Friday, November 20, 2009

Brian Eno, "How Many Worlds"



Thinking of a world and the light of the sun
And all the many lives that were ever begun,
Ever begun.

Our little world turning in the blue
As each day goes there's another one new,
Another one new.

How many people will we feed today,
How many lips will we kiss today,
If we wake up?

How many worlds will we ever see,
And how many people can we ever be,
If we wake up?

Thinking of a world in the light of the sun
And all the many lives that were ever begun,
Ever begun.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Neruda's mysticism

The perception of the world as a mystery is that which some poets intuit and cultivate in their writing. I stumbled upon a very beautiful poem by Pablo Neruda yesterday.
Poetry

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.
On December 13, 1971, Pablo Neruda gave the Noble lecture. In it there are these especially remarkable lines:
There is no insurmountable solitude. All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song—but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny.
Such is Neruda's gentle mysticism.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Dialectics of sawubona

In the previous blog I occasionally mentioned a reference to the word sawubona and its meaning. Here is the video I linked to.



Sawubona, a Zulu greeting that means "we see you," is the essence of mutual resonance in the intersubjective domain of being-in-the-world. And while Orland Bishop in this video (somewhat romantically) explains sawubona as something that we had lost at some point in the history, I believe the imagination and visionary capacities he describes are potentials of our future unfolding which are yet to be established.  Established through a collectively interlocked network of individual practices.

The nature of mutual seeing and recognizing each other in the gesture of sawubona is dialectical. I recognize you as the embodied, impersonated, incarnated soulful Spirit manifested in this very occasion of the recognition, with all its multiple dimensions of intersubjective communion, which brings my own self into resonating with yours… and into the glory shared.

We grok each other in a multilevel occasion, and for this grokking to happen in a complete way (according to tomorrow's standards) my self and your self have to be transcendental; they really ought to unfold dialectical reason—and then further modes of consciousness—with a mature ego being a catalyzing structure for the union of mutuality.

In order for this mutuality to emerge we indeed have got to ask ourselves the question: "How do I have to be, as a human being, for you to be free?" If I attempt to restrict you, in this restriction I am limiting my own self because I focus my intentionality and will at narrowing the opening of the miracle called We—the opening that is inherent to our being and to emergence and deepening of our self-awareness.

And now, when I ask myself this question, I ought to find out what your structure of consciousness is like. You are a sentient being who inherited free will; you can be free, however, only within the limits of your mind. When you are not free, when I breach the boundaries which are not yet to be breached, it is simply not fun anymore. Now, of course, it goes both ways. Think about me being a partner in dialogue, too: what do my wave-like patterns of consciousness behave like? And what are some of the corpuscular freeze frames of my mind? How can you help me help you help us?

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Interiors of consciousness are engaging exteriors

Even though this blog is presumably devoted to explorations of interiors of consciousness, at some point the so-called "interiors" start to include pretty much everything, for the phenomena in the exterior world start to touch something deep inside you. It happens when your self-identity transcends an exclusionary identification with a more limited perspective on yourself and the world and goes beyond into the worldcentric and even Kosmocentric kingdom of perspectives.

You spontaneously begin to discover universals that are shared among all human beings of any race, ethnicity, creed, sex, faith, and so on. You begin to realize that all sentient beings share the same basic taste of duḥkha—or uneasiness, disquietness, anxiety, soreness—which is the Buddhist term for the basic sliding condition of one's unknowingness about one's own exclusive preconscious attachments to certain subjects-and-objects interrelations in the overall stream of phenomena that flows through all domains of the experiential matrix. All experiences and all perspectives are impermanent in that they actually seem to be vibrating and dynamically changing currents of dialoging aspects of the Kosmos. And even the most stable ones, such as certain physical laws of the universe, are considered by such brilliant folks as Charles Peirce to be more or less stabilized habits evolved through aeons of cosmic evolution:
For Peirce, the entire universe and everything in it is an evolutionary product. Indeed, he conceived that even the most firmly entrenched of nature's habits (for example, even those habits typically called “natural laws”) have themselves evolved, and accordingly can and should be subjects of philosophical an scientific inquiry. One can sensibly seek, in Peirce's view, evolutionary explanations of the existence of particular natural laws. For Peirce, then, the entire phaneron (the world of appearances), as well as all the ongoing processes of its interpretation through mental significations, has evolved and is evolving. ("Charles Sanders Pierce" in Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy)
If you are unaware of the sliding nature of the phaneron (as we naturally are more or less most of the time), then you tend to attach yourself to this or that experiential leaf that is being carried by the seemingly chaotic current in the ever-pervading ocean of global awareness. You are preconsciously attaching yourself to the plenitude of your adaptive personae, to your constructions about your own identity, to your intuitions about what it is like to be your own self, to your current state (or dynamic systems of states) of embeddedness with this or that whirlpool in the great matrix (mātṝkās); and when this or that aspect, or perspective, on reality transmutates, with you being unable to consciously follow its transformation by transforming yourself, you experience dying and suffering and soreness and pain and grievance—and you might even become attached to this newly-formed state of condition once again, indefinitely.

