It's been five weeks, since I last sat at this keyboard (well, with the intention of letting loose, that is). Feels like an eternity has gone by, feels like it was only a moment ago... my perception of time seems to become more and more fluid with every passing day. Lately, I've been trying to dig up old struggles, so that I may find new strength - both mental and physical.
It all started abruptly enough and without fanfare, when I was roused from sleep by a spasm in my left calf - that was in December. It may have been an epiphany; but, I'm reluctant to call it that. Maybe, because the realization I came to was something I always knew; it'd been an elephant inside my head all along. It was a moment / minute / eternity (I'm not sure which) of white-hot pain, of lucid thought, of transcendental perception - there is far more choice in life that I'd like to admit to myself. Sometimes, to see a choice(s), one must look outside the illusory structure one has established for one's existence - the so-called comfort zone. The reason I was trying to shy away from this truth? Inertia, lethargy.
In that moment, I chose to do something, everything in my power really, about it. The only way to come to terms with the chaos without is to embrace the chaos within. How is this any different from my past quests? It's not and yet, it is. Let me explain. Words and conscious thoughts notwithstanding, I've always subconsciously tried to overcome the chaos of reality; I've always recognized this and tried time and again with varying degrees of success to overcome the habit - it was never enough though. There were still too many bindings, too much junk I clung to. So, why do I feel any differently about this time? Because, I think I've hit upon a wonderful piece of common sense. I'm walking one step at a time towards the unknown this time rather than trying to run headlong into it. I decided to take a more systematic approach towards achieving chaos, if you will. On the face of it, this is a paradoxical statement. But, I think, only on the face of it.
In the past, I've always tried to jump into the water and then worry about swimming. (I recognize fully well the irony of one unable to swim employing this metaphor.) And, the result was always the same, I made rapid headway initially before hitting a massive brick wall, as it were, and drowning in a whirlpool of panic. Next thing I knew, I'd be clinging to the rope harder than ever before, having only made it a mere step or two further from before.
It's the same damn thing that happened every time I tried to overcome my vertigo. My solution to that was simple enough... I'd walk towards the edge of a cliff right up to the point where my heart began to tickle my tonsils (which I no longer have by the way); then, sit down and breathe, deliberately. Soon, I'd be too bored to feel any panic and I could get up and walk another step or two closer to the edge. Eventually I was sitting at the edge, my feet dangling over a 2000 foot drop and what a view it was!
As I lay in bed that night screaming inward in pain, it hit me that I should simple apply the same principle to life at large. Walk, calmly and deliberately, away from the rope. Stop and take a few deep breaths whenever necessary. After all, to rush the process of embracing uncertainty would defeat the whole purpose wouldn't it?
Another question I'd struggle to reconcile before was that of plans and schedules. Making plans and working on a schedule are necessities dictated by the nature of what I do (research) and what I do, is indulge my passion(s). How could I continue to do this and still embrace uncertainty? The answer was simple enough. It is everywhere in nature. Even a truly random pattern is a pattern still. And such a pattern often contains within it regions of regularity - look anywhere you want: lines in the beach sand, ventricular fibrillation... And thus, to be truly free of rigidity, I must be willing to be fluid... if maintaining that fluidity over a prolonged region of space-time-consciousness (I find it very useful to think of these as the dimensions of a continuum within which to describe my existence to myself) requires the use of structure within smaller regions of it, then that's just the way to flow. In other words, true disorder does not fear order; rather, it is simply a more complex order. Again, this is a concept I've encountered several times in a variety of different contexts; but, to see it within my own existence, that was a sweet moment of realization indeed. What I speak of is not pride; rather, it's that feeling you get when you look up to see the evening sun paint the sky.
That's about it for now. So, why did I ramble on and on about something I know can not be captured by words? The process of trying helps me crystallize my notion of fluidity - another step in a lifelong process. The way I see it, if I keep this up, at the very least I won't ever be bored. How much more could I ask for? :D
It all started abruptly enough and without fanfare, when I was roused from sleep by a spasm in my left calf - that was in December. It may have been an epiphany; but, I'm reluctant to call it that. Maybe, because the realization I came to was something I always knew; it'd been an elephant inside my head all along. It was a moment / minute / eternity (I'm not sure which) of white-hot pain, of lucid thought, of transcendental perception - there is far more choice in life that I'd like to admit to myself. Sometimes, to see a choice(s), one must look outside the illusory structure one has established for one's existence - the so-called comfort zone. The reason I was trying to shy away from this truth? Inertia, lethargy.
In that moment, I chose to do something, everything in my power really, about it. The only way to come to terms with the chaos without is to embrace the chaos within. How is this any different from my past quests? It's not and yet, it is. Let me explain. Words and conscious thoughts notwithstanding, I've always subconsciously tried to overcome the chaos of reality; I've always recognized this and tried time and again with varying degrees of success to overcome the habit - it was never enough though. There were still too many bindings, too much junk I clung to. So, why do I feel any differently about this time? Because, I think I've hit upon a wonderful piece of common sense. I'm walking one step at a time towards the unknown this time rather than trying to run headlong into it. I decided to take a more systematic approach towards achieving chaos, if you will. On the face of it, this is a paradoxical statement. But, I think, only on the face of it.
In the past, I've always tried to jump into the water and then worry about swimming. (I recognize fully well the irony of one unable to swim employing this metaphor.) And, the result was always the same, I made rapid headway initially before hitting a massive brick wall, as it were, and drowning in a whirlpool of panic. Next thing I knew, I'd be clinging to the rope harder than ever before, having only made it a mere step or two further from before.
It's the same damn thing that happened every time I tried to overcome my vertigo. My solution to that was simple enough... I'd walk towards the edge of a cliff right up to the point where my heart began to tickle my tonsils (which I no longer have by the way); then, sit down and breathe, deliberately. Soon, I'd be too bored to feel any panic and I could get up and walk another step or two closer to the edge. Eventually I was sitting at the edge, my feet dangling over a 2000 foot drop and what a view it was!
As I lay in bed that night screaming inward in pain, it hit me that I should simple apply the same principle to life at large. Walk, calmly and deliberately, away from the rope. Stop and take a few deep breaths whenever necessary. After all, to rush the process of embracing uncertainty would defeat the whole purpose wouldn't it?
Another question I'd struggle to reconcile before was that of plans and schedules. Making plans and working on a schedule are necessities dictated by the nature of what I do (research) and what I do, is indulge my passion(s). How could I continue to do this and still embrace uncertainty? The answer was simple enough. It is everywhere in nature. Even a truly random pattern is a pattern still. And such a pattern often contains within it regions of regularity - look anywhere you want: lines in the beach sand, ventricular fibrillation... And thus, to be truly free of rigidity, I must be willing to be fluid... if maintaining that fluidity over a prolonged region of space-time-consciousness (I find it very useful to think of these as the dimensions of a continuum within which to describe my existence to myself) requires the use of structure within smaller regions of it, then that's just the way to flow. In other words, true disorder does not fear order; rather, it is simply a more complex order. Again, this is a concept I've encountered several times in a variety of different contexts; but, to see it within my own existence, that was a sweet moment of realization indeed. What I speak of is not pride; rather, it's that feeling you get when you look up to see the evening sun paint the sky.
That's about it for now. So, why did I ramble on and on about something I know can not be captured by words? The process of trying helps me crystallize my notion of fluidity - another step in a lifelong process. The way I see it, if I keep this up, at the very least I won't ever be bored. How much more could I ask for? :D
