Samadhi

After moving this conversation to my blog, I feel the need to recap the past couple years since my last post here. At this time, I have too much to say about other topics that I feel more necessarily require addressing at this point, so I'll probably recap the past at a future date.

However, until then, here's a brief recap: so much weed, prozac sucks, wellbutrin's a life saver (literally), narcolepsy, two years at Big Boy, three years at LCC, racism, sex, magic mushrooms, meditation, mediation, remediation, rehabilitation, so much love, so much loss. Coping, acceptance, and peace.

I'll touch on those last three here.

The last week has been full of oddly inexplicable bouts of uncontrollable laughter. This Samadhi has gotten me more than a few strange looks at work; but largely, when people see the impregnable smile, radiating compassionate acceptance, nurturing confidence, and an indomitably jovial spirit, they cannot help but smile right back.

The most astounding shift in the past week has been almost what I would classify as a relaxation of expectations -- or possibly even an elimination of expectations. It all began with an essay I wrote for my philosophy class, which proposed the idea that "truth" could only be applied in the first person, in present tense. I think the pragmatics would say this is the truth "making itself true," or something like that. Personally, I wouldn't refer to the truth making itself. Not because it wouldn't work, but because it sounds odd. Picturing the truth doing any sort of thing doesn't ring true for me.  The truth is just happening. It just is, and then it isn't -- but it always will be, and always is, really.

And while that doesn't really seem like it would have a real sort of implication on my life, it's totally reshaped how I view... everything. I don't believe that anything must follow another -- every observation is a pattern, and learning that pattern is a reifying structure designed to reinforce patterns (the human mind). This is how we learn, and it is incredibly affective; however, what we learn is not necessarily as effective.

By recognizing this, watching the pattern it followed, and following them to the core of my "self," I've realized that this is not the core of my being. I am not who I am. I do not believe what I believe. I act. I pretend. I guess. I play. And that is all.

Mull that over for a minute and tell me what you don't think.

Just kidding. Keep reading and I'll tell you why I don't think: I do not have to presume what another person is thinking before expressing what I think. I consider what I understand their position to be, of course, but I recognize that my understanding is necessarily only as deep as my own understanding; therefore, any understanding that I have of what their position might be is as valuable as what I considered "my position" on a topic is -- or at least was, considering my previous understanding of any issue or occurrence that could be disagreed upon by seemingly opposing "positions." And, as everybody is just like me, whether they realize it or not, their understanding of "my position," too, is only as deep as their own understanding of the total "issue" at hand. Or, er, at conversation, depending on whether the circumstances ask for hands or tongues (or both, tehe). But seriously, dispute me on this. I'm interested to hear your opinion.

That was a bit of an overly complicated idea, which most likely came about by my new understanding of context, implied context, and what I have tentatively decided on calling "semiotically implying context." In that implied context, I took great measures to whittle apart a really abstract idea into something formatively valid. As I have yet to do with my idea of formative valitivity. It's a thing, though....

Kind of.

I don't know, that's the cognitive side of it. That's been incredibly profound and interesting, but I think the true profundity can only be seen in the radical emotional shift that pulled the ground out from under my feet. Well, truly, the shift was much more of a phenomenological shift than a cognitive or emotional shift, so it was the implications of the experiential, phenomenological shift that affected my emotional and cognitive cognition (that was an odd construct -- but I digress.)

It was like, before the shift I was trying to inject some impossible amount of happiness into my life to overcome this unbelievably huge emotional blockage, stagnating as crippling depression. What I realized was that I was looking at the problem wrong. The depression wasn't already there -- I had to choose for it to be there before I chose to combat it with happiness -- so I could combat it with happiness.

I realized I was processing everything backwards emotionally. It's very strange. I think has to due with how I learned to handle emotions: particularly those like fear, anger, and sadness. Rather than recognizing these as learned reactions to shifts in consciousness (the "consciousness of," which I have referred to previously) caused by experiences, I have variously processed them as "inescapable consequences of a life that's too hard to live" or "nonexistent" (repress, repress, repress). Turns out, that method of thinking has some pretty shitty consequences, hahaha.

