Sunday, September 12, 2021
Pondering in my heart
September 12, 2021
Got some things to ponder over these days. So...gonna be posting some of the thoughts that I have committed to paper or digital form as I find them in the detritus of my USB drive. Be prepared for none of it to make much sense. But since this blog is rarely frequented (even by me), not exactly a burning issue, now, is it?
Monday, September 21, 2020
Wednesday, August 07, 2019
The Stoic Viewpoint
I can recommend this article. I was told about Stoicism recently after I spoke at a gathering, telling a crowd that my existential philosphy had been discarded along with my former drunken alchololic lifestyle. I am now searching out a copy of the Meditations that Poet Emperor Marcus Aurelius wrote long ago. Here is a brief entry into that train of thought, for a start, though.
Darius Foroux: Marcus Aurelius-3 rules for life
Darius Foroux: Marcus Aurelius-3 rules for life
The hypersane are among us, if only we are prepared to look (republished from Aeon)
‘Hypersanity’ is not a common or accepted term. But neither did I make it up. I first came across the concept while training in psychiatry, in The Politics of Experience and the Bird of Paradise (1967) by R D Laing. In this book, the Scottish psychiatrist presented ‘madness’ as a voyage of discovery that could open out onto a free state of higher consciousness, or hypersanity. For Laing, the descent into madness could lead to a reckoning, to an awakening, to ‘break-through’ rather than ‘breakdown’.
A few months later, I read C G Jung’s autobiography, Memories, Dreams, Reflections (1962), which provided a vivid case in point. In 1913, on the eve of the Great War, Jung broke off his close friendship with Sigmund Freud, and spent the next few years in a troubled state of mind that led him to a ‘confrontation with the unconscious’.
As Europe tore itself apart, Jung gained first-hand experience of psychotic material in which he found ‘the matrix of a mythopoeic imagination which has vanished from our rational age’. Like Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Heracles, Orpheus and Aeneas before him, Jung travelled deep down into an underworld where he conversed with Salome, an attractive young woman, and with Philemon, an old man with a white beard, the wings of a kingfisher and the horns of a bull. Although Salome and Philemon were products of Jung’s unconscious, they had lives of their own and said things that he had not previously thought. In Philemon, Jung had at long last found the father-figure that both Freud and his own father had failed to be. More than that, Philemon was a guru, and prefigured what Jung himself was later to become: the wise old man of Zürich. As the war burnt out, Jung re-emerged into sanity, and considered that he had found in his madness ‘the primo materia for a lifetime’s work’.
The Laingian concept of hypersanity, though modern, has ancient roots. Once, upon being asked to name the most beautiful of all things, Diogenes the Cynic (412-323 BCE) replied parrhesia, which in Ancient Greek means something like ‘uninhibited thought’, ‘free speech’, or ‘full expression’. Diogenes used to stroll around Athens in broad daylight brandishing a lit lamp. Whenever curious people stopped to ask what he was doing, he would reply: ‘I am just looking for a human being’ – thereby insinuating that the people of Athens were not living up to, or even much aware of, their full human potential.
After being exiled from his native Sinope for having defaced its coinage, Diogenes emigrated to Athens, took up the life of a beggar, and made it his mission to deface – metaphorically this time – the coinage of custom and convention that was, he maintained, the false currency of morality. He disdained the need for conventional shelter or any other such ‘dainties’, and elected to live in a tub and survive on a diet of onions. Diogenes proved to the later satisfaction of the Stoics that happiness has nothing whatsoever to do with a person’s material circumstances, and held that human beings had much to learn from studying the simplicity and artlessness of dogs, which, unlike human beings, had not complicated every simple gift of the gods.
The term ‘cynic’ derives from the Greek kynikos, which is the adjective of kyon or ‘dog’. Once, upon being challenged for masturbating in the marketplace, Diogenes regretted that it were not as easy to relieve hunger by rubbing an empty stomach. When asked, on another occasion, where he came from, he replied: ‘I am a citizen of the world’ (cosmopolites), a radical claim at the time, and the first recorded use of the term ‘cosmopolitan’. As he approached death, Diogenes asked for his mortal remains to be thrown outside the city walls for wild animals to feast upon. After his death in the city of Corinth, the Corinthians erected to his glory a pillar surmounted by a dog of Parian marble.
