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Bone-Cave Dweller

This poem seemed worth resurrecting as I approach the end of the sequence of posts on Donaldson’s Human Minds
Bonecave Dweller

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Ye must therefore put forth a mighty effort, striving by night and day and resting not for a moment, to acquire an abundant share of all the sciences and arts, that the Divine Image, which shineth out from the Sun of Truth, may illumine the mirror of the hearts of men.

(Selections from the Writings ‘Abdu’l-Bahá – page 140)

At the end of the previous post we left Donaldson’s question hanging in the air:[1]

Is there any evidence that people can function in modes which parallel the intellectual modes but in which emotion, rather than thought, has primacy?

Mainly the Value-Sensing Transcendent Mode

At this point she begins to unpack what is meant by what she calls the ‘value-sensing transcendent’ mode, contrasting it with its complementary opposite the ‘intellectual transcendent mode:[2] ‘what is to be regulated by this [mode’s] control will be thinking of a kind that might interfere with emotion rather than emotion of a kind that might interfere with thought.’

She fears that the development of the value-sensing mode at this level might be so alien to us that we will not concern ourselves with it at all ‘because progress in science and technology has led to a dangerous imbalance, so that we have become one-sided.’

She feels that evidence in support of the existence of this mode and its predecessor might be found ‘in responses to art and music, and in certain kinds of experience that we call religious or spiritual.’ She adds:[3] ‘I shall call the modes we are discussing value-sensing modes, with the proviso that the values in question must transcend personal concerns.’ In this case ‘thought and emotion would again be separated, but this time emotion would be the primary function.’ The value-sensing modes would be essentially acognitive.

I did find her apparent fusion of emotion/feeling/sensing somewhat confusing at times.* Anyhow, with the help of my exposure to Acceptance and Commitment Therapy I came to define the value-sensing mode as the state of consciousness in which we are most in tune with our positive value system. ACT argues that operating from the observing self enables us to unhook ourselves from disabling scripts and discover, choose to live by and enact our deepest values in spite of all the discomfort that inevitably attends upon such a commitment. Our lives become value- rather than self- or language-centred. If we do not achieve this level of understanding, in their view, we are condemned to betray our highest values because we have confused ourselves with what we are telling or have been told about ourselves.

Their History

Donaldson begins[4] with the question of whether our modern conviction that only the intellectual mode has validity ‘has always existed.’ She admits to speculating somewhat when she claims[5] ‘the value-sensing construct and transcendent modes are probably at least as old as their intellectual counterparts, which would place their advent in the middle or earlier half of the second millennium BC.’

From the ninth to the twelfth centuries in Europe,[6] ‘[t]he culture overwhelmingly favoured and promoted the value-sensing construct mode’ and ‘[i]t came to be thought positively improper to press inquiry too far,’ thus placing a bar against intellectual exploration to such an extent that[7] ‘[c]uriosity was, then, at risk of becoming impiety and investigation had to be curbed, out of respect’ for the divine nature of nature. She argues that it was ‘not until the twelfth century that things really began to change.’

Even so,[8] ‘[t]he hold of the value-sensing construct mode on European minds would remain strong for centuries more. But the process of challenging its dominance had at last begun.’

Clearly there had been a long-standing ‘imbalance in the direction opposite to that which obtains today.’ The emotional core modes were valued more than the ‘relatively neglected’ intellectual ones.

It was not until the 17th century that[9] ‘the establishment of modern science . . .  was fully and decisively achieved.’ The belief began to prevail[10] that, far from prohibiting investigation ‘God was now supposed to want us to try to understand.’ As that process unfolded[11] ‘what happened to the other advanced modes . . ?’

There was no sense in which this favoured[12] ‘a parallel development on the value-sensing side.’ Instead[13] ‘society became progressively, and in the end very thoroughly, secularized,’ passing ascendancy[14] ‘more and more completely to the intellectual modes.’

Poetry and music may have allowed ‘spiritual feeling’ some degree of expression. Beethoven and Wordsworth are possible examples of that. Even though[15] ‘Wordsworth’s writings were influential . . . they did not redress the balance.’ Materialism basically triumphed.

