I realize that my passion for philosophy is directly influenced by the way I’m living my life, or rather, how I think I’m living my life. I guess I can’t say with confidence that everyone lives with a method, but I certainly take my life to be a project. My actions and thoughts all fall within a method, an effort. I try to observe my surroundings, and allow myself to ‘bounce’, to flow through time. In this way, life is a ride, and every person I meet along the way serves as a particular reference point, but a reflexive reference that re-directs the focus inward. With each interaction, I feel my Self being challenged. When I stop living my life and I get caught up in restricting routines, when I stop the flow, I lose the inspiration. This philosophical curiousity, that usually fuels my academic interests, slowly subsides — almost in the form of suffocation. I’ve been perplexed for months now on the question of re-energy: do I re-energize in the crowd, or alone? Am I an introvert or an extrovert? How do I understand myself, and then how do I respond to that Self? I think I’m all across the introvert-extrovert spectrum. I think I slide back and forth between the extremes, and that it’s the pace of my movement that has become of interest lately.
I’ve found that I analyze and dissect so many interactions with assumption, anticipation, and negotiation of other people’s ToM, that I imagine at times I come across rather ingenuine. On the one hand, I do know what it’s like to engage people by being joyfully instigative yet purely reactionary — where one hops into a conversation, with little focus, lots of energy, and just keeps inserting oneself into the other person’s words, perpetuating the whole tangential nature of the conversation (and if s/he is lucky, the other person is the same way and won’t even notice the indirection of such a social encounter, and both will spend hours just cackling on aimlessly). But rather, on the other hand, I prefer to deliberately take care of a conversation: being responsible for where it goes and where it’s been. I try to bring closure. I enjoy circular humor that references things previously discussed. I reserve issues to talk about that sparked an interest during a certain part of the conversation, but didn’t get due attention. Conversations in this way are effortful, though seemingly effortless. It’s just a payment of attention. A focus of interest. And I quickly, too quickly, make time for any/most social interactions, for the challenge of it all… it’s almost like every convo serves as research for further conversations, or further philosophy papers. I think I’m trying to say that I’ve somehow come to justify my social life not as procrastination, but as effortful research and philosophical synthesis, and I don’t know how I feel about that… admittedly, it has a nice ring to it. (ha!)
I’ve realized that in response to this rational, analytical hold that I impose on my own brain in said situations, I’ve developed a delightful habit of endulging in my own world. When in a group of people, especially a self-sufficient group where everyone clearly feels comfortable with their person and their place in the room, I conduct myself in a way where I behave or entertain myself without looking for a reaction (specific or general) from anyone. I’m looking for no sense of confirmation, no recognition — I just act for my own humor, almost as if I was by myself. There’s a glorious freedom and comfort to it… and the truth is I think I consistantly see the world in a way that is routinely jaw-dropping. As a kid, I’ve spent countless hours watching ants on the sidewalk, or birds in the trees. Commercials and pedestrians are all mystifying issues when you get right down to it and watch them. This is not to say that I zone out and lose focus of my friends in such a group setting; though maybe I do? At the very least, I appreciate when people pay me attention and find my solipsism so amusing — the distinction I guess, is that I don’t necessarily desire the attention. I’m just keepin’ it real for my Self, just letting people watch me (if they choose) without trying to regulate what’s being thought of me… this can be a very scary sense of vulnerability for some, but I think it’s a pretty fun way to just throw yourself out there… right? I mean, we’re all in the world, just trying to figure things out: what do I have to hide? I have many sides and I’m happily interrogating each, why not put them out there? You never know what may or may not come from such honesty and admittance. To this, I say, “So far, so good.”
Welp, a man’s gotta have his plans, right? And what would summer be without an activities forecast? Nothing, exactly. So, I’ve got a lot on my plate as per usual. I have some dreams stewing on the back-burner; part of me wants to take off the lid, and see how they’re doing, but part of me realizes I’ve got some stuff in the oven that is getting burnt! So, i’m fighting my urges, and putting in the time to get stuff done. On the priority list:
- Complete Grading for Students: Check. All 58 student exams are graded.
- Emerson Final Paper on Deconstructing the Self: 2 more pages left
- Psych ToM Research Paper: severely disorganized, but w/ promise.
