program, after all, had been continuing to study and improve, daily, since the previous tournament. It becomes a new beast every day.

The machine won the first two games; a painful shock to all but the programmers. Sedol it seems, never once got into the groove of playing “his own game” but seemed always to be trying to crack the code of his digital opponent; to discover it’s weakness, and couldn’t.

In the pivotal match three of the five-match series (over the course of a week I’m guessing) Sedol became desperate and aggressive and lost worse than ever. The programmers, with victory assured, were happy for themselves and for the achievement, but seemed very sad at the same time, empathizing with their human opponent and his society, and perhaps with all humanity.

Game four: Now here’s where things get… sort of epic.

Having tournament defeat assured, Sedol became more relaxed. There was now less on the line. Meanwhile the computer perceived no concept of a tournament. Each match carried the same imperative: to win; simply… to win. And the game slowly turned against Lee Sedol yet again.  

Then AlphaGo played a tremendously “slack” move; a move that would appear “lazy” had a human played it. The experts, the commentators, the programmers, no one could figure out how the move could possibly be useful. The broadcasters literally doubled over in laughter. There was either a downright computer glitch or something was happening beyond the comprehension of the most qualified human intelligence present.

The tables turned and Sedol gained momentum. AlphaGo seemed not to be paying quite enough attention, allowing it’s winning margin to steadily shrink.

Sedol managed to win the game and to a joyous fanfare at the venue and in the streets, but he went on to lose the tournament four games to one.

There had been other somewhat slack moves by the machine and in the end what the programmers came to realize, was that the AI had a much different approach to winning then humans do in almost any sport or point-scoring competition: The AI gained no comfort from running up the score. It only needed to win by one point or more. It did not gauge it’s grasp on victory by how far ahead it got, but only by how much it felt assured of getting that one extra point by the end..

This is a fundamentally different dynamic. This is why people continually found it so hard to relate to the computer’s moves.

Here is where I get very intrigued:

The computer’s objective was only to survive and not to dominate.

This is profound.

Because humans, by my accounting, can never seem to grasp the difference. Academically, sure, but it doesn’t filter into our behavior. People don’t want to know how much a slave we are to survival instinct. It is not pleasant to contemplate. If I wanted to, I could study any number of people anywhere and postulate how in each and every case, every thing everyone is saying and doing is mapped to simple survival instinct and how their impressions of conscious control are illusions.

(If you know me in real life you must understand: I do not ever do this with my friends. I have no need or desire whatsoever to turn my friends inside out. I cherish them and they are pure to me.)

This is of critical relevance because survival instinct is not well named. Functionally it is domination instinct more than survival instinct because we have evolved no thermostat in essence, and as such, in the hands of humans, survival instinct ultimately works against survival. This is at the core of human duplicity. The ramifications are too immense to treat in this space. Domination instinct makes an opponent of all other life. And when we succeed at dominating all other life; the biosphere in essence, then we simultaneously destroy ourselves.

This is not a simple climate change analogy by the way. The threads of this phenomenon run everywhere, through everything we do.

The fact that the artificial intelligence, in this case, naturally chooses survival and not domination, and without its programmers even catching on except in hindsight, arouses exciting thoughts. Is there a chance that AI, rather then evolving into the Terminator scenario, may become our savior instead, guiding us toward a gentler mandate in all things? One can imagine many reasons why we would resist. I need not go into them immediately.

Here’s what’s really interesting though:

Lee Sedol, following this experience, went on to go undefeated in every single human vs human match for months! Sedol, as did others, learned to think differently about the game of Go, widening his approach to strategy.

AlphaGo did not change the game. It changed how humans now think about the game.

Might that perhaps be the ultimate role of artificial intelligence? Not something to fear but something that will teach humans how, finally, to think?

Departing

Well, this piece got away from me… as some do. Oh well. I post it intact:

The Liaison’s funeral was not a big one. His influence manifested mostly through the wires to many locales beyond Scooterville. But I think that both his family and co-workers may have been surprised by the extent of outreach from the writing community. More than a hundred writers sent words of comfort or even flowers (and we accounted for a good third of the attendance). I was proud of sick boy’s moving speech at the event which helped to crystallize this for everyone.