When I turned to my heart, though, it spoke differently. Care comes first. The message was fairly loud, happened around last Sunday (May 12, 2013), and has resonated through my every thought and action since. From here, my anxieties have bloomed into genuine concern for myself and others in the future tense, my anger into the same in present, and sadness the same in the past. These used to be are unnecessary attachments that took up emotional space, sitting there, clouding up clear processing and Samadhi. But now... now they are why I breathe, why my heart beats, why I choose to live this life. Why I choose to care.

I hear this is the sort of shift that comes to a Bodhisattva, but I haven't sat in a week or two. My practice is awful, really -- but I try to stay present.

I don't think I've reached nirvana quite yet, but I can feel a phoenix rising:

My heart swells and crashes like the ocean surf, bringing with it love and rebirth.

With Love and Peace,
~Lee

Observations of Life

Specifically today, I'm going to be talking about observations I've made in my life recently, observations that have started an alarming shift in both my entire cognitive process, and by extension, my personality, work ethic, and goals.

 Anybody who knows me is probably painstakingly aware that for the majority of my life, I have lived with depressed and anxiety problems that have affected me to a much greater extent than I have seen these problems affect others.  On top of that, I've always been against medicating myself for these issues, for I feel that chemically altering my mood would create an ingenuine representation of my personality, thoughts, and opinions.  I have relied upon natural supplements at times to curb the worst of the problems, but all in all, I've just sat around feeling depressed.

I don't recommend doing this, by the way.


My sophomore year of high school, I started seriously considering the rudementary existentialist questions:  What is the point of life?  How should I live it?  What's so great about life anyway?  Etc.  I had, of course, considered these questions before, but never before in such a serious manner.  In previous years my answer was something more of "I don't need a reason, so I'm just going to have fun," but that answer became less and less satisfying as I matured, until my dissatisfaction with life peaked my senior year.

Upon entering my first year at LCC, I felt as though I had failed myself. Lansing Community College is pretty much a haven for dead-beats and dropouts who have been forced to reconsider their lackidaisical lifestyles due to the looming economic crysis, and considering how much effort and stress I placed on my academics all through middle and high school, LCC was about the last place I wanted to end up.  Ever.

And let me tell you, when you suffer from depression, dissappointment is a killer.

However, by an odd twist of circumstance, LCC lead me to my passion for philosophy, which in itself brought me some peace of mind -- for my life-plan was the center of my concern my senior year -- and by another odd twist of circumstance, I met a man named Josh Routhier who helped me realize that I'd been approaching my problems from entirely the wrong angle.  For anyone who doesn't know, Josh is a Zen Buddhist, and though I didn't consider our first few confrontations the pleasantest, I slowly grew to esteem and respect his wisdom and compassion as much as my narcissistic tendencies would allow.

Through our various dialogs, Josh introduced me to a process of self-examination I honestly believe is essential for the healthy functioning of any creature with self-reflexive awareness.  Through meditation and self-study, I've begun identifying and hopefully correcting many of the misconceptions that had lead me astray through my life in the first place.  Of course, the answers to the existential questions that had been burning into my consciousness have continued to elude me; but while exploring these new questions of consciousness, I think I've come a little closer to answering them.  Of course, the answers aren't even close to my original expectations;  however, I think that the answers I'm coming to are much more fulfilling than those I was originally seeking anyway.

Within the past month, I've become increasingly engaged in self-studying and both passive and active meditation, and I've come to a couple rudimentary conclusions:

• First, life (in a philosophical definition -- not a biologists') and consciousness are one in the same.  Life is defined by the existence of consciousness, on whatever level it might exist;  lack of life is the lack of consciousness.
• Consciousness is the combination of an innate awareness, which is ever present, and an active decisiveness, which fades in and out of awareness.

Of course, these conclusions are, as I said, rudimentary, and I'll probably add and subtract from them later;  however, for now, I think that's a good explanation.  I will probably continue to build upon these ideas in the future, but for now, I need to finish some homework.

Shades of Fiction

I speak a world in black and white.
It's how I communicate.

But it's not how I see.
See, I see a world of gray.
But there are no words for gray.

So I stick to my blacks and whites,
Despite my growth into gray,
And hope the world understands
What I understand
And What I speak,
But I doubt.

The world, I think, still sees in black and white.

And I pity them.
Yes, I pity them.

It rained again today,
Like yesterday.
Not that you would care --
I'm sure you have much more important things to think about --
But apparently, I don't.
I've been staring out the window
Since the rain started
Last week.