I want to pause for a moment and consider this. Jonathan Bate’s recent biography Radical Wordsworth goes some way to explain both how far the poet kept spirituality alive and also what might have prevented his revitalizing it more effectively.

A poem of Wordsworth’s that I consider to be one of his greatest is Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. One stanza should be enough to convey the depth of its spirituality.

                                                     Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Bate quotes[16] his use in another poem of the expression ‘eternal beauty’ as applied to a landscape, to suggest that Wordsworth perhaps believed in some form of pantheism. He feels[17] that the poet ‘was articulating a radical alternative religion of nature.’

So, where’s the problem?

Possibly the most eloquent example of where the problem lay, according to Bate, was the quality that gave Wordsworth the confidence to write an epic poem with himself as hero, his Prelude. Many of his contemporaries were unimpressed by what Keats defined as the essential drawback of Wordsworth’s poetry. Keats believed[18] “that the problem with what he calls ‘the Wordsworthian’ was the ‘egotistical sublime’, the perpetual writing from the point of view of the self.” In contrast, Keats was keen to incorporate ‘a counter-model that was the antithesis of egotism.’

Wherever the truth lies in this case, poetry and music did not have a sufficiently strong hold on the imaginations of that period to keep the value-sensing mode alive and improving.

She quotes an illuminating episode from Darwin’s life to illustrate what might have been happening in this particular respect on a much wider scale:[19]

Along with the loss of religious belief there developed in Darwin what he himself calls a ‘curious and lamentable loss of the higher aesthetic tastes.’ His mind became ‘a kind of machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of facts,’ so that he ceased to enjoy poetry, paintings and music. This, he tells us, it is ‘a loss of happiness, and may possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.’

So, are we now stuck so firmly in the quicksand of unbalanced materialism that there is no possible remedy? Consideration of that will have to wait until next time.

Footnote:

*This, I think, may derive from my attachment to the distinction Stephen Covey makes, in his book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, between feelings, values and principles. We can, and often should[20] ‘subordinate feelings to values.’ However, values are not infallibly reliable guides to right action:[21] ‘Principles are not values. A gang of thieves can share values, but they are in violation of the fundamental principles we’re talking about. Principles are the territory. Values are maps. When we value correct principles, we have truth…’ There’ll be more about Covey coming up in my next sequence of posts.

References:

[1] Page 141. Unless otherwise stated all references are from Human Minds: an exploration.
[2] Page 142.
[3] Pages 142-143.
[4] Page 156.
[5] Page 158.
[6] Page 164.
[7]. Page 165.
[8]. Page 166.
[9]. Page 167.
[10]. Page 174.
[11]. Page 176.
[12]. Page 178.
[13]. Page 180
[14]. Page 181.
[15]. Page 183.
[16] Radical Wordsworth – page 47
[17] Radical Wordsworth – page 186.
[18] Radical Wordsworth – page 402:
[19] Page 184.
[20] The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People  – page 71.
[21] The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People  – page 35.

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There have issued, from His mighty Pen, various teachings for the prevention of war, and these have been scattered far and wide.

The first is the independent investigation of truth; for blind imitation of the past will stunt the mind. But once every soul inquireth into truth, society will be freed from the darkness of continually repeating the past.

(Selections from the Writings ‘Abdu’l-Bahá  – page 248)

To pick up from where we left off last time, Donaldson, in her book Human Minds: an exploration,[1] establishes that a child has ‘a mind capable of concerning itself with things in some sort of controlled and organised way . . . by the end of the first two or three months.’

She goes on to argue[2] that what occurs ‘from two to around eight months,’ is ‘the development of the core self’– a sense of self that is coherent, firmly distinguished from what is other, but not yet informed by an awareness of other minds.’ She adds, ‘the point mode begins as the core self is established.’

The acquisition of conscious memory is a necessary ‘precondition for the development of the second mode’ which she names[3] ‘the line mode’ and defines as[4] ‘a source of much pain.’ We tend to remember more clearly what we regret and anticipate more vividly what we fear. As we age, the line mode can expand to include a concern for others, from family through nation to humanity as a whole. Unfortunately it all too often stops before reaching that last point, with potentially dire consequences.

