Question of the Week: 9/22 - 9/28
This great question comes from iamasimpleman on the short post, No Mystery. “I have read your words several times and the begin to touch my heart. But there is something against it which comes directly from my heart, anger. And this anger says, want to say, sit Takuin in a time machine to Ausschwitz and than let him talk to these people. I can tell you and send you to a thousand places in history.”
This energy is massive. It bursts through the room and reaches out into infinity.
There is also that pain or pressure in the upper right portion of the brain. It pulses and seems to surge forth, but it in no way obstructs the liberation that allows clarity.
As one sits in the chair, this aliveness seems to pulse, like a metronome that counts in waves, not in beats.
This is all so fascinating.
Thoughts come and go, memories come and go, but there is nothing that tries to hold them. Without attachment, the thoughts are seen as a beautiful movement of the brain. The ebb and tide of these thoughts is wonderful to behold.
If one tries to hold thoughts out of fear, the beauty of what is will always slip through the fingers. That natural functioning will be missed, and the beauty of the organism will never be seen.
Slow down and experience the body and all of the wonders within. Let go of the need to know, the need to have, and see what is there.
This energy engulfs all. It is the purest essence of life.
The pain in the head is slipping away. But still, I may not much sleep tonight.
This is a short essay I wrote on screen writing back in 2005. I usually never revisit anything I write, but in this case, I found it to be interesting. When I found this piece on my computer, I wasn’t sure who wrote it until I nearly reached the end.
This was written before the realization in December 2006. Perhaps this piece foreshadows events not yet transpired? Anyway, it is interesting, at least to me, to see how words, related to a specific medium, can impact the whole of expression.
Maybe I should write a current piece on artistic expression? Just to see which chair one now sits upon.
Enjoy!
I’ll Climb Down the Rabbit Hole, and You Cut the Rope by Takuin Minamoto
The first step is always the worst, you know. It never feels quite as solid as the places we usually tread. But where we usually tread is not at all where we wish to be, is it? We secretly long for those worlds that seem meaningful to us in a way that is not easily explained to others. Those locales, while dark or bereft of meaning to others, shine with the luminosity of life to us.
Do we not already have the stuff within us? Are we doomed to fail? Well, I wouldn’t start dusting off that noose just yet. The inner workings of our imaginations, and the content it contains, is THE repertoire, so the answer is in there, hidden amongst the bizarre odds and ends.
How long can we ignore the natural expression that pokes us, prods us, peeling back skin, revealing the beast inside? The signs are all there, but we need to learn to embrace what is not known. And it is not the expression itself that breathes life into that beast, but the lack of attention and fear of what we have never embraced. Don’t be afraid kids. There is nothing to fear, not in any pocket of the mind. Just put out your arms and welcome your expression into the world.
How does it feel to ignore the passions that burn deeply in our brain-cases? Doing what others feel is right for us? Or perhaps, what we believe is right because we don’t want to disappoint someone else? That puts us into conflict with ourselves before we even get one foot out the door. If we cannot resolve this difficulty within us, how can we hope to have real and complete relationships with other human beings? It is not possible. And since the completeness of life is all about relationship, we might be lost, floating in the wastes of our own internal struggles.
So, what does this have to do with making movies? Why should it matter? What’s it all about, Alfie?
More than just making films, it is about the completeness of our artistic expressions. Completeness meaning, everything we have within is used to the best of our ability. Being complete means that only our true selves can flower and grow. There is no room for dishonesty, or some falsehood in our intention. Just infinite space where we work with finite material.
And don’t bother with pretension when thinking of your own filmic expression; wonderful films are made inside and outside of the Hollywood system. There is nothing saying that a film, just because of where it is made, is inherently good or bad. There are, of course, advantages and disadvantages on both sides. But, we shouldn’t bother thinking of those things in the beginning, anyway.
Get started, and don’t look back. If you want to write a movie, get some paper and get to work. Don’t let fear stop you.
Be truthful, even in your lies. Don’t get bogged down with details or try to talk yourself out of it. Just shut up and write. Don’t slow down because you think it is awful. It very well could be awful, but now is not the time to deliberate on that. Rage against the dying of the light, as it were.
Be as clear as you can, even if it seems you have little to work with. Don’t write for the approval of others, or to tell everyone how cool you are. Works of complete selfishness and self-aggrandizement can be popular, but they never last. Not even Disco could last forever, and thank goodness for that; I couldn’t stomach to wear the clothing.
