Success as Trap?

  There is a danger that too much "doing" can lead to a kind of enervating process of being swallowed up into a routine or  schedule. Even the most creative endeavors in life can lead to an unreflective reproduction or rehashing of routines, as when an artist ends up falling into a style or genre that they've shaped and created for many years. Many people, I would imagine, may become jaded through overwork, being sucked into the karma of their own success. Although they might continue in the same way, their success actually becomes a trap for them.

    I find that people are, in retrospect, often at their most creative when they are either in a transition period (sometimes known as a "liminal space") or are somehow unlatched from a reputation they might have previously cultivated yet became a social addiction for them. I think that success can have a way of consuming a person or fixating them into an identity that "works" but does not allow for any further exploration. There is also a tendency to equate success with completion--and one becomes a victim of it because they no longer are able to see anything outside of it. As people get older, they have difficulties imagining how to repeat their previous "successes" or peaks, and might even begin to feel that the remainder of their life is either meant to preserve their previous glory or to just sustain the status quo.

     I wonder if there are certain points where the replication of a past success, or the resurrection of a successful identity, might end up becoming a millstone around one's neck. Particularly for musicians who are reviving a career, this can actually become a matter of trying to replicate an old style. Could this sometimes be an impediment that blocks further exploration or growth? This, I think, is where it might be important to step back a bit and cultivate a beginner's mind.

The Unconditioned

 Recently, I had the insight that language moves me a lot. Being a reader, I put great store on language and its power to sway or influence the mind, particularly on a rhetorical level. But I want to propose that each time a word arises in the mind, there is a subtle opposition that arises. For instance, if I am told to do something or encouraged to behave in a certain way, I follow the line of that thought, or conversely, resist that line of thought. An opposition or a kind of duality is created within the mind around this; I tell myself that I should go one way or the other. Conversely, I tell myself how inadequate I am to live up to the expectations of the statement itself. In this way, I create a sense of frustration within myself.

  Now what if it were the case that there is something within the mind that is not conditioned by thoughts at all? If this were the case, language would in no way cause the unconditioned to happen, or even reveal the unconditioned, since language relies on a duality of "this" or "that", "not this" or "not that". Such an unconditioned mind could not be found by adding more words or exhortations, or even censoring certain thoughts or behaviors. Instead, the unconditioned is the already existing, already "thus". The only problem is that we are using language to obscure that unconditioned state.

   But the trick is that, because language is merely conditioned, no amount of words can obstruct the unconditioned. To say that words obstruct the unconditioned is like saying that clouds block the sky. The sky itself is the very condition upon which clouds can even be said to exist. 

   The way to reveal the unconditioned is not through seeking something. Whatever we seek is likely going to be something that is conditioned, like a thought or an object in the mind. So how do we find the unconditioned? Not even 'letting go' will reveal it, since the exhortation to "let go" is also something that adds a condition to a mental experience. So what I am aiming at is that we may only have the confidence that whatever arises in the mind is not obstructing the unconditioned and does not even, in any way, relate to the unconditioned. If one thinks this way, their tranquil mind will naturally surface, and all the thoughts will be seen as harmonious. One is no longer using thoughts to get to something that has no conditions to it. One can then really and truly see thoughts as simply the clouds in an empty dream, and can use language skillfully without getting trapped in it. One, under this approach, already can relax. 

   But this is not an easy feat, because the habit of thinking in terms of conditions is so deeply engrained that we will probably end up making the same mistake again and again until we become fed up with it and drop attaching to words altogether.

A Place to Sit/A Place to Stand

  A rock, a chair or a stool. Recently, I read in TTC that we should always be ready to leave a seat vacant for someone else "if we are able". Then I begin to wonder, what does "able" in this context mean? I suppose that for the majority of people, sitting is entirely an option, but I can imagine in a Kantian universe, everyone's duty is to stand rather than to sit. And how might we know for certain who is able and unable to stand? These are quibbling remarks, but prelude to something else that I am driving at.

