Towards the end of his life, Norwegian philosopher Arne Næss had a toy piglet. It is perhaps a little odd for a grown and respected man to have a stuffed toy.
What is even more odd is that he and his wife treated it as a child, and wrote a book about him.
It is easy to dismiss it as the folly of an old man. But is that all?
Playfulness was always central in his life, and his playfulness in relating to his piglet is a teaching in itself. It is an invitation for us all to find more playfulness in life, including in how we use our imagination.
And there is also wisdom here.
When we interact with others, we usually assume we interact based on who they are. But we are really interacting with them based on who we imagine they are. When Arne Næss treated his piglet as a living being, it becomes clear that he is really interacting with his imagined piglet. This is an invitation for us to take a closer look at this in our own life.
It is very understandable when we try to justify our actions. We are just trying to protect a particular self image, often as “good”, and to find acceptance from ourselves and others and fit in.
There is fortunately a very simple alternative, and that is to find a fullness of stories around what we initially may wish to justify. And to deliberately include both “good” and “bad” stories in a conventional sense.
Implied even in positive judgments is an idea of yourself as someone who is limited—someone who needs good things to happen to be okay and feel adequate. There’s nothing wrong with something good happening; it’s just that even your positive judgments are small truths that are based on a small idea of your self. Your Heart will contract just as much for a small positive truth as for a small negative truth.
~ Nirmala
A friend of mine posted this on facebook. It is a good reminder that any belief we hold about ourselves, others, or life, makes us, others, or life smaller and more confined than what we really are.
The most obvious is that projections allows us to orient and navigate in the world. Our world of images create a sense of space and time, places whatever happens in the sense fields in space. connects images of past, present, and future events, places boundaries to create the appearance of objects, filters, interprets, and makes sense of it all. This can most easily be noticed through simple sense field explorations. Without our world of images, we wouldn’t function.
This world of images also creates an infinitely rich world. We can place boundaries anywhere. Find connections anywhere. Look at any (imagined) object from any number of perspectives. Create any number of contexts which dramatically changes how we see something. We quite literally create our own worlds through the images we place on top of the sense fields.
I went into a bookstore a couple of days ago and found copies of Sarah Palin’s autobiography prominently displayed in the fiction section. It may have been a staff person who deliberately placed them there, or a customer with a sense of humor. For a book with so many obvious distortions and factual errors, it is perhaps a good placement.
But all biographies and autobiographies are in a very real sense fictional. They are heavily filtered through interpretations and whatever information is available – itself just a selection and heavily interpreted.
Some folks frown when the phrase dark night is used in secular contexts, for instance describing what many of us go through after losing a job or the end of a relationship. They say it should be used only in its original meaning, as describing the dark night of the senses or the dark night of the soul.
But is it so wrong to use it in a secular sense? Maybe the secular and spiritual dark nights are not as different as they may appear?
Any dark night, whether secular or spiritual, comes about through a friction between our shoulds and reality, or rather, friction between our stories of what is and what should be. It doesn’t really matter what the content of those stories are. The effect is the same: unease, stress, tension, complains, sense of being a victim, perhaps sadness, grief, anger, frustration, sense of loss, and so on.
Imagined boundaries can be placed anywhere, creating the appearance of an inside and outside, and us vs them.
There are many benefits of imagined boundaries. They are practical. They help us communicate with ourselves and others, and navigate and function in the world. If ideas of better and worse are added, they can give a sense of cohesion within the boundary (whether as an individual or group) and it can help us feel better about ourselves.
And there are also some drawbacks. We may get so used to a particular imagined boundary that we take it as real, as something “out there” in the world. We may get so used to it that we don’t recognize it as imagined, and that equally meaningful and useful boundaries can be placed anywhere.
So it is good to shake it up. It is good to place boundaries at meaningful yet unusual places, as a reminder that these are just imagined boundaries and that other boundaries give meaning as well.
I sometimes don’t want to admit to myself that a certain story feels true. It comes up as a feeling or image. It feels true for me at a gut level. But at the same time, it goes against a familiar story I have held as true for a long time and am not quite ready to let go of.
This happens naturally in life. Circumstances change. We have new experiences. Things shift.
I notice stories happening in at least three ways….
I can be identifiedwith a story. I take myself as that viewpoint. It is inseparable from who or what I take myself to be. I cannot help perceiving, feeling and acting as if it is true.
There can be a sense of distance to that story. The story happens and there may be emotions there, but it happens at a distance. I am here and the story-emotion dynamic is over there. I have a choice in how I relate to it, and whether or how I act on it in the world.
And when what I am notices itself, the story-emotion dynamic happens on its own. It happens within and as what I am, along with any other content of experience. There is a sense of space within and around it and everything else. Here too, there is a choice in whether or how to act on it. And there is a more clear recognition of the story and its viewpoint as a tool only, helpful in some situations and not in other.
What I see in the wider world – in others, culture, nature, fictional and real life stories, science, dreams – is a mirror of what is here now. It is a mirror of the characteristics and dynamics here now.