- Aristotle Final Paper on Aporia: In progress; the most needy.
- Final Paper on Philosophy of Art: Incomplete from last term. ah!
- Final Paper on Schopenhauer: Incomplete from last term; halfway done.
- MA Thesis: Due next spring, and clearly I need to start on this early.
- Job: Well, I’m working for the philosophy department this summer. I’m the chief organizer of an event we host called, Summer Institute of American Philosophy. The actual event takes place on July 11-16th, but I have tons of work to do on the front end. Hopefully, if I do my job well, I can keep it for next fall, and that makes life all the easier.
- Funds: I may have a job, but I’m not getting paid very much. It’s one of those summers where you wanna do stuff, but every move involves careful budgeting. I’m going to have to keep my eyes and ears open for little odd jobs, for sure.
- June 25 & 26th: Ho-Down Ultimate Tournament in Calgary, in Alberta Canada. I’m going up with a bunch of cool kids from Eugene, and we’re just going to have a sweet time. Lots of beer and BBQ, and someone told me there’s a 40foot hot-tub. I dunno….good times?
- July 2, 3 & 4th: POTLATCH — easily the greatest frisbee tournament in the world. I’m playing with “Causey Services” and it should be a great fritzen time.
- July 11-16th: The Summer Institute of American Philosophy, etc.
- August 5, 6, & 7th: Reggae on the River in San Francisco. I’m trying to make this dream a reality… but again, I have to attend to the things in my oven.
- August 9th - 18th: France with the Family. This is quite a treat. I feel blessed just to have the opportunity. Paris is rich with existential inspiration, and the city is (supposedly & obviously) absolutely incredible. I’m excited to know that in just a matter of days, I’ll be standing under the eiffel tower. Mind boggling, isn’t it? … and then, my 18yr old sister and I will go grab a beer in the middle of the afternoon, and talk about college and boys…
- 5 Weeks of Summer left: I really don’t intend to know what to do with myself for the rest of the summer. I get back from France, and I have no school until September 26th. That’s a lot of time. I might have to get a job. I might have to keep working on my Philosophy papers. I should definitely check in with Wendy at PLU, and pull some of my old research data out from their boxes, and do some regression analysis. But, there still is the off-chance that, as a returner, I could play out the rest of the club ultimate season with Shazam. I don’t know if the team could make a late season accommodation, and I don’t know if I’ll be up for it… but it’s all on the plate, you know? Plus, this would be the first time in maybe 14 years that I’ve had a 5-week chunk of unscheduled summer time. This might be a call for some serious road tripping, and some serious backpacking solitude. Everything sounds so tempting at this point… oh, and after picking up the book again for 30 minutes last night, I do intend to finally finish, The Fourth Way.
So, that’s where I’m at.
It all starts to add up, the litte things we think we have to do. To the point of exhaustion. We all keep hacking away at short term goals in hopes of achieving some long term happiness. Something doesn’t rest right with me on that. Is this really the promise? Can I really live the American Dream? To even begin to wonder is to acknowledge that the dream for some IS the nightmare for others. I mean, I see where you’re comin’ from with that… we gotta save up; we gotta be ready; we gotta be safe; we gotta, we gotta, we gotta. We gotta what? What do we gotta do? You tell me. I guess I’m a lucky one, huh? And I gotta take care of my fortunate fate: to live safely and to be afforded nice things and to visit nice places and eat nice meals. I’m somebody who could quite possibly live it out, live out the american dream. I’ve got the right class, i’ve got the right cash, i’ve got the right chance. My dreams are all achievable. Because of the depth of my parents’ heart, my every worry will die in the depths of my parents’ pocket. And though I try desperately to live in spite of such financial comfort, I fall asleep at night knowing that I would be picked up if I fell… this, my friend, THIS is the luxury. Even if you deny this, even if you think they won’t help, the truth is they would. What else is there to do with this life than help out the ones that you brought INTO it?! This is safety, this is what it means to be elite, to have the american dream. Security reshaped into a state of mind. It gives you wings. You are unafraid to fly. Unafraid to fall, unafraid to fail. Not because you’re big and tough, but because you know that you’ll be picked-up. Not because you’re a survivor, but because someone will dust you off. Pamper your wounds. Kiss your face. What about the cats on the bottom? The ones that get stepped on. That live the nightmare. The