There's something entrancing about the steady downpour,
How it gathers into pools on the earth,
Which continuously grow and overflow,
And which never seem to absorb
Into the soggy ground
Or evaporate into the cold, damp air.
It's like the tears that flowed from her eyes,
How they gathered into pools on my arms.
I felt the warm liquid growing and overflowing
As I stared into the rain.

The tears stopped.
They're poisonous, you see,
And she knows this, so she stopped them.
Held the poison inside herself,
For me.

But the rain never stops.
It continues, despite my most earnest wishes,
Despite my pleadings,
Despite my prayers.
It continues,
Gathering in pools, which grow and overflow,
And never seem to absorb or evaporate
Because the ground is soggy
And the air is cold and damp.
I think that's why, at least --
Not that it matters.
I stopped caring why long ago;
Now, I just watch the rain.

I can hardly even remember when it started.
Was it really last week?
I don't think so --
It doesn't feel like it.
I... I can't remember the sun.
I can't remember its warmth
Or its color.
Did it smell?
No, I don't think so.
I can't remember where it was
Or who made it.
Was it God?
No, I don't think so.

And so I stare out the window,
Watching,
Wishing the rain would stop,
But it will never stop.
The poison, pouring, from the clouds,
And into my heart.

I hate the rain.

A soldier without a name.

In the throes of war, a soldier can't stop to let his emotions settle and sift through his story to find the facts.  He wades through waist-deep pools of politics and perjury, surrounded by the fog of fatigue and fear, and when the bullets and bombs appear out of the blanketed haze he shoots and runs and hides and prays that he'll make it out of this battle and see his family again and before he takes a breath it's over.

And his friend is dead at his feet.

We Never Saw the Rainbow

When our generation was born,
We were given a box of crayons
And sternly instructed
To create any picture
We could imagine.

So we opened the box
To gaze at its glorious colors,
But when we peered inside
The crayons were almost gone.
Broken, worn, discarded, and destroyed,
They spoke nothing to our artists' hearts
But death.

Commanded by our fathers,
Enchained by their legacies,
We gathered the fragmented pieces,
Brought together our hands,
And wrote a note:

It told the end of our lives.

The fragile and fragmented pieces
Cramped and collapsed
Under weight of
Our heavy hearts and hands,
Which slowly succumbed to
Disease and decay --
As we watched our colors diminish
And die.

But we pressed on.

Starving, sweating, and crying,
We wrote until our end was written,
And collapsed
On bloody hands and broken knees.
And we cried to God --
That his next child might heed
Our epitaph.

I Don't Care About This Post

Sometimes I wonder if I should care about things like the Michigan/Michigan State game.  Then I wonder why I'm wondering in the first place.  I wonder if, truly, all actions are the products of society, or if an independent "self" (as the existentialists call it.  The religious folks call it a "soul," and the scientists, I think, call it a "cognitive thought process") rules our thoughts.

Maybe it's a combination of both.  That's what I've always thought.  But if it is truly a combination of both, where can we draw the line?  How do we establish where we are individual and where we are a product of social forces?  And how permanent is the "self"?  How easily malleable is a "soul"?

I guess these questions all depend on circumstances, but I hate to leave an answer so vague.

Perhaps a person is first created as a "confluence of forces," as the post-modernists have told us.  We act like our parents until we realize they're losers (but only because our peers tell us they are), so we rebel until we realize they were right all along.  But then, how do we realize that, if everyone is pressuring us in different directions?  And how to people break free of the terrible torments of a parent's abuse?

Perhaps, in times of inner turmoil, we begin to question our sense of "self," our sense of identity.  Perhaps we are most vulnerable (Is vulnerable the right word for change?  Certainly vulnerable carries a negative connotation, and surely most growth of personality is positive) to change when we feel most vulnerable about who we are.

But still, this explanation doesn't cover every circumstance.  People are indefinitely changing, even when they don't feel vulnerable.


But I guess assuming "all or nothing" would be ignorant anyway.  I am not a politician.  Perhaps a "ramp" or exponential growth curve maps the relationship of personal vulnerability and malleability.  Perhaps the change of "self" can be predicted given the right data and equations.  Perhaps life is a scientifically solvable problem (not that life is a problem).

But I don't like to think that.  I like to think something a little more substantial than mathematics maps out human existence.

But perhaps that comes in with how we start questioning our beliefs.