Quotes to like or puzzle over: “There comes a time when you realize that everything is a dream, and only those things preserved in writing have any possibility of being real.” ― James Salter, All That Is
Yet another post from our pal: Psyche’s Call with Donna May
“Our psyche can function as though space did not exist. The psyche can thus be independent of space, of time, and of causality. This explains the possibility of magic.” – C.G. Jung.
And the photo is so beautiful and contains that wondrous invitation of a gate. Of course the symbolism is so clear with there being no fence or wall next to the gate. Have we all not seen a gate or a door or an opening somewhere that we know we are to go through? Have we not also known, from time to time, that our body is just a container, a something that our spirit or soul or consciousness is to inhabit as we spend time in this body, this earth, this time.
I just listened to a program on NPR about plants. Apparently plants think. This is arrived at by observing plants learning; that is, new behavior being repeatable. Not just that, but plants defending themselves when it seems they will be harmed, based on a new negative action they were originally receptive to. In other words, Alexander the plant allows a pin prick to be delivered by a pin. The next time a pin appears, Alex closes his leaves. This is in the plant type that Alex is, one capable of closing its leaves.
This is only a slight exaggeration, I’m sure there are many more limitations other than capability. Or at least I would think so.
But this leads to further observations within the thinking-plant continuum. For instance, this does not mean that plants are conscious. Though they may well be and articles have been written on such. The point is—thinking alone is not proof of consciousness. Alex the plant may well think, but he may not be aware he is thinking. Another step is involved with this—Alex may be aware he is thinking, but not be aware that he is Alex. Or Alex doing the thinking. Awareness of agency, awareness of self.
The mind jumps to humorous applications of this knowledge, or at least mine does. There are singing ants. Just because Joey the ant can sing, it does not necessarily mean he can learn new notes. Even if Joey can learn new notes, I doubt very seriously that Joey will be writing any new songs. At least he won’t be writing and printing the “New Songbook For Ants” anytime soon.
“One night after a dharma talk, I asked Suzuki Roshi a question about life and death. The answer he gave made my fear of death, for that moment, pop like a bubble. He looked at me and said, “You will always exist in the universe in some form.” ~David Chadwick
Yes but. In some form certainly. Everything decomposes and becomes food or fodder, air or soil, ocean or pond… Energy. Then isn’t the real question the one of consciousness? Even if there is reincarnation into a new being—either better or the worse for karma—will the you that is you now, the You asking the question, still exist? If not, it seems irrelevant to me as you, the current You, won’t know.
Into the computer world for muck and mire. And yes, dependent I am. I have spent a few not-so-short days committed (the operative word) to the overall health of my Macbook Pro persona. I’ve lost things into that gray fuzz of nowhere land that does indeed exist. Accessing it is another matter. And the mean part of it is that I have been successful a time or two which leads to an unmistakable passion to repeat. That longed-for success. That desire of freedom that comes with Independent Actions leading to my overall comfort. You might think this has happened as I’m here posting, aren’t I?
Well, yes. But not in the way I had intended. I surely wanted to recover what I had done as I did not want to recreate what had been lost. Twice. Let me be specific: Lost twice, recovered once. In between fails. I was a lone cat wandering amongst the bars of dive taverns looking for a dish of cream when there was only beer in saucers.
And last night I dreamed I was part of a rebellion, The Industrial Workers of the World. (That too was unsuccessful, by-the-way.) And I was being shot at while tasked with the reconstruction of some desk-top machines. Again back in the office. I kept finding spare parts on the floor where I was working. The subconscious at work in the field of dreams.
The much sought-after pieces I wrote were about Consciousness. They were quite well done in that mystical form of the no-longer-visable accomplishment. Of course.
Posted by The New Yorker?
Naturally we can never know what’s behind the visible form. Perhaps that is a metaphor for life, or computers, or Consciousness. We can only ever know what’s on the screen.