Jung and Diogenes came across as insane by the standards of their day. But both men had a depth and acuteness of vision that their contemporaries lacked, and that enabled them to see through their facades of ‘sanity’. Both psychosis and hypersanity place us outside society, making us seem ‘mad’ to the mainstream. Both states attract a heady mixture of fear and fascination. But whereas mental disorder is distressing and disabling, hypersanity is liberating and empowering.
After reading The Politics of Experience, the concept of hypersanity stuck in my mind, not least as something that I might aspire to for myself. But if there is such a thing as hypersanity, the implication is that mere sanity is not all it’s cracked up to be, a state of dormancy and dullness with less vital potential even than madness. This I think is most apparent in people’s frequently suboptimal – if not frankly inappropriate – responses, both verbal and behavioural, to the world around them. As Laing puts it:
We could all go mad, in a way we already are, minus the promise. But what if there were another route to hypersanity, one that, compared with madness, was less fearsome, less dangerous, and less damaging? What if, as well as a backdoor way, there were also a royal road strewn with sweet-scented petals? After all, Diogenes did not exactly go mad. Neither did other hypersane people such as Socrates and Confucius, although the Buddha did suffer, in the beginning, with what might today be classed as depression.
Besides Jung, are there any modern examples of hypersanity? Those who escaped from Plato’s cave of shadows were reluctant to crawl back down and involve themselves in the affairs of men, and most hypersane people, rather than courting the limelight, might prefer to hide out in their back gardens. But a few do rise to prominence for the difference that they felt compelled to make, people such as Nelson Mandela and Temple Grandin. And the hypersane are still among us: from the Dalai Lama to Jane Goodall, there are many candidates. While they might seem to be living in a world of their own, this is only because they have delved more deeply into the way things are than those ‘sane’ people around them.
Neel Burton
This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.
A few months later, I read C G Jung’s autobiography, Memories, Dreams, Reflections (1962), which provided a vivid case in point. In 1913, on the eve of the Great War, Jung broke off his close friendship with Sigmund Freud, and spent the next few years in a troubled state of mind that led him to a ‘confrontation with the unconscious’.
As Europe tore itself apart, Jung gained first-hand experience of psychotic material in which he found ‘the matrix of a mythopoeic imagination which has vanished from our rational age’. Like Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Heracles, Orpheus and Aeneas before him, Jung travelled deep down into an underworld where he conversed with Salome, an attractive young woman, and with Philemon, an old man with a white beard, the wings of a kingfisher and the horns of a bull. Although Salome and Philemon were products of Jung’s unconscious, they had lives of their own and said things that he had not previously thought. In Philemon, Jung had at long last found the father-figure that both Freud and his own father had failed to be. More than that, Philemon was a guru, and prefigured what Jung himself was later to become: the wise old man of Zürich. As the war burnt out, Jung re-emerged into sanity, and considered that he had found in his madness ‘the primo materia for a lifetime’s work’.
The Laingian concept of hypersanity, though modern, has ancient roots. Once, upon being asked to name the most beautiful of all things, Diogenes the Cynic (412-323 BCE) replied parrhesia, which in Ancient Greek means something like ‘uninhibited thought’, ‘free speech’, or ‘full expression’. Diogenes used to stroll around Athens in broad daylight brandishing a lit lamp. Whenever curious people stopped to ask what he was doing, he would reply: ‘I am just looking for a human being’ – thereby insinuating that the people of Athens were not living up to, or even much aware of, their full human potential.
After being exiled from his native Sinope for having defaced its coinage, Diogenes emigrated to Athens, took up the life of a beggar, and made it his mission to deface – metaphorically this time – the coinage of custom and convention that was, he maintained, the false currency of morality. He disdained the need for conventional shelter or any other such ‘dainties’, and elected to live in a tub and survive on a diet of onions. Diogenes proved to the later satisfaction of the Stoics that happiness has nothing whatsoever to do with a person’s material circumstances, and held that human beings had much to learn from studying the simplicity and artlessness of dogs, which, unlike human beings, had not complicated every simple gift of the gods.
The term ‘cynic’ derives from the Greek kynikos, which is the adjective of kyon or ‘dog’. Once, upon being challenged for masturbating in the marketplace, Diogenes regretted that it were not as easy to relieve hunger by rubbing an empty stomach. When asked, on another occasion, where he came from, he replied: ‘I am a citizen of the world’ (cosmopolites), a radical claim at the time, and the first recorded use of the term ‘cosmopolitan’. As he approached death, Diogenes asked for his mortal remains to be thrown outside the city walls for wild animals to feast upon. After his death in the city of Corinth, the Corinthians erected to his glory a pillar surmounted by a dog of Parian marble.
