@rOs There’s something I want to talk about, but I’m not sure where to start, so this may a bit chaotic.
A thought: some things are most easily learned through experience.
A thought: people like short cuts.
A thought: in the pedagogical system I grew up in, I wanted to learn everything theoretically, because I believed I could understand it merely by thinking about it.
Example: meditation. For the longest time, I wanted someone to tell me what meditation was like. What insight did you gain from it? I never really wanted to do it (and I still don’t—a least formal sitting or walking practice that many people use). I just wanted someone to tell me what it was. I guess, at that point in time, I believed that everything could be explained.
Over the years, I have had experiences that I believe have taught me what meditation teaches a lot of people. Music and dance have been my practices. Sometimes I also want to argue that thinking can be a meditative practice—simply because I can get lost in it.
I have been dancing for over twenty years and making improvisational and more formal music for over forty years. That’s a lot of practice.
Over the years, I learned that I was having experiences I could not explain. Worse, I couldn’t even describe them. But me being me, I tried to learn to describe and then I tried to explain, and I have written a great deal about my thinking here, over the three years I have been here, in answer to many different kinds of questions.
The main thing is my theory that one way to distinguish between different modes of thinking is that we have a linguistic mind and a non-linguistic mind. I hypothesize that the experiences we can not describe or explain occur in the non-linguistic mind.
These kinds of experiences happen all over the place, and because we can’t explain them, they cause all kinds of trouble. They happen in meditation and prayer and revelations and in creativity of all kinds (we don’t know where an idea comes from—it feels like it comes from outside us) and many other apparently unexplainable experiences that are often interpreted as magic.
Sometimes these experiences spring from nowhere, but mostly they occur after years of practice of one kind or another. My assumption is that they do not come from outside, but they are “real” experiences. I believe they come from the non-linguistic part of our minds (which is probably spread out all over our brains).
The problem is if you don’t use symbols to think, how can you think? Normally, we think of thinking as manipulation of symbols. So if we aren’t doing that, it isn’t thinking.
Clearly, the non-linguistic brain can communicate with the linguistic brain. Often times, we experience this as eureka moments, where an idea pops, fully formed, into our linguistic brains. I don’t have a theory about the mechanism by which the non-linguistic brain communicates with the linguistic brain.
I know how to get into that state where my linguistic brain is very quiet—quiet enough to allow my non-linguistic brain to be the primary generator/recorder of experience. I have noticed that at the end of such experiences, I can’t remember what happened. So I have practiced remembering. What that means, I’ve found, is that I have to keep my linguistic mind running with enough consciousness to remember, but not enough to overwhelm my non-linguistic brain.
I go in and out of these states. Sometimes I think too much and I can’t get to the other way of thinking. Sometimes my other way of thinking is so strong it doesn’t matter how hard I think; I can’t intrude on the non-linguistic mind’s space. That’s really cool! That’s when I do things I can’t do. Like physically leaping higher than I have ever leaped before. That’s when I can do anything I want with my horn. Other people call this “being in the zone.” It is so blissful because you can do anything you want to, and you have no doubt or fears or any of the stuff our linguistic brains generally obsess about.
It’s cool stuff, and I can see why people would want to take a short cut. I never wanted to because I always had a fear that if I did, I wouldn’t come back. I always had a feeling I was closer to… that other way of being—than other people. Weird stuff happened in my brain. I had a transcendent experience when I was 18 or so, and I believe ever since then that I can go there any time I want. Just by deciding to.
I don’t know if this is true because I have never tried to get there simply by deciding to. I sometimes have a feeling that there is this other world separated from this one by a flimsy veil, and I could pop over there whenever I want, but I’m afraid I couldn’t get back.
When I got sick with bipolar disorder, I realized that my instinct was probably a good one. I could probably let myself fall into insanity whenever I want. But there’s a lot to keep me here, but I feel it bubbling inside me and it’s scary. I would probably die, or at least be very, very unhappy. I would stop caring about my physical self…
I guess you could wonder why I wouldn’t be happy instead of depressed, and no doubt I would be happy at first. But sooner or later I would question it too much and then I would crash and unless someone rescued me, I would fall into the worst life I could imagine. Or maybe I’m being too dramatic. Not sure. I might be able to be depressed and stay alive. But if I were alone, I’m not sure.
I like understanding things. It’s the mode of thinking I grew up with. I mistrust things where people say, “you have to try it to understand.” Yet I know that is true. There are things you have to do for years before you get it, and I don’t blame a single person for thinking that’s a crock.
So, over time, I learned that short cuts didn’t really work for me. Maybe they work for others, but I mistrust the knowledge gained through these shortcuts. I think it’s too much to cross that veil suddenly. I don’t know if people come completely back. Of course, I can’t know. I haven’t tried. I also don’t know it they can get as much from the experience without training. I also don’t trust that they would get what I get.
The sad thing is that I have been trained in what I call a “spiritual technology” that works easily, and is pretty easy for anyone who is willing to try it. Unfortunately I can’t describe the technology, nor say what it is named without risking the loss of my anonymity. I wish I could. We need more people.
In any case, it makes the whole process easy, because it is fun. Yes, you need to practice, but it’s not like sitting meditation in terms of pain. It’s more like yoga, except more joyful.
So that’s where I’m coming from. For what it’s worth.