notes on mysticism

i’ve been reading wittgenstein’s tractatus (in pieces) and thinking about the mystical experience, both as a single event and as a sequence of related events. first, a quote from the tractatus:

6.52 We feel that even when all possible scientific questions have been answered, the problems of life remain completely untouched. Of course there are then no questions left, and this itself is the answer.

6.521 The solution of the problem of life is seen in the vanishing of the problem. (Is not this the reason why those who have found after a long period of doubt that the sense of life became clear to them have then been unable to say what constituted that sense?)

6.522 There are, indeed, things that cannot be put into words. They make themselves manifest. They are what is mystical.

apart from the amazing insight that the cessation of the existential problem lies not in its answering, but in its vanishing, wittgenstein defines the mystical as something that cannot be put into words. i like this definition. it is simple, but seems right somehow. keeping this definition in mind, i’d like to share an insight from my own mystical experiences.

my earliest cosmology was a self-centered one which can be summarized by the statement “the universe is me.” it was like all of reality was a play, with me as main character, the cosmos as a set, and all the people in my life as characters.

sometime during adolescence, i realized that other people were having the same experience of self as main character, and that these were all happening simultaneously.

this led to the idea of the universe in which i was just a single entity, as important as anything or anyone else. but this was not the only view-point, and the world was split into two unconnected spheres: the domain of the universe and the domain of i. what belonged to the i-domain were the people i saw day to day, the places i visited, the emotions i had, and the thoughts that passed through my head – all of the immediate and experiences. they felt intensely personal, like intensely consequential. in the universal-domain were the whole earth, space & time, and other lofty and huge concepts, but cold and distant most of the time. only rarely was i awed by the fact that the universe exists.

the third type of experience only started happening to me recently, and is still ongoing. the two domains are bleeding together at the edges. occasionally, the intellectual knowledge that there is only one domain (i.e. since i am just another entity in the universe, the i-domain is a persistent illusion) becomes emotional fact. practically speaking it means that, sometimes, unpleasant feelings i feel cease to be mine – the feeling that “i” am experiencing an “emotion” is replaced by the feeling that the emotion is another phenomena in the universe. the emotions cease to be personal and consequential. these notions don’t exist in the universal domain. the universe is unknowable (in the sense that we can never understand the “why” and “what” of it), and that means that all subparts of it are unknowable as well. this type of thinking is only emotionally true in the universal-domain, so when my own suffering (too-strong a word) leaves the i-domain and enters the universal-domain, it shares in the unknowableness and ceases to be concrete and unbearable. it becomes as holy as the universe itself is.

it seems to me that this trajectory of mystical experiences leads naturally to a further blending of the two domains. at some point, the two again become one, but instead of being a fully selfish world-view, one has a fully universal world-view – everything is part of the mystery, everything is holy. the “i” becomes a “we.”

hugo house show

i played percussion with a group of poets, musicians, and dancers at the hugo house on thursday feb 4th. i also read a poem, which is below. it was lots of fun!

in the still
mornings (which manage pinkness
even in the dark 7 ams)
there are hidden joys
that flow ungraspably
in slanted spirals
across
the kitchen ceiling
mysteriously deflating
all distresses

but how this happens
or why is hidden
from us, hidden
by expert hiders –
us

us – world shifters, us – soul
eaters with tremendous
undulating egos
that dread anything
at all -
each little dread requiring
a hefty force to dislodge it
and endlessly we lodge and unlodge
for reasons unclear, progress
in any direction
taken for granted as GOOD
and goodness
becoming confused,
shadowed by the endless moment where there
is nothing to fight and no one to fight
it except ghosts passing through one
another – congested noses,
back pains, spectacles,
itchy woolen blankets, alarm
clocks, saunas, teapots

o we stumble
but
nowness hereness are
always open doors
and these doors (like all doors)
are made for us and only us to walk
through because there is no suffering
that is not the price of admission to
our congenital divinity -

i know this because
at times
i just have to
go outside
find a tree
put my hand on it
and go empty
feeling it
leaning onto the trunk
allowing my weight to rest
on it, in repose
and then if it’s a good day
i look up and see
the stars hanging, pincushioned,
LEDs blazing small from
head-shaking distances
glinting light falling hard and fast
on us, as
we orbit one another
pulled along in whirlpools
of questions goals ideas -
self-wrestlers in search
of new and better disguises
as if all existence
depended on it
and it does
but effortlessly
requiring no striving
requiring only the deep
knowledge that
that suffering is
something to sing about
to jump dance whirl about
even when we are
anxiously half-buried
in the luminous ditch
at rest with weary
bones leaning up against
soft dark dirt,
burning tears soothed
by the deep thrum of life
all around

psychogeography

i’m reading a great book by will self entitled “psychogeography.” it’s a collection of gonzo-esque travelogues. highly recommended!

