An entertaining glimpse into Terry's encephalon. (in an attempt to look smart too, that was the first time in my life I've used that word; perhaps I'll use "glimpse", more often now).
I don't believe any of it. But, it is certainly easy to concoct explanations out of mere nothing.
It is fascinating where characters and situations come "from" when an author sits down to write or a storyteller begins to wing it.
Yes, it's not about believing or adding more conceptual baggage. Speaking of fascinating: where does the character of "me" come from? When we actually sit an watch the mind weave its egoic-self, are we not watching the same imaginative "storyteller" at work molding yet another fictitious personality? Is that which is closer, that which is silently watching, really and truly any part of the story of "self"?
As far as what consciousness "is"......well....the recursive nature of a thing looking at itself is too paradoxical to grasp hold of! At least for me. I'm afraid I'd plunge into a void of self-referential reflections that would carry me into a black hole of sorts and I'd pop out the other side of John Malkovich's head!
Yes, it's not only difficult to grasp, it's impossible to hold in the limited mind what is limitless.
Why is it so often problematic to simply sit and investigate into our most immediate and intimate sense of being? Seems it would be the easiest endeavor in the world. What is the obstruction? Perhaps it is revealed in what was casually mentioned:
I'm afraid
There is a huge amount of energy invested in our intellectually constructed sense of "self". It is often the center of the universe on which everything ever believed or thought firmly rests. Letting go of it can be frightening. For example:
One day, while sitting on my bed, silently watching the mind and feeling the sensations within the body, a tiny irritation arose. Just an innocent little boredom it seemed. I continued to just sit and observe. The boredom started to get hotter and more persistent. Interesting. Within a few minutes it became clear that there was a stronger and stronger pull to get up from the bed and do something else. It was becoming painful to remain sitting. The boredom didn't seem so innocent anymore as it started to demand that this be stopped and something else be done....anything! do anything! just not this! Sitting there, alone, I became engulfed in intense agony. It was fear. Terror. The first time this happened I could not stay with it....I ran from my bedroom as fast as my legs could carry me and did something else. I have had a stranger walk up and place a gun to my head, and there was far less fear then, than at times sitting alone, looking within.
What is this about? Simple, the character of "me" and all it tightly holds as true and real is threatened. Self-preservation mechanisms kick in. For me, such events made it clear that there was far more to be seen. What would remain when everything that was believed and molded into a character of "me", was seen through?
Perhaps one has to be a little nuts to move forward. Certainly helpful is an intense desire to know what is real and true, at any price.
j
