I would like to update you on the success of the publicity campaign for my new book (Controlling Mental Chaos: Harnessing the Power of the Creative Mind, Rowman & Littlefield, 2023). I have been quite busy doing interviews and disseminating the ideas through blog posts in widely-read websites.
While all of this is wonderful, I am really interested in further promoting the ideas expressed since they are timely, given our unending mental confusion and the current state of the world. To that end, I would like to ask you a big favor. Would you help me promote these ideas by forwarding at least one of these articles to family, friends, or others in your social group?
It is the holiday season so this can be a thoughtful gift and may be helpful to someone in the grips of mental chaos.
My deep appreciation for your help.
May you have a wonderful season and may your mind run between wisdom and love.
Most of us are quite aware of how connected we are. This awareness has produced several ways to think about, describe, or view this connectivity. The ideas run the gamut from highly interconnected to loosely so. The extent to which the internet has made us aware of these relationships, with more people and more information from around the world, it has become front of mind. Since how we think about nature structures our reality of it, it seems necessary to reconsider how we might view our connections to others.
Many people view these interactions from the perspective that we are more like billiard balls that inevitably come in contact with other billiard balls as we run around the world doing our thing. It recalls the classic view of the structure of reality at the atomic level. That matter comprises extremely tiny particles called atoms originated about 2500 years ago by Democritus, a Greek philosopher. However, the idea was forgotten for approximately 2000 years. Then, at the beginning of the 19th century, the English chemist John Dalton brought back Democritus’ ancient idea of the atom. Dalton thought atoms were the smallest particles of matter and envisioned them as solid, hard spheres, like billiard balls. Currently, matter as energy, electron clouds, or probability waves have replaced the old billiard ball model of matter.
Yet, the classic notion of matter has affected our conceptualization of human interactions. We view the inevitable result of human billiard balls making contact and colliding as producing change, but namely to redirect or reorient our own trajectory. If the impact is great, it may cause emotions to engage and the interactions can rise to another level. Even at this level, we think that our internal environment remains unchanged, except perhaps for a brief flash of exasperation, anger, or resentment.
As the collisions become greater and more pronounced, we may acknowledge that the changes stay with us for a while, perhaps even a lifetime. The accepted modern paradigm to describe this dynamic is what I characterize as independent arising. Each of us is seen as an independent agent, a billiard ball, exerting control over what we experience. Thus, what we feel and how we respond depends on our own mind, allowing itself to experience and determine our actions. There is a level of autonomy, control, and agency we attribute to our behavior.
This model, however, is incomplete and does not explain all of human behavior. Therefore, it is time to recognize alternative explanations. One of these is that we may be more like balls of gooey chocolate when we encounter and collide with others. When we do, we leave a trace—sometimes messy, sometimes not. Therefore, it isn’t unusual to hear someone say, “I needed a shower after meeting that person.” The psychic residue of our interactions can affect our internal being, our psyche and spirit, and can be difficult to wash off. I characterize this as dependent arising.
A sophisticated description of this idea is the doctrine ofdependent arising, which stands at the heart of Buddhist doctrine. It describes the principle of conditionality or the links that arise between experiences. My simple understanding of this doctrine is that these links and our experience of those links arise dependent on every other circumstance we encounter. They arise because we have a body, emotional reactivity, perceive incoming sensory information, conceptualize such information, and develop a conscious awareness of these experiences. Or, to put it in more modern terms, we are born with a body whose function is to create connections and links between experiences, add emotional valence, and reflect on them.
Martin Luther King Jr. captured the point I want to emphasize about our deep interconnectedness in what he expressed about injustice. He said, “We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” The concept of interbeing introduced by Thich Nhat Hanh also reflects our deep interconnectedness, where everything relies on everything else in order to manifest. Likewise, biologists describe how our human bodies are shared, rented, and occupied by countless other tiny organisms, without whom we couldn’t “move a muscle, drum a finger, or think a thought.” Indeed, our body is comprised of trillions of bacteria, viruses, and other such organisms. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to operate, think, feel, or speak. In fact, the analogy applies to the entire planet, which can be conceived as one giant breathing entity, with all its working parts connected in symbiosis.
We are not separate entities or exist independently, but are a continuation of one another, as Thich Nhat Hanh has argued. This garment of symbiotic mutuality that we represent gives a different perspective on what it means to be in a relationship with others. It thus calls for a rethinking of how much agency, control, and independence we actually have and to structure our spiritual path accordingly. By spiritual I mean a recognition of the validity and impact of our deep interconnectedness.
The human and divine. Once in a while, the idea of my human and divine nature rears its head. I know for sure that I am a human being, with all the attributes it implies. I had human parents who passed on their genetic attributes to me. Still, I have accepted that my essence is part and parcel of a fundamental energy that is, for the lack of a better description, divine. However, the schooling I received as a catholic youth regarding the attributes of such a divine essence, and later learning about Zen Buddhism, interfere with my adult understanding. Catholic training attributed a type of perfect, sinless nature to my divine self, a nature granted only through the grace of salvation. From my Buddhist training, this pure, essential nature was innate in me from birth. Unfortunately, many of my thoughts and actions appear to contradict that pure, sinless nature. The lack of trust in what I am creates this conflict. Am I both human and divine? Why do I have such a hard time reconciling these two thoughts?
The meaningless purpose of life. Daily evidence has convinced me I am both meaningful and meaningless. I feel special in God’s eye, but I also equate myself to a grain of sand in a universe of sand. My ego biases my thoughts toward the special, and I am surprised when the meaningless perspective sneaks up. This morning I wrote a blog post titled, “I Am Here” and felt inspired and special. Later, as I drove to the store listening to the KPBS radio channel, I heard an interview with Sonya Renee Taylor, author and poet, currently living in New Zealand. The interview basically hit me like a brick to the head. Ms Taylor summarized all the ideas I had written about in the blog but did so in a more polished, deliberate, attention-grabbing, and better way. Her unique wisdom struck me like a thunderbolt. My self-centered importance gave way, and I felt like a grain of sand-tiny and unimportant.
The limits of being human. The slight pressure behind my left eyeball, while not a full-blown headache, is uncomfortable. I experience it when my blood pressure is high; when I am drowning in financial difficulties; and when I ponder whether I should do something more meaningful than sitting and watching the world go by. It reflects anxiety about being productive; about being active and not passive; about giving back to society versus taking up space in a world already full of people. This drama plays out mainly during moments of anxiety and uncertainty. Because I feel the pressure mainly on the left side of my head, I assume it involves parts of my brain involved in language and conceptual thinking. It is my monkey mind messing with me.
The lack of trust. One constant in moments of monkey mind madness, when I feel impatient with others, life, and God, is my desire for immediate gratification. That desire overcomes my thoughtful self. I cannot wait for either human or divine responses. And those unanswered questions make me lose trust. Trust in myself and trust in something greater than me. At that point, the pressure behind my left eyeball increases and I feel a tension develop. Sometimes I feel the discomfort in the pit of my stomach, just below the rib cage. Sometimes it’s just a feeling of impatience. When the unresolved issue lingers, there is a restless anxiety that settles over me. It’s interesting, though not unexpected, that mental concerns should so affect my physical body. It’s only recently that I’ve understood their identities are the same.
The desire to do. One recurring thought I have is the desire to do constructive, meaningful things. I recall reading that any act done with full attentiveness and in a loving way is the most meaningful act possible. I feel the urge to help others. But also feel constrained by circumstances, the pandemic, those around me, and not wanting to endanger people who still have not received the vaccine.