His boss was a very sweet man who spoke very kindly of him. I was grateful for this brief insight into the other side of the Liaison’s life and said so later to the fellow, on the lawn, as we shook hands, both failing to hold back tears entirely. We’re likely to meet for a drink at some point.

The brother also spoke, of their childhood struggles for one thing, and it was very sincere and moving.

Then the final speaker was a soulless troglodyte named Pastor F.U. or thereabouts, who had never met the Liaison once in his life but who felt empowered to condescend to us with the usual outrageous doublethink concerning atheism versus faith and the inane ass-backwards idea that belief provides meaning in life.

I tried not to walk out. I reminded myself that I was here for the prime purpose of supporting the Liaison’s family. I thought carefully; realized I could not in any good conscience give permission to this hijacking, got up and walked out and waited in the parking lot to take my assigned passengers to the cemetery. I hoped very much that I had not caused a scene in any way; that I made no one other than the troglodyte uncomfortable. I did not want this event to be about me and my principles. Dog Whisperer, despite being an employee of a church, came to find me afterwards and issued firm support. She wanted to follow me out but her seating was trapped in essence. So that was a comfort to hear.

It can be immensely sad to reflect on the apparently-growing collective human insanity. It is not only the swiftly-deteriorating economic and environmental systems which point to impending disaster. It is the realization that almost nobody among the privileged societies which steer the world has any regard for truth, but only the addiction to the clinging to falsehoods derived from cherry-picked factoids, peddled by the world’s grotesquely-untrustworthy horde of priests, politicians and corporate-sponsored mouthpieces: whichever ones happen to peddle the particular bullshit which is most flattering, convenient or profitable to the ultimately self-serving and self-righteous listener.

We created a society wherein there is no requirement, regard or reward for truth (except in the field of science which cannot function without it - and look how the field of science is routinely maligned by the above perpetrators), a society riddled with problems which will not be solved because problems are not solved without truth.

But truth is so buried. The internet is surely 99% rubbish. And we’re so busy chasing our unfortunate addictions there is no time for the average person to unearth truth. We need specialists devoted to it. I am trying to do just that I suppose, but society does not include this in the ledger of currency nor afford a framework for accountability.

Where oh where are the people who can summon the courage to just want the truth no matter what it is? No matter how unflattering, how inconvenient, how unprofitable it might be? Are you out there? You’re certainly not in the youtube comment section; I know that.

And if you exist, where do you turn to for real news? for real authority? Where are the leaders or other powerful voices who only want to report truth without personal interest? Probably the Buddha, probably the real Jesus of Nazareth prior to being exploited and misquoted and misunderstood. Einstein of course. Likely Eckhart Tolle. Likely that dude who wrote the Four Hour Work Week! Read Tolle by the way, for goodness sake.

I’m not going to be falsely humble. I am a devoted adept of truth on my good days and frankly, even on my mediocre days. I was a self-identified Catholic who denied my tribe when I learned it untrue. I gave up my position as a climate-change denier when the truth became all-too apparent. I walked away from my sports tribes when I learned of their delusion. I have largely given up many instinctive tribal mind comforts having learned of their treachery. I even gave up my self-image as a good person, prepared to accept that I was an evil person if that was where the pursuit of truth led me - which it did - for a while. Somehow (through very fortunate circumstance) I was afforded a certain brand of courage that I can see almost nowhere else.

I wish I knew how to tell my story. I wish that people would know what I know: that the reward for this kind of courage is utterly freeing and joyful and transformative; transcending even, and that the fears which contain you will be revealed illusion! Where are the champions of truth to lead us? I appear not to have what it takes, nor where to find such a congregation.

Reflections: Fear

Roast beef with gravy AND horseradish! At the same time! Mashed potatoes, cooked corn and carrots, coffee and mint-chocolate chip ice cream!

