MEDITATION: THINKING TOO MUCH

February 19th, 2020

When offered the suggestion of taking up meditation, many people respond that they can’t do it, or could never do it because they think too much. 

Any practitioner of mindfulness exercise with some experience will likely see this sentiment as a bit cute.

And not in a disparaging or condescending way.  But more in line with a delightful irony.

For a simple reason:  Anyone who is aware of the deluge of thoughts that inundates their waking experience is indeed already being mindful, if only to a limited degree.

The claim that this deluge of thoughts can never be tamed is akin to the person who goes to the gym, does a heavy workout and then experiences a soreness that keeps them away from the gym for weeks.  They try to go to the gym again and experience the same soreness, as opposed to someone who stays consistent with their workout and eventually undergoes the fundamental shift in experience when their body acclimates and really starts building muscle.

As with everything, there’s a barrier to entry.  There aren’t any infants that stand up and go running on the first try.  We have to fail and fall a few times before we get the hang of it.

There is a similar barrier to entry here with meditation, and those who are aware of their constant thought, but seem to have given into a helplessness over the experience are in some sense constantly coming right up to this barrier and then turning away without pushing through.

The person who claims to have a calm mind with no training is someone to be far more wary of.  Such a person is likely so intoxicated by their mellifluous inner monologue that they’ve ceased to realize just how much is going on.

But those who say they think too much? 

They’ve already made progress on the path to a more mindful experience.

THE DESIRE HACK

February 18th, 2020

Desire is a pesky thing to deal with.  It’s so insidious, and so deeply baked into how we operate that we can be completely oblivious to it’s hold over our behavior.

Why did I eat that entire tub of ice cream?

Much of the world’s religious systems were and are devoted to this issue of desire.  What to do with it.  How to control it.  How to tame it.

Desire certainly serves as an extremely apt and worthy opponent upon which a person can build their own internal strength.  Being able to regulate the swirl of emotion that circles the low pressure of desire can be akin to a god controlling the actual weather.  And imagine that – if you could control the weather.  What would you do with it?  Certainly you’d make it rain in the places that need it, and make it shine when you take a day hike up to a particularly beautiful lookout spot.

Something similar can be said about the effect of regulating one’s emotions to great effect.  If left unregulated, emotions make a mess, creating flash floods when and where we don’t need them, and leaving us high and dry just when we need a drink.  These images might stand as symbols for bouts of depression or times when we can’t find an ounce of motivation.

This larger subject of emotional regulation aside, desire carries with it a basic rule of thumb to use it more productively.

It’s repeated ad nauseum that we seek novelty, but is this really true?  Do we really seek something truly new?  Or do we seek the same old thing in a different costume?

A new donut place opens up.  You hear rave reviews.  You just have to try this new variety of donut.

But do you?  Is it really going to be all that spectacular?  Or is it just going to be that same old impulse given into once again with the illusion that this time it will really be something.

What about something truly new.

What if we take this broken record of a program and direct that desire towards the truly novel, like:

What would it feel like to get this project done, to bring this unique idea to full fruition?

Directing desire in this way doesn’t simply help us orient ourselves in more productive ways, it leads us to truly novel perspectives.  It pings reality for ways that we can actually have an effect, it reveals knowledge that allows us to improve our own life and potentially the lives of others.

And it’s far more interesting than some sticky ring of undercooked dough.

THE THINKER'S UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE

February 17th, 2020

In physics we have the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle which describes how precisely we might measure the position and momentum of a particle simultaneously.  Increasing that precision in one variable forces a los of precision in the other.  It’s a essentially a trade off regarding what you want to know.  This Uncertainty Principle is often confused or conflated with the Observer Effect which dictates that any observation affects the thing being observed. 

A discussion of both these ideas, even at this elementary resolution, gives rise to an analogy regarding thought.

Take first for instance Observer Effect.  We can look across the room at another person and suppose that they are probably having a thought.  Given the pensive look on their face, the direction and movement of their eyes, or that glassy dazed look we sometimes get, it’s not an outlandish assumption.

So we ask:  hey, what are you thinking?

The person looks up. Oh, I was thinking. . .

And then we get a little report about what they were just thinking. This is inevitably a report of what they were just thinking.  It’s a record of past thought.  What’s more interesting to wonder is what this person would have thought the moment we ask our question, if we had never asked the question.  It’s easy to imagine that their thoughts, if they had not been interrupted by our question would have continued in some manner.