Jung and Diogenes came across as insane by the standards of their day. But both men had a depth and acuteness of vision that their contemporaries lacked, and that enabled them to see through their facades of ‘sanity’. Both psychosis and hypersanity place us outside society, making us seem ‘mad’ to the mainstream. Both states attract a heady mixture of fear and fascination. But whereas mental disorder is distressing and disabling, hypersanity is liberating and empowering.
After reading The Politics of Experience, the concept of hypersanity stuck in my mind, not least as something that I might aspire to for myself. But if there is such a thing as hypersanity, the implication is that mere sanity is not all it’s cracked up to be, a state of dormancy and dullness with less vital potential even than madness. This I think is most apparent in people’s frequently suboptimal – if not frankly inappropriate – responses, both verbal and behavioural, to the world around them. As Laing puts it:
The condition of alienation, of being asleep, of being unconscious, of being out of one’s mind, is the condition of the normal man.
Society highly values its normal man. It educates children to lose themselves and to become absurd, and thus to be normal.
Normal men have killed perhaps 100,000,000 of their fellow normal men in the last 50 years.Many ‘normal’ people suffer from not being hypersane: they have a restricted worldview, confused priorities, and are wracked by stress, anxiety and self-deception. As a result, they sometimes do dangerous things, and become fanatics or fascists or otherwise destructive (or not constructive) people. In contrast, hypersane people are calm, contained and constructive. It is not just that the ‘sane’ are irrational but that they lack scope and range, as though they’ve grown into the prisoners of their arbitrary lives, locked up in their own dark and narrow subjectivity. Unable to take leave of their selves, they hardly look around them, barely see beauty and possibility, rarely contemplate the bigger picture – and all, ultimately, for fear of losing their selves, of breaking down, of going mad, using one form of extreme subjectivity to defend against another, as life – mysterious, magical life – slips through their fingers.
We could all go mad, in a way we already are, minus the promise. But what if there were another route to hypersanity, one that, compared with madness, was less fearsome, less dangerous, and less damaging? What if, as well as a backdoor way, there were also a royal road strewn with sweet-scented petals? After all, Diogenes did not exactly go mad. Neither did other hypersane people such as Socrates and Confucius, although the Buddha did suffer, in the beginning, with what might today be classed as depression.
Besides Jung, are there any modern examples of hypersanity? Those who escaped from Plato’s cave of shadows were reluctant to crawl back down and involve themselves in the affairs of men, and most hypersane people, rather than courting the limelight, might prefer to hide out in their back gardens. But a few do rise to prominence for the difference that they felt compelled to make, people such as Nelson Mandela and Temple Grandin. And the hypersane are still among us: from the Dalai Lama to Jane Goodall, there are many candidates. While they might seem to be living in a world of their own, this is only because they have delved more deeply into the way things are than those ‘sane’ people around them.
Neel Burton
This article was originally published at Aeon and has been republished under Creative Commons.
Sunday, May 12, 2019
Letter to LeeAnn #3
Happiness is an ephemeral thing. I was recently told, "It's me, not you," and while that is a terribly trite phrase, I fear in this situation, it applies.
That was from something I meant to post earlier, much earlier. I fear that I have deeper problems than making people tell me that it is not me that is causing the problem. I am fairly certain that it is me, only me, that poisons relationships. Got to work on that.
I frequently think about a line from an Elvis Costello song that goes: "Sometimes I almost feel just like a human being." Sometimes I truly do, other times it all seems so odd to be here, alone and with many who are part of my life. A dilemma that I ponder on a daily basis.
If I follow through on the "Stepping Out" process that my cousin (Sylvia) Carol explained to me recently-actually, I had already decided on this course, just did not have a cool name for it-I will miss certain things, I realized. Amongst the things that I would pine for are:
The smell of lilacs on the spring evening breeze.
The taste of absinthe, chartreuse, bourbon and scotch.
Sleeping next to a naked woman.
Streets of Fire, The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai in the 8th Dimension, The Sin of Harold Diddlebock, Repo Man, Bar Fly, Kung Pow, Casablanca, The Princess Bride, Young Frankenstein, Army of Darkness, Blazing Saddles...and lots more.
Cooking an excellent dinner, or just making something out of what is in the refrigerator/freezer in the crock pot.
Growing my own herbs and peppers for cooking.
Writing.