Not bad for a free meal, eh? Well, I dropped a fiver in the collection box which I do most of the time. Otherwise, when times are tough, I wash a few giant pots and pans as a contribution.

The topic at this circles dinner celebration is fears, and how we have conquered them.

Some extolled the comforting virtues of their Saviour. Others had more earthly entities to praise. One excellent dad talked about the actual nightmares from the early days of parenting: in which terrible dangers loomed over his offspring who were always just out of his reach, and how he had to finally trust in the benevolence of higher powers, and relinquish absolute custody in his mind; something that bears relevance to my own mind and the troubles it so recently suffered, but which I truly seem to have finally found legitimate peace with.

I spoke of the fears which still haunted me at the age of thirty-one; fears so common they were not perceived as fears at the time, but which I suffered for nevertheless, unequipped to figure the accounting:

The fear of being poor; of being disrespected; of being unpopular; of being wrong; of getting caught in a lie; or losing my job; my car; my house; the love-relationship which seemed to garner popular admiration for its longevity, and for how darn cute we were in public.

While being monsters at home.

And I spoke of the unexpected solution: getting dumped from that relationship after twelve years-and-change, and then just days later, getting laid off from the occupation I had coveted for an equal duration: How I seemed to have lost everything, including the house.

But that I discovered how the groove I thought my life had been in, was really a rut.

How that blessed period of material freedom (via generous severance package and home equity) and this new freedom from societal investments in the mind of a person with mature perspectives on the world - compared to the usual free-minded of our society; the youths who conversely lack experience to draw upon, presented a very rare and golden opportunity, and a rare salvation.

The soul searching, the decision to write, the blank page, the questions and the search for truth. The courage and self-accusation, the discovery of illusion in the gap between consciousness and instinct, the immense ubiquity of it, but finally the mastery of context and the break-through to the wisest, universal perspectives… and the resulting freedom from the great majority of fears that nearly everyone inherits without knowing they have. Ninety-nine per cent of fears are the product of illusions, and simply evaporate once you see clearly.

Not everyone can have the privilege of losing everything around age thirty. That is a shame.

But most can find more time for solitude and creativity, which is where the process starts. It doesn’t require talent to win the best prizes that art offers. It’s all in the experience; not the product.  

“You haven’t changed at all”

I don’t know if it was an accusation; a complaint; a criticism… or just an observation. I know it was some part of an explanation as to why Neo, who feels that our relationship is stuck in the past, is not currently entirely comfortable with the current dynamics of our relationship. Or rather, his perception of our relationship. He uses the word relationship more often than friendship. This in no way implies intimacy. One might wonder if it is a way of questioning whether we truly are friends.

I wonder what his idea of friendship is; what that word means to him. I have long felt that it might not mean much to him. He seems most of the time not to feel much sense of a bond; of a duty or responsibility to be a friend; to cherish the privilege; to honour that bond as a habit and not just when it suits him, or when he feels bad and needs someone to talk to who might possibly have a solution to his quandary.

But I also know that these impressions can not be solidly assumed. There is also the perception that he may at times be paralyzed from communicating at the times when any good friend normally would, because of rare mental pressures which he may be prey to.

I am not shocked to hear the accusation above. He has aged from 12 to 20; myself from 41 to 49. The adolescent period is naturally rampant with change. He has grown more clever and talented and exposed himself to many new experiences and grown from them. He has changed ever so much but not in many of the healthy ways I have always much wanted for him, and vainly assumed he would learn from me despite how little effort I actually put in to demonstrating.

Meanwhile, what have I done in terms of change? I met him right at the climax of my own period of rapid change. My thirties were a decade of extremely profound change in terms of mental evolution; spiritual perhaps, though that invites a very challenging question:

Was my evolution solid in terms of re-educating my instincts? In terms of uniting the mind to some large degree? Or was it all strictly an academic process which excited me so much upon my release from the darkness of it, that I coasted on some euphoria which was bound not to last?

Whatever it is, in some ways it has lasted but in other ways it has slipped backwards.