I do my work now in complete comfort since I passed through the Rabbit-Hole. Things are clear, and I am not afraid to move in any direction. It is a new adventure that I embark upon, and there is no going back.
You can join me if you like, just be sure to cut the rope behind you.
Everywhere is movement, and all is being. Thoughts bubble up to the surface then disappear into itself, like countless vegetables bobbing in and out of sight as the soup gently boils.
The sensation in the brain is very sharp and biting this evening. Sometimes it hits like a frozen icepick, and it is all the proof one has that some kind of head exists.
Listening to the voice on the stereo, the mind gently vibrates as the words come and go. The words are understood, but they do not stick.
Listening happens, and the brain throbs in concert with what is heard.
It is not enough to hear. Listen!
Listen to the birds, the wind, your feet on the pavement. Be with it, in every moment, right to the very core of being. Walk until you lose yourself.
It is wonderful to be alone. Not lonely, which is the feeling of lack; a need for an incomplete center to reach for wholeness; but a true moment by moment discovery of what one is.
But not who one is.
The who is the story. It may be sad, grand, greedy, lustful, reckless, wanting, or any number if things, but it is a story, and the story is always imagined.
“Doesn’t one need the story? Doesn’t it give substance, or give rise to the individual?”
This who is not an individual. It is comprised of consciousness, and this consciousness we all share. All of its contents are shared between us. No, not that it is shared; we are it. All of the neuroses, compulsions, stories, sorrow, knowledge, systems, and symbols are handed to us from the multitude of persons that have come before, and it is from this that we build the shaky stories of the self.
This brick and mortar is common to all, living and dead.
(This is not good or bad, nor is it something to accept or reject. It just is what it is.)
Who - the creation of consciousness - is made up of what we believe, experience and share; handed to us from every direction, but absent from those moments of utter silence.
Pure, passionate aloneness.
A question may arise, “What is one to do?” The only thing one can do is find out for themselves. To sit alone, reject all that has been handed down, all that has come before, and see with new eyes, hear with new ears. Sit and sit and sit until that aloneness is all that remains.
It is not acceptance or rejection, but a silent allowing of things to arise as they will. Without acceptance or rejection, one has the ability to be silent, to be alone.
It is freedom without the need to be right, or the need to avoid being wrong.
Freedom from the need reveals a new dimension of silence.
Silence, as an expression of the organism, is a strange sensation. I’ll see if words can do it justice.
First, the physical body as it appears in the phenomenal world:
The feet are square on the floor. Buttocks firmly planted on the padded seat. Spine slightly arched, not touching the backrest. Hands resting on the table top. There is a slight breeze on the nape of the neck, and the eyes are closed.
Stephane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt play in the background. There are many people seated close by and they all seem to be talking. The eyes open to look, and the story of people talking is no longer a story but a confirmed fact.
The eyes close as the blood flows. The heart beats and doesn’t seem to falter. For that, one is thankful.
Now, the physical body as it is, beyond the phenomenal:
There is a tightness in the throat, and a feeling of great pressure a few inches above the forehead. It is not quite comfortable, but is easily lived with.
It is easy to feel blood flowing through various parts of the body, but for some reason, it is as if the blood doesn’t reach the head. No, it feels as if there is no head to be reached. Just the sensations in the throat and above the forehead.
A great emptiness is here, and there are no physical boundaries. Whatever this is, it cannot be contained within the skin. The borders have vanished and only being remains. The universe is breathing itself.
There are no stories, no reason, no conclusions, and no struggle. All things known - that have ever been known - are simultaneously here and not here.
Some might call it bliss, but there is no one to be blissful. Some might call it authentic happiness, but there is no one to be happy. There is no one to want for any state or result, but it is still entirely available.
All things are available at all times. Perhaps this silence just makes it jump out; a brilliant color, against an otherwise dreary background.
(Edit: While messing around in Wordpress, I accidentally deleted this post. Luckily, I save most of my posts in notepad, so no problem. Anyway, this is why on the RSS feed, you’ll be seeing the same post twice. Sorry about that.)
(Edit-Edit: I have added my comments right below the video.)
This video was brought to my attention by Hampton Maxwell in the comments for the post Quick Thoughts - Reality. For those of you on the RSS feed, click through and watch this video. It is entertaining and very interesting. And I love the cell shading…very cool.
