Copyright 2010, Randy Strauss, All Rights Reserved.
I've been SO busy since we came back from our vacation in August. I started a number of blogs, but have finished none. But this has been brewing...
"Who am I?" is a strange question. "Who is he, or she?" We usually answer by saying something about their identity or identities, her role in working, his relationships and family ties. "He's so-and-so's father, her brother, their son." "We know them from our neighborhood." "Our kids went to school together." "She's a friend of X's." "She worked with me last year." "She just moved here and doesn't know anyone." "He's an avid runner and is active in that charity." Who someone is is one's character, one's roles.
"Who am I?" asks about all that and more. It calls for a summary at the same time I hesitate to define myself in a limiting way. It's okay to talk about others that way- we are learning about them or teaching someone else, so we want to give someone a sense. And though I talk about myself similarly when meeting someone new, the question just begs for a more complete answer... Who the hell am I, anyway?
Part of our brain is reptilian- simple hunting, lazy, but handles the basics- daily routines and survival. Part of is mammalian- generating simple emotions and reacting to them, knowing how to work and play. Dog or cat owners see the "personality" of their pet. Perhaps it's more accurate to call it the animality of ourselves.
I'm not too familiar with cats, but dogs also know how to dominate others or submit, or avoid domination by retreating or fighting back.
And then there's the primate brain, capable of language and much richer social orders and paradigms. These include power struggles, conspiracies, faithfulness and betrayal. They show joy and sadness, and appreciate possession and loss. They care for each other and express frustration and anger.
And then the human brain, capable of so much richer expressions, more language, and abstractions to the point of creating a hugely abstract world. We codify agreements into laws and governments. We change boundaries into countries, states, counties and cities. We abstract possessions into money and ownership into "shares" (and feel loss or gain when an abstract "price" appears to fall or rise.)
An experiment was done
I went to a silent 3-day meditation weekend about 20 years ago. There was no talking, except during a few hours of lectures each day. We spent most of the day just concentrating on our breath. During these times, the mind keeps thinking. Sometimes I just noticed the thoughts, as I was directed. At other times I got lost in them, and realize a few moments or minutes later that I had stopped meditating.
The second night, I had a dream. I was racing around the prarie, galloping this way and that, or walking slowly in the sun, and then I'd be running again, swiftly covering ground. A glimmer of light revealed there was a pond ahead. I anticipated drinking as I approached it. Suddenly, I realized it wasn't just me, I was on a horse. I woke up and realized my mind was like a horse- it was a "mind of its own", and I often failed to distinguish between me and it. This is one of the keys of meditation, distinguishing the mind from oneself.
The mind is especially good, from millions of years of evolution, at spotting danger and surviving. Seeing danger where it doesn't exist can be harmful if done all the time- we need to rest and can't take TOO much stress. At the same time, we can deal with a lot of stress and not seeing a danger in time can be fatal. So the mind is very good at sensing danger, and generating fear to focus our survival skills.
For millions of years, this was a great boon. Today, in America, there's very little danger. With some common sense and awareness, we can live in perfect safety. But the mind doesn't care. It's still on high alert for danger, especially around anything moving, animal or human. We're build to be afraid of each other.
About 20 years ago, I heard a presentation by a User Interface expert. They had done experiments and found that if the messages given by a computer application was done in a consistent voice (tense, level of formalness, force, etc), people didn't really notice. But if the messages were inconsistent, people disliked the software.
Two things popped out at me. First, our mind is always judging, and figuring out if it likes or dislikes something. We have very little choice about it. Do you like chocolate, lemon, coffee, broccoli? Can you change any of those likes? Some people like them and some don't, so we know humans are capable of all sorts of opinions- why can't we change ours?
The second was that we're ready to see humans everywhere. We really only know how to relate to humans. To us, our pet has a personality. We easily think of a boat or a car as "he" or "she". We easily think of fruit-giving trees as generous, and easily see a force of personality behind the organization of the universe and the capricious-seeming patterns of the weather. Predators aren't just dangerous, they and their "devilish" eyes are evil...
During the last month, my wife focused on some of her complaints about me. For three weeks she pulled away. Then in the fourth week she listed the many things we don't have in common, then in anger listed a number of "Randy's faults" that had the most negative impact on the marriage.
I reacted, and observed my reactions. First I reacted to the growing solitude, the "coldness" and disconnection. I yearned for affection. I calmed my mind and reasoned with it, and all too often was swept up into its emotions. Petty thoughts arose, like "two can play at this game" and "she'll be sorry" and "I'll seek some closeness outside the marriage, if that's how she wants it." Often they took over my mind, and sometimes a bit of my actions. I kept letting go of them...
I reached out to friends, and those connections helped. I reached out to fellow Forum grads and received continual wake-ups- who did I want to be in the matter of our marriage? What did I have to say about who Leah and I were? And I kept coming back to observing what was going on, and sticking to my routine.
The fourth week was particularly turbulent. Emotions cascaded through me. I realized I was going through the grieving stages, letting go.
Then last weekend, on Saturday, she let it go and we talked. We got over it and made some new plans. Now things are great...
Most interesting to me is how little control I had of "myself" emotionally. With support I could come out of it, but easily slipped right back in. With support, I could handle the emotions and let go of the suffering, but those, too, were strong.
I seem to be that bit of consciousness that observes the mind and its thinking. I have a say in the emotions, but it's again, sort of like riding a horse. No matter how much I think I know the horse and think I'm controlling it, when it bucks or stampedes, I can pretty much just hold on for the ride.
Clearly, my mind, my "personality", has abandonment issues. My wife's withdrawal "pushed my buttons" and suddenly I was on a roller coaster.
And yet, that wasn't me.
Nor am I the "rational mind" that can string these thoughts together. That seems to also be just another machine (or another piece of the same machine.) This machine I seem to be better at driving, but it's sort of like driving a car- once it gets moving, it tends to keep moving and takes a while to slow down. And the road, this culture's paradigms and norms, exert a huge influence on where I go. Yes, I can invent new roads and go cross-country, but it's effortful...
I seem to be the observer. I'm there even between the thoughts.
I declare myself to be the possibility of joy and empowerment in the world. And I am the possibility that humans are all possibilities. We can all be awake, and free of the chains of small, petty, reactive thinking- the products of the fearful, reactive mind.
Copyright 2010, Randy Strauss, All Rights Reserved.