here’s a quote that summarizes one of the reasons as to why i am somewhat afraid of extended travel:

“Will anything occur to me as I plod along? Will I see anything? Talk to anybody? Or might I be thrown back into my own wildly prosaic psychic hinterland, and find myself besieged there, fending off a couplet from a 1970s pop song?”

in my case the siege would not be by something as benign (this is open to discussion) as a 1970s pop song, but maybe by (for instance) a recurring anxiety about the unknowableness of the universe (or something else equally silly). probably not though. i bet i spend most of my time knee-deep in improvised-sign-language conversations with mystics and hostel clerks. awesome!

notes on art

first a quote from derek walcott about his line of poetry, “as the afternoon vagues/into indigo.”

“All I’m saying about that line is, what we do, why we make ourselves mercilessly victims of our own judgments – rightly so – is that when we develop some domination of technique, the higher you climb, the better the view looks, with the devil next to you.  Technically, the more you ascend, the more the temptations are there.  In Auden’s poem “In Praise of Limestone,” he says, “to ruin a fine tenor voice for effects that bring down the house.” There is no rest, really, there is no rest, there is just a joyous torment all your life of doing the wrong thing.”

this (especially the last line) summarizes for me the worst of our attitudes about art.  it’s very sad to me.  here’s a great rebuttal:

http://www.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html

notes on society

i don’t know what the hell i’m doing with my life.  sure, i’m in grad school and it’s basically awesome (having a job at this point in history seems to be somewhat of a luxury, and i’m grateful for it), but i am having a hard time imagining myself going to work at some place for 40 years straight or whatever.  actually, “having a hard time” is an understatement.  it’s more like: the concept terrifies the shit out of me.  plus, i’ve built up two complementary notions/images of society: mainstream society (jobs, mortgages, kids, &c) as some kind of soul-splatting doom-citadel, and alternative society (communes, organic farmers, spiritual fellowship, &c) as a freedom-from-fear blisspeace existence.

a few days ago it became clear to me that these two notions are just thoughts – they aren’t any realer than thoughts about unicorns.  i’m sure there are plenty of happy people with ordinary jobs and ordinary homes and ordinary families.  i’ve met plenty of them actually (or at least their grown-up kids).  i don’t have as many examples to contradict the bliss-commune image because i hang out mostly in cities, but i would put my money on the following: any culture or idea or way of life will make some thrive and some despair.

i’ve been on this kick recently of “figuring out my life.”  what culture do i want to live in?  how do i want to make a living?  lots of other questions like that.  having seen through my own over-simplified notions of tiny subsets of western culture, i have to admit: i already kind of have my life figured out pretty well.  i guess i can do a 180 and become a flag-weaver in tuscany, but that would be abandoning all the fantastic stuff i’ve got going on.  i’ve surrounded myself with wonderful people, and i spend my time doing things i genuinely enjoy.  after i get my wild oats sown, i’ll see about more serious partnership & then maybe kids way down the line.

what else is there?  i guess there’s the “meaningful, fulfilling job” thing, and i am still holding out on the possibility that something i am passionate about (and good at) can somehow make me money, but it’s not time to worry about that yet (post bonderman maybe…).  the point is that my culture is here and now, and there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with it – it is not something to run away from.  there are many flaws, of course (o audience of liberals, i need not list them), but also so much goodness and excellence. the proof of this are all those great people i mentioned, as well as the plethora of art & fun that’s always at our fingertips.

i am enjoying this bout of youthful optimism!

p-t t; big sur & santa cruz, ca

re: big sur.  henry miller was right.  pictures forthcoming on facebook & flickr.