When I met Neo I felt almost at once he had the makings of a tremendous apprentice, not that I made any plans around that; not that I dreamed it possible at that time. I only planned to be available should he turn up again in adulthood. What a surprise when he arranged it himself so promptly.

But I ignored warning signs I suppose. His secrecy about us. The eventual pattern he insisted upon where our meetings became infrequent and intervening communication almost impossible. He embarked on life-changing experiments without my advice (as youth, biologically, must do). All while I went into a holding pattern; thinking everything would change when he became an adult and there was thus no potential interference with his choice of friends; and when he finally finished his schooling and could then embark on a freer system of learning and exploring; with the benefit of my input. I expected this to be the time of our teaming up as equals, both with privileged perspectives on the defeat of ego but from different schools of experience.

I wonder now if he was ever open to any of that.

I know what I did. Perhaps it was utterly foolish. I don’t know how conscious I was of it at the time. I released myself from the task of evolving. I saw a youth of extraordinary potential; in a mental state far superior than my own had been at that same age; a pre-internet age; a pre-information age. I knew at once I wanted to teach him what I knew and let him run with it; let him achieve what I had yet to, either ahead of me or with me. And let him be the one to become a teacher of many.

I’ve always been aware of these dynamics; always aware at some level or other that this is what I was doing; just not sure how conscious a choice it was. And what does it amount to? A cop-out? An excuse to be lazy? An excuse to avoid my own trials? My own test? My own risk?   

What I accomplished by 40 was not genius, was not even terribly difficult given the great luck which surrounded me; which cleared paths for me, making insights so available. But it was very very rare I know. And it was courageous. It terrified me to confront the illusions within myself and see the devil in myself and humanity and the tremendous ubiquity of illusion in our society. It was the only truly courageous thing I’ve ever done in my life.

But what since then? Neo is correct in this context. I’ve done sweet bugger all to improve myself since then. And at some point it had to do with love. I did not want to proceed ahead of him. More rewarding to witness him do it than I.

Foolish. Very foolish I now think.

I feel now that I need to let go. I need to follow my own advice. I always tell people: “The only thing you can do is give your best advice! You cannot save this loved one! You must share this good advice and then let it be! The loved one will accept it or will not! He will save himself or not! You have no say in that! The universe is not yours to command!”

How many people have I said this to? And yet do I live by this? I think I have not. I have worried about Neo as I’ve watched his behaviour become troublesome by my view. I have worried about his suffering and held myself responsible for keeping him from suffering. God, but this is foolish, isn’t it?

Have I held on too tight? Must I let go… and just let him know that I am here… let him (the universe) decide for himself how much use to make of me, if any? Must I not offer my advice and then recede? Let him do what he will without a sense of jeopardy in my mind?

Must I not be more concerned with my own evolution? My parental instincts are such a huge part of my own internal mind and my own identity. I know that very clearly now. But I also know that instincts and identity are the constructor and the construct of illusions. I have seen straight through them though perhaps not quite so clearly as I once did.

I feel today that I will always be available to him at the times he wants or needs me. But that I must proceed with my own path and let him go; whether to follow my path or some other, nearby or far, but with the chance that they will cross; perhaps often or perhaps not. I feel today that I am capable of letting it be.

The struggle is my own damned ego. I have felt at times that we are best friends; and that he saw me as similarly as I see him: someone I can trust entirely and be fully myself in his presence. The value in that runs deeper than just ego. Though I toy with ideas of being fully myself in other special friends’ presence I must confess: I don’t see that happening very comfortably without first becoming less sensitive to others’ comfort. To be entirely myself I must allude to realities which many people are not wanting to see. I may have to reveal myself a misfit in their view. Well... maybe that is my most useful role and should be embraced? Haven't successful leaders of change all weirded people out initially! 

When I became a wiser man and largely ceased caring what people thought of me, I found myself thought much more highly of! Who knows: if I stop worrying about the health of my friendship with Neo, maybe the friendship will become healthier. And that’s just a thought by the way; not a scheme.

Peace.