What’s more interesting is to realize that the person thinking that thought will never know what realization might have been waiting for them in the next moment had we never asked.

Our next thought is arguably as much of a surprise to our own conscious experience as it might as well be to anyone else. 

It’s testable.  Simply ask yourself: can you predict your next thought?

No matter how hard you try, it is in vain.  Any prediction you make IS your next thought.  It’s a paradox that reaches it’s expiration before you even get a chance to solve it.

Here we have a clue about the nature of attention and focus, and it gives rise to another question:

Can you have two thoughts simultaneously?

This might be an easier question to answer.  A big maybe starts to arise, and there’s some scientific study to make a case for the answer being yes.

Starting in the 1960’s there was a particular procedure carried out on some people who suffered from epilepsy which had some fascinating ramifications.  It was discovered that grand mal seizures would spread throughout the brain, and this would inevitably hit the bottleneck of the corpus callosum where the two major hemispheres of the brain connect and communicate with one another.  The seizure would pass through the corpus callosum and spread throughout the second half of the brain.  It was theorized that if this connection between the two hemispheres was cut, then the seizure would stay isolated to the half where it starts.  The theory held, but with these so called split-brain patients gave rise to the unsettling notion that perhaps there was a consciousness in each half of the brain.

For example, since the area of the brain that enables speech is generally confined to one side of the brain, this hemisphere gained exclusive control over what a split-brain person would say.  But this did not leave the other half without a way to communicate with the outside world.  Each hemisphere controls a half of the body, and scientists were able to communicate with the muted side of the brain.  One way that this was accomplished was by showing only the one eye that corresponded to the muted hemisphere a word, like the word ‘egg’, and then asking the person to use their hand that corresponds to the half of the brain that can see that word to reach behind a screen and pick an item from a random assortment.  The hand would invariably pick up the egg, but when the person was straight up asked, they would not say it was because they were just shown the word ‘egg’.  People would say something random that seemed to fit, like, it’s what I had for breakfast.  The language hemisphere would simply make something up.  Many experiments of this nature were carried out with the same finding: there seemed to be part of the person in the quiet hemisphere who could never get a word in.  And this makes sense, it’s half of the person’s brain for thought’s sake.

These experiments seem to indicate that it’s possible for the brain to have two thoughts simultaneously since a good deal of the structure is duplicated.  It’s really a matter of how that thought can be expressed that becomes an issue that’s teased out be the split-brain experiments. 

Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle lends itself as a useful analogy here: the more we concentrate on one thing, the more everything else fades in our realm of focus.

Certainly there are many things going on at any given time, not just two or more possible thoughts.  We are receiving all sorts of different information through our senses, whether that be temperature, pressure, light, sound, smell or the myriad realm of sensations that come to us internally from out body via interoception.

It’s certainly possible to take a step back – so to speak- and attempt to concentrate equally on everything going on: all of these sensations available.  There’s benefit to it, but as with most things, this effort does not serve us equally at all times.  Sometimes, indeed often, it’s of great benefit to concentrate on one thing exclusively.  Many might think of this as a flow state.  The rest of the world falls away and it feels as though all our cognitive powers are zeroed in on our task to our great pleasure and productivity. 

But what happens to everything else while we are in this lovely state?  The resolution of that pain in your back dissolves in the fade, the noise around you seems to crumble to mute whispers, hunger evaporates and indeed the rest of the entire cognitive realm, all our worries and cares, all possible thoughts take their respective seats in the stadium of our mind to watch this single performance of precision. 

This is concentration.  But as with Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle our precise awareness of everything else drops as our awareness on a single things grows in precision. 

Addendum: It seems as though a practice in a diffuse sense of awareness, that of concentrating on everything available within the realm of consciousness seems to increase the diametrical ability of zooming in one’s attention an concentrating on one single task for longer and more intense periods of time.  Though, these two things might not be so different as they are both exercises in concentration.

A LUCILIUS PARABLE: THOUGHT SHOT

February 16th, 2020

Lucilius tossed the ball up, watching it shrink darkly in the bight blue sky.  It hovered momentarily at it’s smallest and then it began to grow, and when it had reached the right size Lucilius swung his other arm and crushed the tennis racket into the slowly spinning ball. 