Construct Mode

Children’s play is the platform upon which another skill is built. We become able[5] to ‘treat thoughts as objects to be manipulated.’ We need to be able to do this if we are to progress to the construct mode. In this third mode we can step beyond our own experiences[6] and even beyond ‘those we have heard about from others.’ We can consider things in general using our imagination to construct what she calls ‘the needed context.’ This is why she calls it the construct mode.

This is where things start to get a bit more complicated but also hugely more significant in terms of some of my main preoccupations. She argues that there are two forms of the construct mode[7] – subcategories is the word she chooses to use because they are both equally valid examples of this mode of thinking, and together comprise the construct mode as a whole. These are the ‘intellectual construct mode and the value-sensing construct mode.’ She unpacks exactly what she means by those terms: ‘The intellectual construct mode is one in which a clear priority is given to thought’ while subordinating emotion: the value-sensing construct mode cannot be quite so simply defined as prioritising feelings at the expense of thought, as we will see.

As we develop, so do our beliefs[8] ‘about the nature of the universe, about our own social group, about other social groups – and about ourselves’ and we cleave to these beliefs all too passionately. An idea about one’s self comes along at about 18 months.

The most developed form of this thinking mode[9] ‘is distinguished by one special characteristic: it is – or at least aspires to be – dispassionate.’

At this point she raises the question that most concerns me:[10] ‘does there exist or could there ever exist, a parallel development for the emotions?’

It clearly concerns her greatly as well:

. . . It is often said that humanity currently suffers from a dangerous imbalance, attributable to progress in science and technology that has not been matched by comparable steps forward in the development of morals and emotions. . . . Is it really the case that only thought can move onwards independently, becoming further disembedded?

It was frustrating on my first reading of her book that she lays these questions aside for the moment to pursue a deeper examination of the intellectual construct mode.

Intellectual Transcendent Mode

Her immediate concern is how the intellectual mode develops:[11]

We move on now from the intellectual construct mode to a further mode that is also intellectual, yet radically different. I shall call it the intellectual transcendent mode. These two modes are alike in that thought has primacy.

She adds that the feeling we get as we enhance our understanding is ‘entirely appropriate to the intellectual modes and can be extremely strong.’

In her view, in this mode, we are no longer concerned with specific events in space-time, as is the case in construct mode. She feels ‘the concern’ now ‘is no longer about something that could happen “sometime, somewhere”; and the need for an imagined setting has dropped away.’ We are free of such constraints.

For her, in terms of the intellectual mode, we have reached the highest possible level.[12]: ‘This is the final stage in the long path from the extreme of embedding at the one end to the extreme of disembedding at the other.’ We are now in the land of ‘logic and mathematics.’ We draw on[13] ‘schematic representation’ to help us escape ‘the dominance of things.’ We also need to be able to record our results, which requires some form of writing.[14]

Before moving on, she summarises her position:[15]

To recapitulate, these (conditions) are: having a way of reducing the prominence of things and increasing the prominence of relationships; having a firm sense of relevance, which means demarcating and holding to ‘this problem and no other’; developing an understanding of the value of proceeding systematically, together with some skill in doing so; and having available for use, with understanding of its function, a written notation well fitted to the particular pattern of relations that is to be explored.

Only now are we ready to move onto to her consideration of what is for me the key question in her book:[16] ‘Is there any evidence that people can function in modes which parallel the intellectual modes but in which emotion, rather than thought, has primacy?’

More of that next time.

References:

[1]. All references are to Human Minds: an exploration unless specified – page 46.
[2]. Pages 46-47.
[3]. Page 58.
[4]. Page 61.
[5]. Page 71.
[6]. Pages 80-81
[7]. Pages 81-82.
[8]. Page 83.
[9]. Page 102.
[10]. Page 103.
[11]. Page 125.
[12]. Page 126.
[13]. Page 127.
[14]. Page 136.
[15]. Page 138.
[16]. Page 141.

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If religious beliefs and opinions are found contrary to the standards of science, they are mere superstitions and imaginations; for the antithesis of knowledge is ignorance, and the child of ignorance is superstition. Unquestionably there must be agreement between true religion and science. If a question be found contrary to reason, faith and belief in it are impossible, and there is no outcome but wavering and vacillation.