Note:
Discovered this in the drafts on my blog. Things are much different in my life since I originally crafted this post. For example, the discussion of bourbon, scotch, absinthe and chartreuse is wildly misplaced in my current state of existence. I am guessing this to be at least two years older than the publication date of May 2019. Why publish it then? As a glimpse into my past being, I suspect.
Dark Night Prayer 5.11.19
Pray in the dark night that the magic will emerge
Dance in the moonlight
Open your heart to the light
Talisman-bright and shiny
Carry me onward by grace of your being
Familiar companion, afford me your shielding asylum
Tread this path together with me
Faith departed
Then cold rain fell from the heavens
Soaked and shivering, we huddle, dissolute and dissipated
Feeling abandoned alone
Remember:
Pray in the dark night that the magic will reemerge
Dance in the moonlight
Open your heart to the light
I falter
Listening for the call of the soul
Guide me to your embrace
That I may discover purity and peace
Once known but now rebuffed
Pray in the dark night that the magic will reemerge
Dance in the moonlight
Open your heart to the light
Sunday, January 05, 2014
Thinking about Dancing
There's this woman-
a goddess, really-
who
has
stolen
my
heart.
I like this,
I realize.
The totality of her
is more than enough
for me,
but I will
simply
accept my gift.
Her presence
in my life
is my present
source of joy.
To think this
sense of fulfillment
came about
after a leisurely lunch,
savoring a shared flatbread
with my enchanting companion,
inspiring me to be forward
with my intentions...
Only 37 days,
such a miniscule amount
of time together,
but oh, the wonders
she brings to my life!
I've had time to reflect
on our dance on New Year's Eve,
and now am confident,
that I can be her partner,
on the floor,
as well as wherever else
she will allow me to be.
2:55 PM Sunday, January 5, 2014 Farmington Hills
a goddess, really-
who
has
stolen
my
heart.
I like this,
I realize.
The totality of her
is more than enough
for me,
but I will
simply
accept my gift.
Her presence
in my life
is my present
source of joy.
To think this
sense of fulfillment
came about
after a leisurely lunch,
savoring a shared flatbread
with my enchanting companion,
inspiring me to be forward
with my intentions...
Only 37 days,
such a miniscule amount
of time together,
but oh, the wonders
she brings to my life!
I've had time to reflect
on our dance on New Year's Eve,
and now am confident,
that I can be her partner,
on the floor,
as well as wherever else
she will allow me to be.
2:55 PM Sunday, January 5, 2014 Farmington Hills
Friday, December 13, 2013
Understand that you are more beautiful than you believe
This is an example of what most (if not all) of us succumb to, the fallacy of finding fault in ourselves where it does not exist.
Give yourself a chance. You have so much to offer the world, so long as your thinking is not clouded with negativity.
Give yourself a chance. You have so much to offer the world, so long as your thinking is not clouded with negativity.
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
October 30, 2013
I have been mulling over the sense of loss I feel with Lou Reed no longer being with us. Prolly my favorite musical artist since college days, I remember my wife buying me tickets to see him at the Royal Oak Music Theater for my birthday, and me declaring after the show that I never needed to see another concert as my musical goal had been met.
What brings this to mind today is listening to the Slows music system unexplicably play the Velvet's Black Angel's Death Song. Wonderful symmetry occurs in this place. Just earlier, I was musing about a Carlos Castaneda reference I had tried to explain to a former companion, about finding a PURPLE place, and now my rock 'n' roll idol's come on to the music system to further plunge me into a reflective funk.
Anythehoo, RIP Mr. Reed. You certainly did stomp upon the terra.
What brings this to mind today is listening to the Slows music system unexplicably play the Velvet's Black Angel's Death Song. Wonderful symmetry occurs in this place. Just earlier, I was musing about a Carlos Castaneda reference I had tried to explain to a former companion, about finding a PURPLE place, and now my rock 'n' roll idol's come on to the music system to further plunge me into a reflective funk.
Anythehoo, RIP Mr. Reed. You certainly did stomp upon the terra.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Letter to LeeAnn #2
Hey, Kiddo.
It hit me tonight just how much we shared, listening to Simple Minds playing Don't You Forget About Me. Remember how often that song played in our hotel room in Paris while we honeymooned on the Left Bank? I need to look at our journal from that trip tonight, I think.
Your boys would do you proud, I believe. Stephen has been in a stable relationship since his freshman year, far as I can figure. Brian has turned out to be a polite, intelligent young man, although he needs to date. Working on that.