re: santa cruz.  subrosa, the anarchist collective coffee shop, is the place for me, man.  everything is barefoot, tea is a buck, and something wild*free seeps in even from the water closet.   rabbinical beards are common.   we’re about to participate in an unlicensed anarchist new year’s parade through downtown.  this place would be my second home if it existed in seattle; it makes me want to participate.

bring on the new decade.

pre-travel travelogue; occidental, ca

~30 minutes west of santa rosa something happens to the landscape of city life.  parking lots become so surrounded by trees and sky that they cease to be bleak, and become only functional, ideologically empty.  trees don’t sway and call attention to themselves like giant rare pythons to be prized as they do in cities.  here, they band together in calm confidence and everyone bows, cars swerving out of the way.  embracing the trunks is the same as embracing a wall.

it is out here that the concept of leaving no trace becomes clearer to me.  leaving no trace not only means picking up your trash, but also expressing one’s self so thoroughly that there is nothing left to leave.  i went for a walk after dark and saw this first hand.  as i passed through a place, i felt myself leave it to such a degree that on my return trip it felt brand new.  in cities, i leave myself behind constantly.  so many familiar cross-streets and restaurants vibrate with self; i am spread throughout seattle and chicago like a spoonful of peanut butter over a tabletop.

maybe it’s just that i’ve only been here a few days, and even the greatest quiet majesty becomes mundane with time.  i hope not.  only one way to find out…

pre-travel travelogue; oakland

everyone i saw on san fran’s public transport system looked free (not sure how else to put it) in a way that is usually rare. i instinctively liked them all, felt at home.

i read doris lessing’s “the golden notebook” on the hour+ ride to oakland from the airport. i’m only 50ish pages into it, but it is intense.  lots of hard-hitting observations about the inherent dissatisfaction of choosing any of the available mainstream modern adulthood modes (artist, business person, &c).  on the plane over from chicago i listened to an audio book version of suzuki’s “zen mind, beginner’s mind,” and pitting these two works against one another, i have to say – zen wins.  lessing doesn’t really offer any solutions; she just paints in scary detail the traps of our world.  i don’t know if suzuki’s good-humored enlightenment is attainable for most people, but it does seem to completely circumvent the anxious search for self that is both our ultimate legacy and weird bear-trap.  suzuki, krishnamurti, and david foster wallace are all telling me the same thing.  i’ll quote dfw here though, to appeal to my more-western-than-not readers (and because i love the bastard, may he rest in peace). the quote is from an essay about kafka. maybe i should read more kafka? in any case:

“It’s not that students don’t “get” Kafka’s humor but that we’ve taught them to see humor as something you get — the same way we’ve taught them that a self is something you just have. No wonder they cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke — that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home. It’s hard to put into words up at the blackboard, believe me. You can tell them that maybe it’s good they don’t “get” Kafka. You can ask them to imagine his art as a kind of door. To envision us readers coming up and pounding on this door, pounding and pounding, not just wanting admission but needing it, we don’t know what it is but we can feel it, this total desperation to enter, pounding and pushing and kicking, etc. That, finally, the door opens…and it opens outward: we’ve been inside what we wanted all along.” (emphasis mine)

after this late-evening mind-fuck, i walked through oakland for about 20 minutes at 11:30 pm.  it looks like heaven a little bit.  the architecture reminds me of growing up in mexico, except i never did that. the skies are eye-wideningly clear.  it’s warm.  an outdoor nursery a block from andrew’s house (where i’m staying) smells so good that i want to move here.

i can’t stop thinking about women and zen. this is not exactly “arousing the thought of enlightenment.”