love is still the same between them. But if a son should fall, a mother could only squeeze and love him, while the two shake and cry into the night because there’s nothing else that can be done. If you work hard, then maybe you’ll get by. Or better yet, maybe someone will recognize your talents, and you’ll be on your way to a better life, where your children can be born into the middle, and never look back. But wait, with all this work, how will your talents grow? How will your skills develop when your hands are calloused and your mind is tired? When six days a week you work 8am to 5pm, and can barely provide for you and your partner? And when finally you gain some stability, at the expense of your own back, will you take the risks? Will you make time to travel the world? Will you move neighborhoods? Will you save money for the future? How will you live? What safety do you have? Don’t fool yourself. If you fail now, it’s over. Back to the bottom you go. If you move, you’ll lose your job, one of the only jobs you’ve managed to keep for a full year, and then what? Are you ready for that? There’s no net below, and who will remember you if you fall? What about health insurance? What about all the bills? What, will you live out of your car? Is that how you will travel the globe? Is that your idea of revolt? Is that how you and your loved one will manage? What about hiking the grand canyon, and sailing the gulf? What about Europe? Don’t tell me you haven’t been. Get out of town? Really? What about Africa, or central America? Wait, you’ve never been on a plane. Sucks when you’re poor. Don’t like where you live? Deal with it. Don’t like what’s in your food pantry? Deal with it. Life too boring? Deal with it. Dull the senses. Drink a case, and smoke a bowl. Hide from your reality. Hide from your fear. From your pain. To be honest, that’s what the rest of us are doing anyways, but its done in a different way, on a different level. To dream or to nightmare is still to be lost in your own fucking head. The homeless are just tryin’ to get a little taste, and pass out on a dry bench under some newspapers. Gangs sling rocks and pound 40ozs malt liquor bottles in between the fights and the sales. College kids pull out 3-foot beer bongs, and slam pabsts like it’s their job, and hook-up with eachother like AIDS is a joke. Big CEO’s laugh in their insecurity, as they pop wine bottles and jokes, and carry on in excess into the night. We’re all the same down deep. Unsure how to live, but not trying to think about it. And what do we say about those who do, who do think about it? What about them? They’re crazy. They’re too idealistic. They’re out of touch with reality. Listen, reality is bigger than America. Reality involves more people than on your block, or in your community subdivision. And if we’re looking for happiness, how come I get sad everytime I see someone else struggling. Someone else suffering? I can’t turn that off. I can’t feel good when I drop $20 on a meal. I can’t feel good when I can’t finish the whole plate. I can’t feel good when a good friend is scared to chase a dream because he can’t afford it, and there’s no security blanket for him to take the leap: the same friend that offers me a beer every time I come over. Something doesn’t sit right with this. There’s something about the nature of happiness that isn’t fully being addressed. What do we all have in common? How can we speak to that? How can we start from there? The land of America was designed to be the place where the world’s dreams … and hunger, and greed, and envy, and desire… could come together. Born with the very qualities that bred our interest in America in the first place, the Americans themselves decided to quit sharing, and to keep the nation for their own. And now what? Now it’s a mess. With half the nation still living out their selfish fantasies by day and lost in a head of confusion by night, and the other half get up everyday with some envy and some hope and some deliberateness, and fall asleep at night with the universal insecurity that plagues the rest of us. When did happiness become the goal, and not the process? Religion makes it so easy. Is there ANY other way, any other way to revive the human without first dulling the mind? Tell me. Is ice cream the only cure?
Listen, if there’s anything I know, it’s good hip-hop. Trust me on this. And further, trust me that Roots Manuva and his new CD, ‘Awfully Deep,’ is fritzen off the charts! My guy, Ryck, is sharing a song of his called, Mind 2 Motion, but you gotta get more of him if you can handle it… This kid is just straight up cutty.
I wasn’t planning on advertising this, but I’ve got a few tunes up on my UO web space — a little Azeem, a little DJ Nu-Mark, a little Zion-I, and a little Heiruspecs…. and then some bogus, unfinished papers. The story of my life: music and unfinished papers. Ha!