But when you become increasingly aware of the sliding nature of the world of appearances, you cannot help but start experiencing profound compassion and care for each and every aspect of it, for each one of them is so aesthetically perfect, so ethically tender (cf. the meaning of sawubona), so structurally unstable that even a slightest glance at a phenomenon makes it move beyond itself into the next stage of transformation. Compassion is the foundational artistic tool with which the superconscious artist constantly paints new panoramic snapshots of being. It helps to preserve, to cherish, to nourish, and to prepare for further stages of transformation.

That's the thoughts that emerged during my acquaintance with the recent story of Aleksey Dymovskiy, a detective officer of Russian militia, who has single-handedly attempted to voice (to cry out loud, actually) his concern regarding corruption and catastrophic condition in one of the local law enforcement units of the Department of Internal Affairs by courageously posting two videos on YouTube in which he stated that he just "had enough" of local corruption, fabricated cases, and working in an extremely stressful environment without holidays, without being paid, and without any health care. (See also a Times Online article.)


Even though Dymovskiy spoke about the state of art in the local unit, it is no secret to anyone who lives in Russia that precisely the same points apply to virtually all the departments of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and militia (militsiya) in general. In St. Petersburg alone there has recently been numerous cases when militsiya members (of very high ranks) were caught at doing serious crimes (involved robbery and serial murders, not to mention the common practice of bribery that is widespread everywhere and became a cultural norm long ago). For instance, last year there was the notorious case of "black realtors" when some high-rank members of local militsiya were involved in murdering dozens of lonely people so as to sell their apartments (real estate prices in the major Russian cities such as St. Petersburg and Moscow are extremely high—dozens and in many cases even hundreds times higher than the average income of an average Russian). In another case a criminal investigation department was found guilty of creating a widespread system of drug trafficking and distribution (which seems to be a common practice in Russia; the pandemic is systemic). Their name is Legion, for they are many.

Sadly enough, long time ago law enforcement system became the most feared seat of uncontrolled criminal pathology in the post-Soviet societies. Every day thousands of people all over Russia get abused, beaten, and killed in the streets by local patrolling militsiya whose vertical center of gravity seems to generally revolve around the opportunistic stage in ego development theory; red (power-driven) stage in Spiral Dynamics/Clare Graves's theory of values development; and preconventional stage of Kohlberg's moral development. In the psyche of a common Russian, any communication with militsiya is fulfilled with the fear for potential massive abuse. And all of it is just one, if all-pervasive, aspect of the ongoing sociocultural catastrophe in the Russian Federation and some other post-Soviet states.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Academic relief

Sweet. It seems my endless quest for a field in academia to fit myself into finally brings forth results. Today, I had a meeting with my professor; and we almost spontaneously (well, it takes long practice to be spontaneous) came up with a topic for my graduation work in clinical psychology. Ironically, the topic ended up being the one I have pursued for all the time: altered states of consciousness (ASC)—and, therefore, basically everything related to dynamic patterns of consciousness; psychology, neuropsychology, neurophysiology, and sociology of whatever it is that is included into the domain of the consciousness studies. The difference was that this time the professor really got inspired, and the ASC theme emerged dialogically (instead of my trying to covertly sneak this or that topic of interest into my study). I had been worrying about my graduation work for a long time, because I spent a lot of time waiting for any insight to emerge about what could possibly be done for my final research. I've looked for something meaningful and resonating with my strive for complexities; and what can be more complex and immediate than consciousness?

Now, when this area of life is clear and I hopefully know what to do, the next important challenge is about inviting more financial abundance and sustainability into my life. Apparently, research will take most of my time this year, but I still ought to occasionally eat something, drink something, even go out for a date once in a while, and of course I like to travel a lot and attend various seminars, not to mention buying expensive books. Guess what, it might come as a shock to you, but it really takes money to live. There are a few projects going on, some minor results, but still much work to do in this area.