My world – the world I relate to and live within – is my own world of images. It is my own overlay of boundaries and interpretations on pure perception.
And it all happens within and as what I am and everything is.
Misdirection is one of the many wonderful analogies from the world of magic.
Any belief is misdirection.
I experience the world as if it is true. Any story filters the world and experience, and this experience – which naturally conforms with the belief – is taken as support for the belief. And since the filtering story is taken as true, I don’t even notice that and how it filters experience. I take the filtered experience as real, substantial, true and as support for my initial belief.
I believe the world is made up of objects. (Including however I see myself, as a human being, a doer, an observer). I filter experience as objects. I take that experience, those boundaries, as real, substantial and true. I experience myself as an object in a world full of objects. And that experience is taken as support for my initial belief. (Which most of the time is not even brought to awareness. It operates at the level of images, the first imaginary overlay on pure perception.)
Although I don’t write about it much here, I often use an evolutionary view to explore dynamics in daily life. It is fun to imagine what evolutionary function something has, and it can even be helpful at times.
For instance, I noticed nervousness before giving a presentation to a group, and realized that it seems to make perfect sense in an evolutionary perspective. If I am careless about what I say or do in front of a large group of people, it can have serious consequences for me. In extreme cases, I could get killed. I could get thrown out of my community. I could get stigmatized and have to live with the consequences for the rest of my life. Of course, in the culture I live in, none of these are likely to happen, or if some of the less serious consequences did happen, I could just find another group or move another place. But my system still responds as if I lived in a small tribe in Africa and my life depended on that one small community.
Just having that explanation makes it a little easier. The nervousness seems a little less personal. It is not so much about me, but a shared human – probably mammalian – experience.
There are many ways of being fundamentalist. We can be religious fundamentalists, of course. We can be atheist fundamentalists, taking the no-God story as true and not acknowledging that it all depends on the images we have of God (if we see God and reality as interchangeable terms, then atheism makes less sense!), and that we really don’t know. And we can even be science fundamentalists, taking current models from science as the gospel truth, not recognizing that these too will be obsolete at some point in the future.
Also, we can be anti-fundamentalist fundamentalist which I am familiar with from myself. I sometimes notice a reaction to fundamentalism of different flavors, and that is of course another brand of fundamentalism. I am not receptive to the validity and gifts of fundamentalism, and not free to shift between a wider range of stories about fundamentalism and apply the one that seems most helpful in the situation.
Any time I take any story as true, even if it is as an underlying assumption such as stores about the world (life is….) and what I am (an object in the world, content of experience), I become a fundamentalist. I filter experience as if it is true. I act as if it is true. And I can’t help it, as long as I take those stories as true.
The most common form of fundamentalist isn’t of the religious type. It is the fundamentalism of taking ourselves as content of experience, as an object within content of experience – whether it is an image of a human self, or an image of a doer or observer or any other image.
All of this may be obvious in general and for the stories we clearly recognize as stories, guides, pointers. Where it gets interesting and juicy is for the stories we still take as true, the ones creating friction and stress, the ones attention naturally is drawn to, the views we identify with, the basic assumptions we haven’t questions and explored yet.
Any story has a number of reversals, and each of these reversals also has validity. We can find specific examples of where each of those reversals are genuinely true for us. This is a reminder that no story has absolute validity, and it is also an invitation to explore ways to hold the limited validity of all reversals of any particular story. And then find the genuine validity in the reversals of those more embracing stories.
Any story also hinges on a number of assumptions, and each of these has valid reversals. The assumptions usually include the basic ones of space, time, objects, beings, a me, doer, observer and that these exists as real, separate, out there etc.
If reality is inherently neutral, the play of appearances, then that should be reflected at the level of our stories as well. Revealed when I inquire into stories about a particular situation.
And it really seems to be reflected there.
I have a story about a situation being undesirable, unfortunate, harmful, bad. It is my familiar story and I am identified with its viewpoint and the identities it creates. I feel that it is true because I believe the story. I find evidence to support it. I filter the world through that story, so whatever happens seems to confirm it. I take it as true, so perceive and act as if it is true.
Taking a story as true creates a knot, and that knot is created by supporting stories, reactive emotions, and actions that inevitably follows, and it also creates and fuels a sense of a separate self – locating myself in time and space with a boundary around and the wider world beyond. I condense my experience of myself into an object in the world, with infinitely many other objects around.
Yet, as soon as I am more honest with myself, as soon as I investigate that story in a helpful way and with sincerity, the knot softens and starts to unravel. I may see that all of the reversals of the initial story also has validity, I can find the genuine truth in each of them. Identification with the initial viewpoint softens and may release out of it.
I wanted to explore these islands of density a little further.
What are they made up of? I find sensations and an overlay of images. And these images include images of a location in space, an outline of the islands – roughly defining their shape and size, and labels and interpretations of these islands. And also images of a me with certain identities and viewpoints, relating to these images in certain ways depending on how they fit with these identities and viewpoints. Images of a doer acting in certain ways. And an image of an observer observer all of this.