(‘Abdu’l-Bahá from The Promulgation of Universal Peace – page 181)

I have been triggered to revisit books I have hoarded which deal with levels of consciousness. This all started with another rapidly abandoned look at Ken Wilber’s model. With moderate enthusiasm I had picked off my shelves Wilber’s Up from Eden, which had lurked up there unread since 1996. I felt that Fontana’s references to his work in Psychology, Religion and Spirituality warranted another look to help me overcome the reservations triggered in my mind by John Fitzgerald Medina’s Faith, Physics & Psychology, where he takes issue with what he feels is Wilber’s arrogant implication that it is impossible for someone in a lower level society to leap to a higher level of consciousness (page 136):

. . . integral theorists actually support the idea that, out of the entire human population in the world, only an elite cadre of Westerners presently has the capacity to achieve the highest levels of human development.

I was not sure this criticism was entirely warranted but it did create reservations in my mind about some aspects of Wilber’s approach.

This was not what put me off this time.

I got as far as page 73 before the feeling that this was not the approach I wanted to immerse myself in right now grew so strong I couldn’t turn another page. His approach in this book was too mythological for my taste. I’ve so far been completely incapable of finishing any of Joseph Campbell’s work for this same reason. My distaste may be irrational but it remains insuperable.

As I sat and stared at my shelves aching for inspiration I remembered how much I had resonated to a book that explored in illuminating ways the split-brain culture we inhabit. No, not Iain McGilchrist’s The Master & his Emissary this time, much as I value that book and always will. There’s a clue in a comment I left on my blog more than a month ago, about a text that I have now re-read for the third time, but have not yet blogged about. I’ve probably never really attempted to integrate this account into my other explorations of levels of consciousness because the model presented does not easily map onto numerically coded versions such as those of Jenny Wade, Piaget, Wilber, Dabrowski  and Koestenbaum.

It is Margaret Donaldson’s Human Minds: an exploration. On page 135 she writes of what she calls ‘the value-sensing transcendent mode,’ something which our materialistic culture does not cultivate. She describes experiences in this mode as surging up ‘still in spite of the power of other modes which have threatened to exclude them.’ These experiences ‘come occasionally, unexpectedly, like marvellous accidents.’ Her book is partly about our need as a society to learn how to encourage us to access them more consistently. My own such encounters have been extremely rare indeed. Her insightful book also considers, though in less detail, the role of the novel and poetry in enhancing consciousness.

It also focuses on both the need to balance head and heart, science and religion, and on the ways we might get closer to achieving that.

I will deal fairly quickly with her discussion of her more basic modes of experiencing the world, then I will move on to the next highest levels in a bit more detail, before dwelling at greater length on her in depth exploration of the transcendent modes, both intellectual and value-sensing. In all probability this fairly rapid flight over the complex terrain of her richly informative model will fail to do it justice, but, if it at least brings her important work to your attention, that might just be enough.

Basic Modes

Margaret Donaldson deals first of all with the basic modes, the first of which concerns itself purely with the present moment, and begins in our infancy. She calls it point mode.[1] She goes on to add, ‘Later other loci become possible. For example, the second mode, which is called the line mode, has a locus of concern that includes the personal past and the personal future.’ More specific detail on the line mode next time.

Then our capacity expands to ‘the impersonal’ enabling us to think beyond our ‘personal goals.’[2] When this relates to thinking, that fits with our preconceptions about what it should be like. ‘But,’ she asks, ‘what about emotion? Can we take steps towards impersonality in respect of our emotions also?’

This is an issue we will come back to in more detail. For now I’ll just mention that she adds that ‘The process of “opening out” in those two directions is the one that I have previously called disembedding, in an earlier book, Children’s Minds.[3] This relates to some degree to concepts such as reflection and disidentification, dealt with at length elsewhere on this blog.