    Sitting is often a metaphor likened to stewing or incubating, whereas standing tends to connote a firm conviction or belief. We sit on something when it hasn't yet hatched: an idea, an embryo of a thought, a seed, a notion, etc. We stand, on the other hand, when we are certain that the bedrock under us is sure and clear, hence the term "to take a stand", "stand up for" or "a place to stand". While sitting connotes prevarication, standing connotes authority. Now, to my main point: is it possible that the reason so many people sit rather than stand is that they lack the conviction of their own beliefs, let alone the confidence to feel themselves grounded in the world? I think that the tiredness that I feel is related to the idea that I may not fully know where my feet are planted, and this takes a lot of faith and confidence. It is like saying, "the time for thinking is gone and I have made my decision. I know where I am in the universe". And this is a liberating feeling.

   I suppose there is a point where thinking has to stop and one must know where the gravity points to. And it's acceptable not to have to go further into deliberation. This is about being strong in one's heart, based on what one has learned from past experiences.

The Many Dreams We're In

     If we think about it, we are inhabiting many dreams: some good and some horrific. Nonetheless, they are all dreams. And if we can contemplate that we are not the dreamer--that is, we are not identified with the dream--then we are able to inhabit those dreams and benefit all the sentient beings in them.

    If I feel alarmed by my behavior---it's not who I wanted to be--I must ask myself: is the person I want to be "real" or just a wandering thought? Is the subject or topic I want to learn truly worthy and valued, or is it too just passing fad and fashion? Many thinks can be objects of curiosity, but at the end of the day, they are just like the colors in a kaleidoscope. Though working with them may prove to be valuable to some degree, they are not absolutely necessary or essential. For this reason, we should always meditate on what we are holding onto so tightly in these dreams.

   As for nightmares: knowing their impermanence, do we need to feel that they will go away, or can we ride them out? This is a reflection on the ethereal nature of all dreams, and knowing that there is nothing we need to emerge from at all, because we are not part of the dream itself.

"Love in the Ruins"

  I seem to have remembered reading a book by Walker Percy called Love in the Ruins, back when I was in my 20s. Though I can't quite recall the gist of the idea that Percy wanted to impart, I think that he was trying to suggest that people are most passionate in the moment when they are the least pressured to live up to the aspirations of their civilization. Hence--love in the ruins. But of course, Walker Percy was a Catholic, and no doubt, the symbolism he wishes to impart is far deeply Christian in the sense of seeing the broken Christ "in the ruins" as the consummation of human love and salvation. One would think that the consummation is the mastering of the many laws of God as mentioned in the Old Testament. But the paradox here is that it is precisely in human imperfectability--in sin, in brokenness, or in mortality--that humans can find their salvation and ecstasy. 

     And why is that? I think it's because, like I suggested before, people are literally "ruined" by the achievements of their civilization, many of which are far too high for people to accomplish. We are literally standing on the shoulders of giants. The result is a kind of dizzying despair which wonders, "how can I possibly live up to all that's been given to me in the world?" How can I repay the kindness of the many ancestors that have come before me? In contrast, reveling in the ruins, one comes to realize that in fact it was never the purpose of life to make oneself into an immortal edifice or a statue. To the contrary, it is in demolishing the letter of the law that a spirit can emerge from it that is truly passionate. This passion consists in a certain kind of profound relief, meaning that in spite of all these giants surrounding of me, I am still capable of being redeemed--not through my own effort but through the all encompassing forgiveness of another. It is knowing that there is salvation in brokenness, in imperfection, and in ruins themselves.