Incidentally, it looks like in this country good money comes primarily to psychopaths and sociopaths of various sort, to those who are able to survive in an extremely hostile (psychologically and even physically) business environment, constant governmental and administrative pressure, needs for extensive bribing, lie, manipulation, and so on. I already had quite a broad experience of tasting the psychology of Russian business from the inside and looking closer at some of the exemplars of it… and, oh boy, it is so scary—even when you speak of an enterprise that seems innocent (and even "spiritual" or "selfless") to an outsider. No business, if it is successful, is "innocent" in Russia; and it is hard to meet a businessperson who wouldn't present some considerable pathological condition (exceptions, as it seems, are extremely rare). The disturbing list of clinical psychology of Russian business includes serious cases of dissociative identity, narcissistic personality, psychological abuse, borderline states, and existential emptiness (not to mention common neuroses). Psychology of Russia is destined to become one of the recurrent themes in this blog, so you'd better buckle up for this refreshing crosscultural perspective.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Inland Empire

David Lynch is my favorite movie director; and INLAND EMPIRE is the only movie I've watched for a good dozen of times, always finding something that my consciousness had previously missed, always constructing new meanings, always challenging my own mind to attend to perfection of this and every moment.

This is the rare masterpiece that engages you as a spectator in the process of intersubjective co-creation of meaning and meaningfullness with a Rorschach blot test of seemingly chaotic kaleidoscope of primordial consciousness in background. It is an art of finding the ever-present Witness in the labyrinths of the individual soul, a kind of dialectical art that is worth silencing your ego for three hours. This movie dialogues with you; and you had better be its equal in the dialogue.

If you consider yourself aesthetically gifted, use this movie as a test; and the result of it will tell what's the actual worth of your aesthetics. Out of the dozen times of watching INLAND EMPIRE, I have watched it in a cinema for 4 times. Every time a half of the audience left the cinema after the first hour; and the other half stayed till the end, enthralled by irrational visions and joyfully crying because of the genuine hope and liberation the story unfolds.

I dare you to watch INLAND EMPIRE. If you're among those who prefer to keep boundaries between your ego and the art you observe, you will probably not make it to the end of the movie. You won't have an intimate encounter with the beauty, and you will miss one of the profoundest experiences you can ever enjoy in life. It is not a simple walk, it is a challenge (just as life is not all joy and pleasure), but successfully confronting this challenge bears fruits of self-liberation.

Chrysta Bell – Polish Poem
from the INLAND EMPIRE Original Soundtrack

I sing this poem to you...
On the other side, I see…
Shall you wait, glowing?
It’s far away, far away from me,
I can see that —
I can see that —
the wind blows outside and I have no breath,
I breathe again and know I’ll have to live
To forget my world is ending.
I have to live…
I hear my heart beat,
Fluttering in pain, saying something,
Tears are coming to my eyes —
I cry… I cry…
I cannot feel the warmth of the sun
I cannot hear the laughter
Choking with every thought,
I see the faces,
My hands are tied as I wish —
But no one comes,
No one comes,
Where are you?
Where are you?
What will make me want to live?
What will make me want to love?
Tell me… tell me…

I sing this poem to you… to you…
Is this mystery unfolding
As a wind floating?
Something is coming true —
The dream of an innocent child…

Something is happening —
Something is happening…

The wind is blowing

When I look at you, multiple perspectives converge in the same moment. All these perspectives point to different planes of being; and the same action is reflected in all the dimensions simultaneously.

On the level of the bodily self, when I look at you, I feel my heart is pumping; and—say, you're a beautiful girl—I feel warmth all over my body and an unbearable attraction towards yours, the unmistakable desire to touch your skin and smell your hair and give you a hug and cuddle with you right now. On the level of the emotional self, I'm overwhelmed with experiences of joys and sorrows and fears and amusements and (dis)satisfactions and pleasures; and if you reciprocally express some emotions to me, I feel emotionally connected to you: I smile. On the mental level, I want to communicate and compare my concepts and networks of ideas about the world against yours, so that the opposites meet and syntheses emerge; I want to verbalize my worldview, resonate with yours, dive into your conceptual systems and understand them both from within and without; and on that level there's nothing sexier than if you do the same for me. On the level of the soul, it's the light that I feel inside myself and yourself; it's the ever-changing dance we are both enjoying in the reflection of each other... and yet at the same time it is the ultimate supraprofessional poker tournament, when we sit at the poker table in front of each other, looking eternally after each other, smoking cigars and impartially bluffing while playing our card and staking multiple universes of experience and individual lives against each other. And when you playfully bluff, I look into your eyes, and the keyless gate opens, letting in the space that flows through me as I disappear into the spectrum of infinite humming Light pulsating in the void of cessation. The ever-present Silence knocks me out. And then, during the infinity of non-being, I playfully re-emerge as the eternal recurrence into multitudes of selves here and there. And still there's no wind, there's only the blowing.