To the fullest. From the highest. Inward, I flow; like it’s my job. From left to right, stand up, sit tight. I move. Like an ocean. I just feel the current sweep over me. The dust. I’m all Smile, honestly. There’s a curl of my lip, and a smurk. A smurk that says what it says. Take it how you want. I’m me. Ha. Can’t take that away. If anything, you helped make me this way. Argue that, then. I’d listen. And the smurk would remain. Like a tree trunk on a bald mountain side. I ride with the wind. I could say such things. Time is mine to defeat. The power resides in the eye. How quickly every space is filled. Before I even have a chance to ‘let be’, I’ve already prepared for the flight. Buckle up. Strap yourselves in. I can’t be stopped. And it’s my choice to choose. Any which way I go. You can only watch in awe. You can only watch. Only watch. I move too stealth. Like nightfall, I make my move. I’d be scared if I were you. Nervous, anxious even. There’s an insincerity about it all. But an insincerity from the heart. You can’t trust an animal in a cage. The pacing itself has you suspicious. But the fuzzy mane has you fooled. In the animal kingdom, you’d second guess that shit. You’d have those laces tight if you knew. If only you could know. But you can’t. I’d have to know first, and I choose not to ask. Just roll. Rollin’ like a tumbleweed on a desert horizon. There’s a whisping nature about the whole thing. An aimless delibrateness. The moon knows what I’m talking about. It feels me, up-in-this. From the tide of my mind, I feel it’s pull. Fuck it all. There’s a wicked assembly afoot. Looming at the roots, and who’s in charge? Where are the workers? From that whence I came, to that where I go. The slightest of tales could do no right by me. Fancy that. You couldn’t guess this if you tried. Despite popular belief, it takes little effort. Little effort at all to elude you. I’m almost bored with it. The world is not ready for this. Never has been. But the leaves shake with a bit more lucidity these days. They feel the presence of it. I peer into their minds, and rearrange. From all sides I seep. It’s far too thrilling to question at this point. You just have to let it ride. On into the sunset. Where the river flows on and on and on. So soothing, and temporal. Like a mother’s hug and kiss. Sedation. I see right through you. Judge me, then. I take it in stride. And with each step you shudder. I would if I was you, too. But I’m not, so get over yourself. Yeah, I said it. And the worst part is, I mean it. You do what you have to do, you little bitch. You never stood a chance anyway. I’ve been there and back. Seen that and more. Go ahead. Run that circle. Chase that “dream.” You never could have done any differently. Even if you tried. Dare me, then. See how I respond. Watch me move through the clouds. So light-footed. So, uncharted is my path. There’s a desperation to the journey. Even YOU want to know about it. Think I’ll spend a single moment thinking of you? Guess again. There’s no time for such things. I’ve quit looking. Forward and back. Hence and forth. Thick and thin. Jump when i say so. Too good for that shit? Then you decide; like I care. Movement. In the end, it’s all movement. In the middle too, and the beginning is no different. Draw, write. Hike, sell. Parent, friend. You pick your poison. Chalk up your death. Make your mark. Find your Self. Yadda yadda yadda. Go ahead, tell me something. Anything. Then shut up about it. You don’t know me. Thought you did? Know yourself? Know yourself. I’ll drink that. I’ll smoke that. I’ll snort that. That’s what they tell me. I’ll do her. I’ll do him. That’s what they do. Who is the they, afterall? “Say somethin’ for my country people.” I got places to be. There’s no time for such things. Stop calling me. I don’t need you. Never did. I’m not interested in your stories. What’s interest anyway? When did it stop becoming pity? What, you’ve got a tougher spine? You think you’ve got it all wrapped up. Blow me. I’ve seen that swagger. I’ve thrown that curve. Catch my drift? Lean back, as far as you can go. Hold it, now. Hold it. You sucker. Don’t make me come after you. There’s a whole ‘nother face you’ve never seen. Try me, then. The sinister minister. The prisoner finisher. I’m like a blanket. And I don’t fuck with that silky shit. That milky shit. I cut you down, and cut you up. Dice it and splice it. Like a dummy. Hip hopcracy. Return me to normalcy. I can flow pretty pretty, but only conditionally. Keep my toes curled, and my leg a shakin’. No booty tonight, the mood is taken. Stomp it out. Stomp it out. Too quick like a shadow. I won’t stop for myself. Even if I was asking me nicely. You couldn’t be me if you had 10 tries. You couldn’t be me if you had 10 eyes. Watching me everywhere I went like I was top prize. I’d catch every disguise. Every morning, from shine to rise. And after all my my-my’s, I’d hug you goodbye. And I wouldn’t even shed a god. damn. tear. Heartless. Ruthless. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you sleep tighter at night. Does that make you have a “good” day? Does that make you enjoy your fucking weekend? Another fucking weekend. Oh, joy. Up yours. With your country people. Evolution. Evolve this! Or just kill me. Cuz i won’t do it myself. There’s no time in my day, otherwise I’d… You feel me on that? You see what I’m sayin’? You hear where I’m comin’ from? Didn’t think so. So why’d you nod your fuckin’ head? Step back. ‘Fore I knock you back. I got know time for your tricks. I got know time for you games. I got know. Know. Don’t judge me. Blame me, i dare you. Weakness. It’s in your eyes. To your core. To. Your. Core. I’d turn around. I’d at least raise my head up. Hey, where you goin’? What, did I finally turn you away? Is that all it took? I’ve been trying for years to get that seperation, and now you’re just giving it away? It’s almost not fair. Turn your back on me. That’s an order. Never be interested in this. It’s not yours first of all. Second of all. Exactly. Third, then. You name it. It’s your little world, and you can fancy it any which way you please. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. Who would I be if I did? Who do you think I am? Nevermind, I’m not even listening to what you have to say. Surprise! Fuck it. And, I’m still smilin’…
Did you hear about Dave Chappelle skippin’ town? Crazyiness.
Did you hear about the many hip-hip personas of Kool Keith?
So, I stumbled onto an old post, and if the comment system was working properly on anize, I would have known much sooner that a comment was added to it. But what can you do? However, I very much appreciated the question:
> Tell me, what was your last epiphany, and how did it change your everyday life?
Epiphany. I’m going to take this definition of the word: an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking; an illuminating discovery; a revealing scene or moment.
I’m not quite sure if I’ve ever had a ‘first’ epiphany… does everyone get one? My latest thoughts have been spent looming in sheer awe of the beauty of a natural setting. When I see pictures of the world, in books or from my friends, I want so desperately to visit… so desperately to immerse myself in such a setting. I’m pent up in a philosophy grad program, racking my brain on the Ideas of things, when I know there is this sanctuary of serenity waiting for me in the open arms of mother nature.
My epiphany might be acknowledging the extremes to which mother nature is no longer very natural… or rather, humans have effected her in some way, at every point on earth. If not by the physical distruction of her roots, rocks, and critters, than surely by the intrusive disruption of her air, temperature and composition. I look out my window and see trees growing between slabs of cement, and I see bushes perfectly aligned in front of the building, with grass freshly mowed below. Has nature really become a cosmetic decoration for our twiddling fingers? Where can I go to see nature in true form? This is my epiphany…. that no where is left! Or maybe, that I must go!
My everyday life has changed very little, I guess. I have things to do here, and papers to grade/write, but the thoughts that accompany each day correspond to an ever growing restlessness within me….
My departure is forth-coming.
Not the least bit tired, but still, he sits and stares, his open eyes have stopped their watching. The coffee’s cold and the page is desperate, but his will won’t play the game. With a rare set of wings, this dreamer dreams, and the sunlight comes to passing.
Okay, (at least) all the men in the house can agree that there are some social complications that are associated with peeing at the urinal, specifically in a public place. Clearly, any home with a private urinal is a dream, but that’s neither here nor there. I just wanted to say that I recently got back from the bathroom, and I’m so freakin’ jazzed! Why?
I firmly believe that there’s nothing more thrilling than peeing in a urinal that already has pee in it!
Seriously. It’s like I’m doing my small part to save the world! Hazaa, one more flush-worth of water saved! The feeling is so affirming. You can pee all you want to and not flush it, but your achievement remains uncertain; there’s no justice being done unless the NEXT guy chooses not to flush your efforts away. Only by taking advantage of another’s conservation attempt can you really begin to feel some vindication… and, boy, do I! I can only hope the next guy adds to the joy!