Suffering and Gratitude

"If the immediate and direct purpose of our life is not suffering then our existence is the most ill-adapted to its purpose in the world: for it is absurd to suppose that the endless affliction of which the world is everywhere full, and which arises out of the need and distress pertaining essentially to life, should be purposeless and purely accidental. Each individual misfortune, to be sure, seems an exceptional occurrence; but misfortune in general is the rule"

Schopenhauer, "On the Suffering of the World". From Essays and Aphorisms

One of the most startling paradoxes I am trying to explore recently is the link between suffering and gratitude, and how these two states of being go hand in hand. Without suffering, there is simply no grounds for gratitude, and this is one key thesis that I want to explore through the writings of Schopenhauer. But before I even go there, I want to explore the quote that begins "On the Suffering of the World".

Is the purpose of life, as Schopenhauer suggests, to suffer? This seems too pessimistic for some, and even a bit too fatalistic. But contemplating suffering as a kind of purpose can be a sort of relief in a sense. This is because suffering itself becomes more and more part of a bigger plan that has a story and a meaning to it. Suffering, according to this view, is not lacking in purpose, but rather makes a kind of sense as a person progresses through the suffering and sees it to the very end. To really experience suffering is to know what kinds of things one is attached to that is leading one to suffer. And I think Schopenhauer wants to say that the final lesson of suffering is detachment from the desire that gave rise to suffering in the first place.

Suffering, then, is not an accident, and nor is it something that one can sidestep. But only when a person is really and fully reconciled to suffering itself can they directly and fully experience the source of suffering, namely a strong desire that life goes in the ways that we want it to proceed. Rather than simply wanting certain things to happen according to plan, I strongly desire that they go according to my plan. I concretize a strong sense of self around that "strong desire" to have things my way. The opposite of this rigid sticking to desire is a kind of flexibility.

When Schopenhauer remarks about "the endless affliction of which the world is everywhere full", he suggests that we are essentially surrounded by suffering. Like a fish that is surrounded by water, we simply cannot help but suffer from not getting our way, or not fulfilling the many desires that come to mind. But if the world becomes a reflection of this inner suffering, we feel less isolated and more inclined to learn from the world as the mirror of the innermost state of being. Wars, then, are not just senseless clashes between strangers. They are, rather, the result of an inner striving that comes from the craving to exist and thrive. The world becomes a story through which one can connect their innermost vexations and conflicts. In fact, perhaps the world itself is simply a reflection of agonizing desires that people face within.

How is this the ground for gratitude? I think that when we begin to accept the idea of being surrounded by suffering, we might finally accept that there is no way to transcend it. But Schopenhauer generalizes suffering enough that it does not pertain to particular choices I make. Suffering just is, and it envelops the whole of being regardless of decisions made or not made. But rather than being a form of bad faith or irresponsibility, this view of suffering could allow people to become more detached from the consequences of decisions and therefore more able to accept the consequences. Most of all, we don't feel alone in suffering, since it is fundamental to Schopenhauer's metaphysics of the will. 

A Learner Identity

  Throughout my life, I believe I have identified myself as a kind of "lifelong learner". What this means for me is the ability to see myself in different capacities, always challenging myself to expand my problem solving abilities or ability to widen my perspectives. Having a "learner" identity keeps me focused on process (rather than on result) while not tying me to any particular "fixed" sense of identity. For instance, if I see myself as a "learned" person, I might come to the conclusion that I have learned all that needs to be known about a subject or even about life in general. This can lead to stagnation. So I do think it's important to view learning as an ongoing experience, not something that just stops at a certain time. According to this view, learning is not finalistic, and nor is there any final judgment. Instead, we take whatever we can find from our experiences and try to apply it to our unique situations. 

   Part of this also dovetails with my previous discussion about the connection between gratitude and emptiness. If one is not feeling gifted by life, chances are they are stuck in a rigid belief in who they are and what they are supposed to have achieved from a situation. When one is able to reframe the multitudinous possibilities of one's life situation, then there is no absolute "good" or "bad". In fact, this flexibility of mind is in itself a recipe for happiness, because it does not demand that the self be anywhere to have succeeded or to have survived. Instead, the idea is that we are flexible enough to see the possible learning opportunities of a given moment or experience.