pre-travel travelogue

manya recommended that i start honing my blogging before i go abroad. so, i’m in

skokie, in which (according to wikipedia), parts of risky business and sixteen candles were filmed. not sure what i’m trying to communicate with this factoid, but i am winking at you, gentle reader. i’m in

skokie, which is not part of chicago, but i hesitate to call it a suburb. it’s a village. the largest in the world? i think some village in china now holds that distinction. skokie is some kind of DMZ between the sparse ghost-grid suburbia of north chicagoland and the dense treelessness of chicago proper. it has a cavernous mall, a yeshiva, and its own special stop on the el. i’m in

skokie, which i called home from ages 9 to 22.  i fly in twice a year to visit family & friends. skokie is moody; it likes me i think – when i’m around, all i see is light fluffy snow, and not the brutal cold & windchill. i’m in

skokie, where i go to pita inn and think about forgetting my vegetarianism for an hour. i sit at the gross point rd & skokie blvd red light and marvel at how wide the streets are. nothing like it in seattle. at 3am, when i stumble in from yet another dizzy joyful reunion with old friends, the sky glows orange and everything is still. in seattle, i pause regularly to just look at trees. in skokie, i have tunnel vision and can’t see anything but my own memories. i’m still in

skokie, in which it’s a challenge to be. i sleep in my old room, and sometimes get microflashes of what it was like to live here full time. i become confused and restless.

it’s ok though. i’m only here for a week.

some notes-to-self on meditation

recently, i’ve started to think more about the concept of desire as cause of suffering.  not desire in general, but what i term conditional desire.  ordinary desire is one which, when unfulfilled, does not cause pain.  for example, if you were to say “tonight, i want pizza for dinner,” you would not suffer (much) if dinner turned out to be a tasty homemade indian stew.  on the other hand, conditional desires follow this pattern: “i refuse to be happy until X has occurred.”  we don’t literally say this to ourselves, of course, but it is, in effect, true; we feel miserable and see the cure of that misery as the object of desire.  however, the actual culprit, as i see it, is not the lack of object-of-desire, but the desire itself.  the main evidence is anecdotal: suffering can spring up merely  because of another person’s mention of a situation, possession, or mood.  more concretely, if i feel perfectly fine, and a friend of mine says “it sure is great to be/have X,” then i (maybe 3 times out of 10) immediately start to feel worse in my desire for X.

how can we interpret this?  the complex interpretation is as follows: the lack of object-of-desire isn’t what is painful.  the conditional desire is inherently painful.  if the conditional desire ceases, then the pain goes away.  it is also true that, sometimes, actually obtaining the object-of-desire can stop the pain.  the danger with this approach though (e.g. get whatever you want to stop the wanting) is that conditional desires tend to just displace one another, without end.  the point is to sidestep this life-long pattern of want/suffer-obtain-relief-want/suffer-&c, and treat the fact of conditional desire in the first place.  the goal, then, can be summed up as: turning conditional desires into ordinary ones.  immediately, as we set the goal, a problem emerges: having a goal with respect to something that make’s one unhappy (scrapping conditional desires, for instance) is itself a conditional desire.  i am in effect saying “i refuse to be happy until i stop refusing to be happy.”

so, what to do?  i don’t know really.  i’ve been meditating a lot, but at the same time trying not to do it for any particular reason.  or at least, have a reason that is emotionally compact.  i don’t put pressure on my meditation as i used to.  when i did put pressure on it, it made me miserable.  so, i meditate, and my meditation changes, and i don’t think about it too much. (except when i realize something, and decide to make a blog post about it…)

so, the point of this post: at some point during a meditation session i will suddenly wonder about how much time is left.  it’s not clear how/why this starts to happen, but when it does, it can bring about very strong emotions.  in particular, conditional desire.  i noticed this just today.  there came to me (as it does every time) a very strong desire to stop meditating.  it was excruciating.  however, having faced it every day for some months now, i knew how to deal with it, and it soon passed.  it comes in waves; i can see it show up up to 2 or 3 times during a 45 minute session.  the more i deal with it, the easier it is to deal with.  and this skill seems to seep into my life and make it better.  this is another reason why meditation is so good for you: it teaches you how to recognize, understand, and manage conditional desires.  it doesn’t eliminate them, of course, but just turns them from irrational & painful into something manageable.

the paradoxical nature of self-work makes it very tough.  on the one hand, if we try really hard to work on ourselves, our work begins to take the shape of our problems.  on the other hand, if we do nothing, our problems consume us.  between these two extremes there is a middle path.  and it requires faith (or trust, or whatever you want to call it).  that is the fundamental currency of self-change: faith in an idea or method or person or concept or even the whole cosmos.  when one relies wholly on one’s self, there is so much weight to carry, and allowing something or someone else to carry that weight makes fundamental change possible.