I should add, but this is only for the real do-ers in the crowd, there’s something to be said for staying well-hydrated. Not only is it sweet to pee clear urine, but your chances of fooling the next guy (most likely a typical, 1st-world ‘square’) into embracing our water consciousness scheme are THAT much higher. He looks down, only sees clear-ish water, and thinks nothing of it… next thing you know, you’ve suckered him into saving the planet… Brilliant! I rest my case.
Mu-hahahahaha!!!
So, we’ve been discussing more advanced topics in these last few weeks of Existentialism; topics that really challenge what it means to understand the Self. Some of the most assertive philosophies are proposed by Sartre, as he makes claims about bad faith, and the choice between acting cowardly or acting courageously. A student in one of my discussions picked up on the language, and began to relate this issue to the Self-project and the problems proposed by its inescapable temporality:
“If I usually keep silent in lecture, am I a coward with each new day that I choose to perpetuate the silence? Better still, am I to understand myself as courageous if I suddenly choose to speak out in class one day? How can this be? Don’t we draw on our history each time we act? If I act contrary to my tendency one day, can that action really be said to be a characteristic of me, especially given its anomalous place in my history? Don’t our tendencies play the dominant role in defining the self, in addition to my actions in the fleeting moment? Or am I really to believe that being is SO temporal and wayward as to be only grounded in solitary instances and singular decisions? Further, how should we understand the Self if it is influenced by our habitual past, our expected future, and the immediate (and often unpredictable) choices of the moment?”
I’ll first say that I think it’s possible to learn something about the self from our tendencies, and our ambitions(1), but this doesn’t seem to be in doubt. I think there’s something to be said for the mind as layered – it is one layer to do thinking and another layer allows one to think about the thinking that is being done. The mind’s very depth allows for habits and actions to be simultaneously associated with ideas, intentions, and beliefs. Granted, some actions are so routine that they are conditioned by repetition, or so spontaneous that they emerge before reflection can take hold; either way, I make the argument that the mind can function (make decisions) without any reflective(2) affiliation/association. The nature of the reflective ego, however, is that it is as voluntary an action as blinking of one’s eye. Without paying it particular attention our reflective conscious will gladly focuses as it chooses, often appearing to the Self as random, or clinamenian. And yet, the Self can freely choose (third layer) to direct its reflective scope on any particular object of executive function(3) whenever action is being taken.
I want to focus not on the many ways we can take control of our reflective focus(4), but rather to point out that reflective attention can only be in so many places at once. We would be right to suggest that more executive action is being done in the human body than can be reflected on at a given moment. Some executive functions are condition through habit to be able to efficiently and consistently act without need of the reflective ego. This is again not to say that we couldn’t reflect specifically on how we turn on a car, or how we spread peanut butter on a slice of toast, but often these actions require a set of skills that are nearly as efficient under the control of the vague and unreflective consciousness as it could be under the guidance of the precise and focused reflective ego(5). For this reason I propose that there are executive actions that are carried out to completion but never even involved the reflective conscious. Squishing my foot into a shoe might not involve any reflection or contemplation as long as I don’t begin to struggle throughout the process. Similarly, flicking a bug from my ear often entails a purely reactive, unreflective response that leads to an unpredictable consequence, since the action is over before I began to think about it.
These unreflective moments of action, which are reactionary or conditioned responses, are still decisive. They are moments of accomplishment, and thus have effects. I take these effects to be arbitrary, but dictative. The outcomes of unreflective action, even those of pure habit, can always waver in predictability and often have unforeseen consequences that may affect our lived experience.
I don’t pretend to know how to completely synthesize the unreflective executive action of the Self with the history of its habitual past, but the discrepancy between deliberate (reflective) action and reactionary (unreflective) action has led me to dream up a fantasy afterlife:
The Infinite Library
This idea is my most favorite concept of the “Afterlife”, if there is one. I don’t spend my waking days thinking that there is an afterlife, since for me, the question of existence is only in the moment of time, and outside of time I have no bearings, and thus no expectations. BUT! If I were to die today, this would be my fantasy.