Then they were off, the abused ball ricocheting over the net as Lucilius’ godson sent him running back and forth with an ease that betrayed the boy’s years of practice.

He could still get a point on the boy here and there, but even as he slowly lost this small local tournament, he smiled at the basics that had grown in this young man, basics that Lucilius himself had taught the boy.

They took a break and Lucilius walked to the edge of the court where a friend sat with towel and a water bottle.  It was hot and Lucilius poured the cold water down into him, wiped his face with the towel and just as he handed the bottle and towel back to his friend he noticed his expression.

“What’s wrong?” Lucilius asked.

“I thought you would beat him.” 

Lucilius was confused.  Especially with the concern on his friends face.  “Why’d you think that?”

“You said he was your godson and that you taught him how to play.  You know, like master-student sort of thing?  So I put a bunch of money on you through a local gambling pool.”

“You what?” Lucilius demanded.

“I thought you’d beat him, you know, like know his weaknesses and stuff, and you were bragging about teaching him. And since you don’t really play the odds are crazy against you winning, the pay off would be insane if I won the bet, I’d be able to pay off all my debt and everything.”

Lucilius was dumbfounded.  “Yea, I taught him the basics like 15 years ago.  He’s a nationally ranked player now.  I can get a point on him here and there, but you said it yourself: I don’t really play.  He’s my godson, but he’s going to crush me, I’m in this just for fun.”

It was no use, Lucilius’ friend simply grew more nervous, realizing the mistake he’d made. Lucilius looked back at the court.  His godson was there, ready, smiling. 

“Well, you couldn’t have put much on it, right?” Lucilius asked.

His friend looked away.

“How much did you put on this?”  Lucilius demanded.

His friend was nearly shaking, “I though it would work.”

“How much?”

His friend braced, as though for an impact.  “I borrowed some money from some people.”

Lucilius sighed.  He looked up at the vast blue sky, smiled a little and felt like laughing.  What a mess.  He looked back at his friend as though in jest.

“How dare you try to make a quick buck without giving me the chance to tell you how stupid the idea is.”

His friend cowered into his own shoulders.

Lucilius wasn’t actually upset.  It was understandable.  The guy had had a rough go during the last few years and the financial difficulty was making him impulsive, he wasn’t exactly making the best decisions.

Lucilius walked back onto the court with this new layer of situation settling on to his moment, this experience of a friendly game between himself and his godson, suddenly growing thick with consideration.

It wasn’t a serious tournament.  It was a local ring, and the boy had entered more to play Lucilius than anything.

Lucilius thought quickly for a moment.  It wouldn’t affect his ranking, not something small like this.  But the boy was far superior to anything Lucilius could muster.  Lucilius couldn’t win.

He tossed the ball up and began the volley, but his godson crushed it across the court and Lucilius could get nowhere near it.  Two more points past, and as his godson served up the next ball, Lucilius watched his form.  It was perfect.  Lucilius volleyed it back, back and forth, until his godson had another point. 

Then, Lucilius started walking towards the net as he had done many times years ago.  The boy, as though on an old autopilot walked up to join him.

“That serve,” Lucilius said.  “It’s spectacular.  You’ve changed something since last we played.  It’s not the way I taught you anymore, and I can’t tell, have you moved your thumb back up along the racket?”

The boy’s smile flattened to a harmless contemplation as he tried to find an answer, but he was puzzled.

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“And your footwork,” Lucilius said, “As you leave the ground your left turns inward now, lands just fine but you seem to be moving differently?  There’s a twist now in your lower half.  You figure something out?”

The boy seemed a bit surprised.

“Hadn’t realized.  Didn’t notice it on the last few videos.”

“Hmm..” Lucilius sounded.  “Was just curious, let’s keep at it.”  And he walked back to his position, leaving the boy to hesitate at the net. 

He watched his godson walk back to position.  The boy was full of wondering now, Lucilius could see.  The boy looked at his racket hand, as he positioned and repositioned his thumb trying to figure out if something had been different.  Then he seemingly shook it off.  He pounced the ball against the ground and then set up to serve.

The ball went straight into the net. 

The boy looked back at his hand on the racket, shifting the thumb back and forth.

Lucilius had to hustle to his full capacity for every last shot, but he won, as the boy faltered again and again.