I am dating a nice woman (a blonde, can you believe that?) who has three boys, so we have that in common. I still really wish on a daily basis that you were here with me. It is difficult to put 30 or so years behind me, but I do go on, tough as it is.
Brian and I are doing well at the house, and taking care of Mitch. I thought for sure he was a goner about 2 weeks ago, but that little shithead has more lives than a litter of cats. His goiter has burst, but that seems to have inspired him. I was all set to find him still and lifeless, but there are no graves to dig today. Or anytime soon, it appears.
I've dated several women since you left me alone, and four that I would consider serious relationships. One just faded away, one went on for a long while but wasn't going where I wanted and I guess I forced her away. The third was batshit crazy, but I didn't pick that up initially. Now on #4 and very happy. Not so sure I ever want to marry again...what if Jesus was correct and you meet all your wives in heaven? Then again, not much chance of that for me, but still...
I still prefer your family to mine, for the most part. Going on the Hofstad fishing trip this summer was special. Your boys made a special effort to connect with your dad and that was why I wanted to do the event. Time well spent.
Not to be morbid, but your gravesite is lovely. So glad you could rest near your Mom in the Lake Nebagamon Cemetary. I hope spreading part of your ashes on the shore meets with your approval; just seemed the right thing to do.
I still dream that you are with me. Not as often, but talking with my friend Olin, don't think that will ever end. I know that makes little sense to you, but it matters to me to put it into written form.
I will write again soon.
Love,
Your Dr. Woo
It hit me tonight just how much we shared, listening to Simple Minds playing Don't You Forget About Me. Remember how often that song played in our hotel room in Paris while we honeymooned on the Left Bank? I need to look at our journal from that trip tonight, I think.
Your boys would do you proud, I believe. Stephen has been in a stable relationship since his freshman year, far as I can figure. Brian has turned out to be a polite, intelligent young man, although he needs to date. Working on that.
I am dating a nice woman (a blonde, can you believe that?) who has three boys, so we have that in common. I still really wish on a daily basis that you were here with me. It is difficult to put 30 or so years behind me, but I do go on, tough as it is.
Brian and I are doing well at the house, and taking care of Mitch. I thought for sure he was a goner about 2 weeks ago, but that little shithead has more lives than a litter of cats. His goiter has burst, but that seems to have inspired him. I was all set to find him still and lifeless, but there are no graves to dig today. Or anytime soon, it appears.
I've dated several women since you left me alone, and four that I would consider serious relationships. One just faded away, one went on for a long while but wasn't going where I wanted and I guess I forced her away. The third was batshit crazy, but I didn't pick that up initially. Now on #4 and very happy. Not so sure I ever want to marry again...what if Jesus was correct and you meet all your wives in heaven? Then again, not much chance of that for me, but still...
I still prefer your family to mine, for the most part. Going on the Hofstad fishing trip this summer was special. Your boys made a special effort to connect with your dad and that was why I wanted to do the event. Time well spent.
Not to be morbid, but your gravesite is lovely. So glad you could rest near your Mom in the Lake Nebagamon Cemetary. I hope spreading part of your ashes on the shore meets with your approval; just seemed the right thing to do.
I still dream that you are with me. Not as often, but talking with my friend Olin, don't think that will ever end. I know that makes little sense to you, but it matters to me to put it into written form.
I will write again soon.
Love,
Your Dr. Woo
Monday, July 29, 2013
I Don't Do Crazy
I Don't Do Crazy
Over the top
Accusatory
180 degree rotations
Not at all
what I want from my summer
Let's just take a step back
recall what was good
and go on our separate
merry
ways.
You had me
until the chain was broken.
Glitter on the floor mat
a reminder
of broken vows,
failed endeavors.
I see now
how foolish I was,
what my friends
attempted to tell me.
No time for this,
I have other plans.
You have written yourself
out of my itinerary.
Be well.
Just not with me.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Dawn
Dawn
Morning light
breaks thru
last night's storm clouds
You sigh,
roll over,
and the sheet
leaves your body.
I drink in your beauty
with my eyes
silently
adoring you
listening to your
soft, slow breathing
I move stealthily
my lips
trail along your
delicate curves
tasting the salty
remnants of last night's
exertions
We matched the
Gods' exhortations
with our own
collapsing before dawn
exhausted
I recall gathering you near,
then nothing 'til now
Love's amnesia
erasing any dreams
I prefer this
waking pleasure
until you rouse.
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