So, my body is inflicted with a mortal wound, and my spirit floats up to heaven. Everything is white, and fluffy, with gold trim, and smells like waterlillies. I walk up to the gate, and God is there to greet me. It’s not a new or unfamiliar moment like you’d expect, but rather, I feel right at home, and to top it off, God and I have a secret handshake! So, God and I sort of effortlessly drift across the pathway through an environment so profoundly infinite and unimaginably aesthetic, that I cannot help but get goose bumps — on my soul! I mean, get real. This is heaven were talking about; and not just ANY heaven — the one made in MY mind! So, of course, this is a heaven that transcends time, and space, and does so in infinite ways. All around me I see famous and infamous people from our history books: lincoln, Ghandi, Arendt, Napolean, my father, and my grandparents, and Matt Dirnbauer … I don’t know, you name it. And there’s even people from the future there: you guys, and Seinfeld, and that little boy from “Jerry Maguire,” etc. I mean, sure, people are spread out all over the place, but you can get anywhere in heaven in just a matter of minutes … plus, you’re there for an eternity, so finally you’ve got time on your side.
So, God shows me to my room. It’s a white door, discreet and modest, and fits in with the neighborhood. My number, 33, is on the door, and that’s chill. There’s front doors on either side of mine that must lead to the neighbors abode, but we’re in heaven, so upon entering my room, I realize I too have an infinite amount of space - in my room! There are bedrooms, and kitchens, and toy rooms, and basements. There are rainforests, and deserts, and mountains and lots of ice cream. It’s my room, whaddya expect? God leaves me to my pad, and I’m very thankful. The body’s feeling good. I’ve got great music in the sterero, and I’m already thinking about takinga walk outside and visiting some friends, you know, maybe grab an ice cold Pabst in a bottle. But then I notice something particular in my room. Not sure how I missed when i first walked in, I take a closer step to it. On the far east wall of my den is a shelf of video that goes from floor to ceiling, and runs infinitely down the side the room. We’re talkin’ infinte tapes!
I look closer and I realize each tape is tagged with a date, along with some additional numbers which must serve as some filing or ordering system. The collection of tapes are titled, “The Manifold Possibilities of Aaron Morgan Bell,” and admittedly my intrigue sky-rockets through the roof. I meander up and down the wall, and decide on my instincts and choose the first tape of the library, numbered 01. I pop it into my big, projection screen television with the built-in, 47-speaker, surround sound system, and I humbly twiddle my fingers. The film begins and what do I see on the screen? Me. Little, baby me. I’m in my first few moments of life. I’m squiggling all around, and my parents are there, and the doctors, and all of that good stuff. The camera seems to be shot with an omniscient lens, and is able to capture everything so perfectly, and with such realness, and to make matters even more outlandish, not only is there audio from the others in the room, but there’s an audio line of my crying but from what sounds like within my head, as if the film has captured my lived experience! So, I fast forward to when I was three, and when I was 10. Yup, all me. Everything I’ve ever done up until that point, and not only do you get what could be heard by any onlooker, but my inner monologue, my private subjectivity is right along with it. Every time I think to myself, “I’m hungry,” the video says it. Every time I feel good, or feel bad, or hurt myself, or try to help someone, all of my thoughts are right there. Unbelieveable! I fast forward to the first time I fell in love, back to the first time I rode a bike, forward to my marriage, and to my trip to South America. It’s all there. Every instant. Every thought I’ve ever had, and every thing I’ve ever done. In some ways, I feel pretty vulnerable, maybe ashamed, and in other ways, pretty liberated and pretty proud! I mean, this is heaven. This is the afterlife. I have, in hand, my full project of self, as constituted by me. What a masterpiece. I’m so tempted to run down the hall to my mother’s room, and fast-forward her tape to my first birthday, and to see it from her perspective and hear her thoughts on the moment. Or to go to that one girl’s house, and check out film from that one party where we hooked up, and I could have sworn she faked it. Man, with all of eternity at my fingertips, I could really have some fun!
But then I remembered that I have an infinite amount of tapes on the wall! Of what could they possibly be? So, I pace down the wall, and I pick out a completely arbitrary tape, numbered 1006. I’m watching, I’m watching, and everything’s the same. I’m born, I cry, I go home, yadda, yadda, yadda. But then, at about 11 months old, right when I normally ate a spoonful of applesauce, I suddenly flung the sauce across the room! My mom then ran over to me, and she slipped on the sauce, and she broke her left wrist, and we had to take her to the hospital, and on and on and on. I remembered in the first video thinking about chucking my spoon across the room on pure impulse, but I didn’t go through with it. Yet in this video, I had acted differently.