And when they finally shook hands over the net, Lucilius was proud.  The boy had taken to heart the first thing he’d ever taught him.

“Great game,” the boy said.  “It’s been a while but you still got.”

Lucilius smiled and shook his head. 

“Something I forgot to teach you back when I still knew something about this game.”  The boy looked curious, nearly confused.  “You let me get into your head.  That stuff I said about your racket hand, and your foot turning on serve?  Bullshit.  I made it up.  I didn’t beat you.  I just got you into your own head, and got you to let me win.”

The boy was listening intently, his eyes narrowed, and when the feel and memory of the game just played ran through him as he listened, a smile grew.

“Son of a…” he began to say.  But he chuckled, and brought Lucilius into a hug. 

The two parted and the boy went on to his next match.  Lucilius turned and walked back to his friend who sat, stunned.

“Alright,” Lucilius said.  “Time for you to buy me dinner.”

BUG

February 15th, 2020

A computer bug – that is – a problem in the program, turns out to be an elegant hunt.

And what is a hunt if not the original problem that we sought to solve?  Before we hunted other animals more powerful and massive than ourselves, our problems were probably relegated to evading becoming a meal and perhaps how to get a particularly high-perched berry.

The hunt on the other hand, especially for an animal much larger than us, requires coordination and strategy. 

We might even ponder so ridiculously as to wonder if the war we wage against one another as countries and world powers is not simply an exercise in that original problem solving ability, like an artificial intelligence that plays against itself in order to level up it’s abilities.  It’s without a doubt that if we had an intelligent companion different from human, we would seek to exercise the limits of our own mind against that being.

We do so on an individual and superficial level everyday when we argue with one another.

The wisest of us perhaps stay quiet most of the time, absorbing the tactics, weapons and powers of others, listening and integrating arguments far superior to their own.

With this context in place, let us wonder for a moment what it means to say:

“something about that bugs me.”

Often this is a pretty innocuous statement, directed out only to express annoyance, at some rule or the behavior of someone not present.

But what about a different usage.  What about something like “It’s really bugging me that I can’t figure this out.”

What exactly is going on in this sort of instance?  While trying to figure anything out, we are ultimately invoking the act of the hunt.  We are searching, seeking and primed to spear that answer.

But when we fail to understand something, there are really two components: we can simply try different things until something works, or we can seek to truly understand a situation on a deep enough level that allows us to manipulate it with intention and accuracy.  The issue is that the first strategy has a chance of working far faster than the second.   Just throwing darts at the board is far more likely to land you a bull’s eye faster than studying the game.

That first strategy is still just a bit of a crap shoot.   We often don’t seek deep understanding because it’s possible to get lucky.

When we fail to be lucky though, we need to switch strategies and down shift into a slower, more powerful gear.  At that point we need to observe and allow pieces of the puzzle to slowly associate and connect, and ultimately a framework arises that allows some understanding to take shape.

Regardless, we can still get stuck, even in this gear, and there arises our prickly and frustrating sentiment.

“It’s really bugging me that I can’t figure this out.”

The symmetry of this sentiment with that of a computer program bug is about as elegant as the hunt for a solution.

The bug is ultimately in our thinking.  Our framework, our understanding, is flawed, like a program with a bug in it.  And our aim is ultimately not to uncover something about reality, but really to uncover something about our own self, the way we think and the assumptions we are operating on as we try to understand. 

There comes a point when more research reaches diminishing returns.  It’s at this point we need to question our own frame work at perhaps a fundamental level.

While google offers us the lure that someone else has likely had the same issue, the same problem and the same bug in their own thinking, this can’t be relied on for every nook and cranny of life.

At a certain point we must start querying our own assumption with questions that try to knock our own framework apart.  Finding that weakest point, the place in the code where the bug fails to let the operation pass on as we hopes and as we imagine – it turns into a game of battleship.  Taking random pot shots at our own thinking until we land a hit that seems promising, that provokes our curiosity and draws in our attention.

Hmm.  That was unexpected, we think, and suddenly we tip toe closer to the bug hiding beneath a cloud of the unknown.

We take another shot at our own framework and hit something else.  Slowly we gain an understanding of an invisible territory.  The territory of the bug.  With enough questions, turned inward, onto our own thinking, we can eventually hit it, understand.

and move forward.