Some of you may recognize the voice as Dr. Fred Alan Wolf, one of the physicists featured in the movie The Secret. He is a great teacher and clearly loves what he does.
Feel free to discuss below!
First of all, I am in no way a physicist, and my math skills are as prodigious as a turnip’s. That being said, I love the quantum world, and the “newer” string theory and M theory. I don’t particularly look at it as something to believe, but the subject and the experiments have always fascinated me. It is just one of those things that I like.
The video itself is very entertaining and understandable enough that almost anyone can follow it. Not that everyone would understand it, but it is presented in such a way to make it as painless as possible.
This video was presented to me with the idea that our observations of reality actually have an effect on reality. Or rather:
Quantum mechanics shows that the presence of an observer impacts the physical universe on a small scale.
So that is where we are. Let’s have a look under the hood.
“Observation” might not be the right word for me to use. In order for there to be an experiment, there needs to be observation from beginning to end. It is not as if a scientist is walking about, enjoying her day when SUDDENLY, out of the blue, an experiment appears. So it isn’t necessarily “observation” that makes the difference. If anything, it is the changing of the point if observation that seems to cause a change.
I probably didn’t need to say any of that, and it might seem like semantic nit-picking.
I have found that the way electrons behave is similar to no-self, or awareness, in that there is no way of knowing exactly where they are, or what they are doing.
Here is how it seems to work in the quantum world:
The probability exists that electrons can be everywhere, at all points, and also no-where. The wave function of the electron can only tell us the probability that it is located at some point; here or there. The larger the wave function, the higher the probability of it being where we think it is. If the wave function is small, it probably isn’t there.
(An electron can be seen as both a particle and a wave. It is the wave function that represents the probability of finding the electron at any given point. If you calculate the wave function, it can only give you the probability of it existing where it is supposed to.)
For example, the wave function can tell you if a cat is alive or dead, but it cannot tell you definitely one or the other. Your knowledge can step in and tell you which state the cat is in; you can understand which state is which.
But that is the discrepancy. How can the thing not be there at the same time you are seeing it? Or how can it be perceived as two states simultaneously? In order for there to be one or the other, the wave function has to unravel or otherwise be destroyed somehow.
Here is how the wave function is supposed to unravel with observation: (from Michio Kaku)
“The wave function of a tree can tell you the probability that it is either standing or falling, but it cannot definitively tell you in which state it actually is…after a measurement is made by an outside observer, the wave function magically “collapses,” and the electron falls into a definite state - that is, after looking at the tree, we see that it is truly standing. In other words, the process of observation determines the final state of the electron.”
That is in the quantum world. So let’s get big again, and step back into ours.
You are walking down the street and you see a tree. You stop and have a look. You know it is a tree; knowledge tells you as such. You observe, and the observer tells you what you are seeing is a tree.
Through the observation, through the self, the “wave function” of the tree is destroyed and is replaced by what the observer expects. Or you could say, knowledge comes in, solidifying what is seen. The observer’s ideas about the tree, his knowledge of the tree, destroys all other possibilities. The only thing the observer sees, is what he already knows.
If all you see is what you already know, what are you really seeing?
Now, what happens if there is no observer? In other words, what if there is only awareness?
Walking happens. There is an object. It is massive and small. It is all-things and no-thing. It is alive and it supports other life. It is completely new and unique in this existence, and there will never be another like it at any time. Small creatures sing on its arms. It is quickly losing its hair and the ground is covered with white petals. If knowledge comes up, if the observer is there, it says this is a Sakura tree. But the observer isn’t there. There is no one to see it, and therefore, it is completely seen, as it is.
If “you” see it, only one thing is possible. If “no-one” sees it, everything is possible.
I don’t know where I am going with this, but the feeling is wonderful. I am not saying that the quantum physicists expect to see a particular result, and that is why they see it.
Observation, as they have described it, breaks down the wave function. But, does observation also have a wave function? If it does, what happens if the observer observes the observer? Would that effectively destroy the wave function of the observer and thereby destroy the observer?
If the observer observes the observer, does it come to an end? Oh please go into this. It is so interesting.
Some might say their beliefs, whatever they might be, determine reality. I understand what they mean, but reality has nothing to do with any of that.