I took down the next tape, numbered 1007, fast-forwarded to the same spot, and here i continued to politely use the spoon. Fifteen minutes goes by, and my dog, Clara Bell, comes by with a ball in her mouth, and I don’t reach out for it —- BUT! I specifically remember reaching for the ball in real life, trying to steal it from her, and crying because she bit a little too hard and made me scared. Why were these videos so different? Or rather, why were they exactly the same up until a moment, and then they differed?
Well, I began to watch more movies, fast-forwarding until I noticed something different, and then trying to determine where and how things went another way. I realize each movie is exactly the same as my lived experience, EXCEPT for every time I am faced with a decision, a new movie is born out of the off-chance that I made the other! For every moment where I exercised ‘choice’ in my lived life, myself as an infinite possibility is represented in a new movie, as another life, based on the choice I DIDN‘T make! And each movie comes equipped with my subjectivity. All of my tendencies, and attitudes are essentially the same, but for some movies, I missed a flight, and met a girl, and moved to Asia. In other movies, I caught lucky lottery ticket, but got robbed 2 years later, and lost a daughter. Some movies involve just a slight variation, and others are a complete epic.
What’s so fascinating here is, and the implications of this analogy could be carried on ad infinitum, but what’s so fascinating is that, having chosen to see myself as possibility, and have chosen to live an existential life where my project of self rests in my propensity to decide, no aspect of my potential to be goes unfulfilled! Every possible decision I could have ever made differently is lived out, in real time, with real consequences, right before my eyes. These are not movies, these are the infinite possibilities of my Self, cast live on a television screen with a reflective ego as narrator.
This would be sweet! And to top it off, I can’t wait to go check out YOUR videos. I’ll get to share in the moments where we never got to share in real life, and see the sights that we all managed to see differently. Or maybe I’ll just go back to those times where we both sat quietly on a log, in the middle of the forest, in silence. What were you thinking then?
… eek! I’ve been writing for way too long. This is dead week. I’ve got work to do. I did, however, have my bike tires stolen today, so I think I could justify feeling entitled to take an hour to babble on about heaven… or something like that.
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[footnotes. yeah, so what?]
(1) AMBITIONS: an anticipated or premeditated way of acting. Relate to a “habit of the future”; a term understood to take the place of the habit of thinking we construct to prepare for an action. An action that lacks some spontaneity because of the mind’s pre-planning; this pre-planning is the involvement of the reflective conscious (ego).
(2) REFLECTIVE: ascribing an addition layer of consciousness to an object of executive function (physical action, interaction, intention, etc); a ‘reflective’ layer of consciousness is one that assigns value or meaning to its object.
(3) EXECUTIVE FUNCTION: the accomplished object of action (physical action, social interaction, mental intention, etc) as regulated by the un-possessive (unreflective) conscious; the process of acting or thinking (confronting options and making choices), without discussing, predicting, or reflecting on possible outcomes of the decision at hand.
(4) Flashlight Analogy: I’d like to insert my flashlight analogy here. The world is an infinite regress of possible things to perceive, by the many processes of sensation, perception, cognition, reflection that we have. Our control over our experience is much like trying to grip and direct an otherwise spontaneously wavering flashlight and then to focus it on a particular part of the room [world] around us. The real challenge of the task is to become masterful at some skill: holding it steady, bringing it close to a wall, seeing how far from something you can get, trying to shine it on everything, looking for something undiscovered, or even trying to turn it off. The analagy goes on ………
(5) [e.g., my fingers grip the knife and spread the jelly, but I don’t reflect on precisely how I place my finger tips around the handle, or how I direct the motion of the spreading – every unreflective choice is done to sufficiency as opposed to specificity. I might be spreading PB&J on my sandwich while I day dream about the ocean, and when the executive action of making the sandwich is over, I’ll often re-involve my reflective attention for a moment, and question, “Is the bread mostly covered?” Upon reflection, I’ll respond, “Good,” and enjoy.]