This post started as a play with the different theist labels (atheist, non-theist, theist, pantheist, panentheist etc.) and how they all describe aspects of how I relate to the world. They all fit, in their own way.
Playing with stories in that way can be instructive. I can find how they each have validity for me so I don’t get (too) stuck in any one of them, and then do the same with the many possible stories holding them all. I can notice some of the dynamics going on around these stories and the ways I apply and live from them. I can explore how and when each of these stories seem helpful as a guide for attention and action. I can notice how I tend to play with stories in un-conventional ways, finding the truth in them for me in that way, and also am free to use them in conventional ways – and usually do – when I talk with others.
“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called. ~A.A. Milne
Even a simple Pooh quote is a question and invitation for investigation.
When anticipating eating honey, it is easy to see that the joy of sweet anticipation is all in the mind. If we like honey, that is.
Awakening is an awakening out of stories, and that includes whatever guidelines (if any) used to invite in the awakening. As Gautama Buddha said, the teachings are a boat designed to get you over to the other side. No need to carry it with you after you land.
This is good advice at any phase of the process, whether it is before or within awakening.
And it is also good advice when the veils are thinning, since attachment to teachings as true may be among the last identifications. There may be an identification with the viewpoint of these teachings and all that comes with it, including dentification as content of experience, and as an I with an other.
In this koan (see the full text below), Myo awakened. (Reality awakened to itself, awakened from temporarily taking itself to be Myo.)
And after awakening, there is the process of living from it with care. It can easily be obscured, and that happens as soon as we take any story as true or identify with any viewpoint.
As Byron Katie says, we are awakened – or not – to a thought. The thought that is here now.
Joel sometimes says that enlightenment is retroactive.
One of the many ways of noticing that is through inquiry. Especially when it is done in a wholehearted and heartfelt way.
I take a story as true, and it colors my past. It may even bring up sadness, grief, anger, regret and so on.
I inquire into the story, finding what is more true for me, and the story is liberated from being taken as true.
And here, I find that my images of the past has changed as well. Instead of – for instance – regret over a particular situation, there is now a gentle and heartfelt appreciation.
Often, it is bitter-sweet. I can see how I acted in beliefs back then, creating suffering for myself and others. It is bitter. And yet, in realizing that I was confused and acted on a belief, and now have a little more clarity around it, there is a sweetness, a sincere appreciation of the whole process.
I listened to a Zen talk about how difficult it is to notice when we are caught up in the ego. It is true, of course, but also not.
The word ego in a spiritual context points to identification with a viewpoint. Or more accurately, with a story and its viewpoint and corresponding identity, and the role in the world that goes with it.
Even clarifying that makes it easier. When we talk about ego, it can sound a little vague and abstract. But identifying with a viewpoint is a little more concrete and familiar. It is something we are more likely to notice as it happens.
And as we get familiar with the symptoms of identifying with a viewpoint, there is even more of a possibility of recognizing it as it happens. We may not be able to shift out of it completely, right there and then, but we can at least recognize that we are caught up in identification with a viewpoint, and do ourselves and others a favor and not blindly act on it.
What we call truth in any story or map comes from how it works as a practical guide for attention, exploration or action. If it works well and it fits with our individual or shared stories about how the world works in general, we call it true. But there is no truth inherent in any story or map.
Stories and maps aretools. Practical guides for attention, exploration and action. There is no more “truth” in them than in any other tool such as a hammer or saw.
Any story is a question, and that includes maps. They are questions and starting points for inquiry.
For instance, what happens if I take the map as true? What happens if I experience and live as if it is true? How do I limit myself and the world? Who would I be if I didn’t take it as true? What are the truths in its reversals?
What happens if I take it as a tool? A tool of limited and practical value only, with no truth to it apart from in a very limited and temporary sense? How and when may it be useful? How and when is it not?
As with any story, God (life, existence) is not bound or limited by any map.
Fundamentalists of any stripes tend to think they have the answers. And they do, in their own mind.
Fundamentalism is not only found in religion, politics and at times science, but also in the apparently small things in life: My wife shouldn’t leave dishes around the house. The neighbor’s dog shouldn’t chase our cat. They shouldn’t use noisy leaf blowers. And fundamentalism is also found in our more basic beliefs: I need to live up to an image. There is a doer and observer here.
I find I sometimes am a fundamentalist. I feel I have the answers, and if I don’t I can come up with some. I take myself as a doer and observer, and act as if it is true.
When I go into fundamentalism, I am in trouble. I take a lie as truth and I am in opposition to reality.
And when I take them as questions, with receptivity and curiosity, there is a more open landscape again. There is more room for natural intelligence to work, to recognize stories as tools only of temporary and practical value, and use the stories that seem most helpful in the current situation.
And this applies to the topic of this post as well…. Do I take this as true? Do I take (see, feel, live) it as a question? What happens when I do one or the other, or a mix of both?