Reality, as it is used here, has nothing to do with thought. We can certainly think about it, make theories, and create ideals that seem better. But in the end, that is not reality, but an image held up as a representation of reality. This is sometimes hard for others to get their head around because they function fully from a world that exists only in their mind. So it seems natural that what their mind projects is absolutely real. But is it?
There are some Gurus that claim beliefs determine reality. But that is still the action of ego, or whatever you want to call it. Belief comes from the self. It doesn’t exist apart from thought. It is not an independent entity, like a flower or a cat. Beliefs have to have a believer. A tree doesn’t.
If there is no manipulator, or no center that perceives, what happens? If no one is present to believe reality into existence, does that then mean reality doesn’t exist? Or could it be reality cannot be understood through interpretation or identification?
The idea of a self creating reality is still the same old trick. It is ego inserting itself as the center of the universe. How can one say that their limited thought with its limited capacity is responsible for the wonders of reality? We are too dull and controlling as a whole to create something so beautiful. That is not to say that humanity is incapable of wonderful feats and beautiful creations. But seriously, we still throw rocks at people we think to be different from us, and I am supposed to swallow the notion that we create the universe? We cannot even live here without tearing one another apart.
Reality is more beautiful than any story of yours or mine could ever hope to explain. But it is also fragile. So fragile that it cannot survive the onslaught of our projected imagery. It is delicate, as a flower, and it cannot be forced to bloom in the manner of our manipulations.
Life blooms in concert with the flower of reality, but only when we give up the need to control.
XXXXXXXXXX
I have received many questions since my last bit of writing, and in the next few weeks I’ll post some of them here with my replies. (Sorry to those of you I have not yet responded to or otherwise contacted. I have not been ignoring you, but have been away on purpose, to meditate on experiences and perceptions. I’ll also write a bit on those, as well.)
I also have more podcasts planned, but I’m not sure about the posting frequency. Any suggestions?
I am looking forward to returning to regular interaction with all of you now that I am back. I am toying with the idea of a different posting schedule, though. Instead of a post on every weekday, I might go with every other day. Comments seem to rise when I leave room for others to breathe.
She mentioned it to me the first day we met. I could see that love in her face. The same beauty found in Chopin’s music was easily seen in her movements. The way she brought the tea, the way she washed the dishes, the way she sat in seiza on the tatami. The way she said “Thank you,” in broken English.
She had the hands of a pianist. Supple and graceful, tenuous and fragile. Great power hid in those slender fingers.
Her writing was beautiful. Every stroke of every kanji was in its right place. The spacing between the characters gave energy to each line, and such beauty could only be created by compassionate hands.
I touched those hands on a number of occasions, and could understand completely the intimate and finite nature of life. I didn’t want to give them back when I held them, but could not bring myself to keep them for fear of their destruction. They held great energy, but also frailty. They could express the fullness of life.
Mayumi loved Star Trek.
She had all of the films, every episode of every series, technical manuals, novels, novelizations, and could recite the lines of her favorite scenes off the top of her head. She was exposed to those stories at just the right time it would seem, and they stuck with her, quickly becoming her favorite.
Those stories - the best of them - tell the tale of what it is to be human. Perhaps she found something there that mirrored her own sorrow and struggles. As if they were tailored to her.
Last month she let me borrow Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan (my favorite), and Star Trek 4: The Voyage Home (her favorite). I had plans to ask her to join me in seeing the new Star Trek film when it opens on May 2009.
But on Monday the 10th, Mayumi passed away.
It is strange. Her voice is in my head. I can hear her laughing. I can see her smile. I can feel her hands. The memories are intact. But there is no one here trying to desperately cling to those memories, or to grieve for something that was lost.
Although she is gone, I didn’t lose anything. I close my eyes and see her smiling, laughing, talking. She is wonderful. She is happy, and without fear. She is as I knew her.
Knowing her enriched my life. The moments were lovely, and it was very special. One never knows when the flower will wilt and die, but the beauty that is there during life is immense and accessible to everyone. You’ll see it if you know how to look.
Akiko cried for her, and I could feel great sorrow. But when I cried later that night, I cried with a smile on my face. I was thankful for meeting her, seeing that smile, touching those hands. The moments we shared were unique, and I was so grateful for the opportunity to know her.
In my mind, she is just as happy as the last time I saw her. She is laughing, and grateful for every day she has.