She emphasises that we modify our perceptions of the world ‘to suit our purposes.’[4] She was particularly taken with some of Freud’s descriptions of how we do that and expresses them in an effective metaphor:[5]

In talking of the defences Freud uses one image which I find illuminating. He likened the activities of a mind shaping its own consciousness to those of an editor revising a text, working towards an acceptable final draft.  The various mechanisms that have different editorial counterparts. For example, amnesic repression is equivalent to complete removal of parts of the text… likewise denial is equivalent to the insertion of ‘not:’… Projection is equivalent to changing the subject of a sentence: ‘He is I am evil, lazy, useless.’ Displacement amounts to changing the sentence object: ‘ I hate my father enemy.’ . . . In this way, we write for ourselves an authorised version of our lives.

In short, ‘. . . our experience of the world is experience of an interpretation.’[6] This maps closely onto my own sense of my perception of the world as a simulation. However, Donaldson explains, this tendency is balanced ‘by another more austere aim: the aim of understanding, of getting at the truth.’ The Bahá’í approach to this stresses the importance of an ‘independent investigation of the truth.’

For Donne’s poem see link lines 76-82

There is another factor she mentions that again resonates with the Bahá’í Faith: ‘The second corrective is to consider shared experience.’ This sounds closely linked to the value attached to consultation, which is central to many processes of interaction encouraged in the Bahá’í community. Obviously these resonances partly explain my attraction to Donaldson’s model of consciousness, but it is not the only reason.

She argues that the foundations for our modes of consciousness are laid down very early.[7]  ‘At what point in life’ she asks, ‘does a child have a mind capable of concerning itself with things in some sort of controlled and organised way?’ and her answer is, ‘We can at least now confidently reply: “Very early, certainly by the end of the first two or three months, possibly sooner. (Stern terms it an emergent self.)’

She amplifies her comment by saying:[8]

There follows, from two to around eight months, the development of the ‘core self’ – a sense of self that is coherent, firmly distinguished from what is other, but not yet informed by an awareness of other minds.

. . . the point mode begins as the core self is established.

In the next post I will be exploring what follows on from that. It’s probably worth pointing out straightaway that, even later in life, as we shall see, point mode is not pointless.

References:

[1]. Human Minds: an exploration – page 11.
[2]. Human Minds: an exploration – page  16.
[3]. Human Minds: an exploration – pages 16-17.
[4]. Human Minds: an exploration – page 24.
[5]. Human Minds: an exploration – page 25.
[6]. Human Minds: an exploration – page 27.
[7]. Human Minds: an exploration – page 46.
[8]. Human Minds: an exploration – pages 46-47.

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It was a bit of a hassle organising our visit to a National Trust site for the first time since before lockdown. My wife and I tried to find a pre-booking slot at Berrington Hall, the nearest location, for the Saturday or Sunday. All slots were fully booked. We had more success trying for the next mid-week slot: Wednesday at 13.30 was ours for the taking.

My calendar dutifully informed me on the day that the roads were clear and it would take 24 minutes to get to Berrington Hall. The temperature outside was 28 degrees before we set off. Even allowing the car doors to remain open for a good ten minutes before daring to sit down inside, the seats felt scorchingly hot through the seat of my shorts.

We set off with the aircon blasting away and eventually cooled down. The ordinary entrance gate to the hall was closed, so we had go in through the lane that was usually the exit, not our first strange reversal of the norm in these Corona days.

As we approached the car park, the lady with a clipboard greeted us from under a shelter.

I wound the window down and asked, ‘Do you need to see our tickets?’

‘No, just tell me your name,’ she shouted back, carefully keeping her distance.

I did, and we were waved in with no further ceremony.

We parked the car under the shade of a tall hedge thinking that would keep it cool for our return.

We decided to have our walk first, then come back for nibbles and drinks if we could find cool shelter nearby. As we left, we passed a group of elderly ladies sitting under the shade of a young tree, enjoying tea and cakes.

‘Enjoying your tea under a tree?’ I couldn’t resist rhyming loudly in their direction.

They grinned back.

Even though the day was sweltering we enjoyed our walk once we got to the woodland near the pond.

When, after emerging from the shade of the woods, we were unable to cope with walking anymore in the heat, we made a detour back to the car park via a coffee and ice cream hatch near the stables. Zarin opted for an ice-cream and I risked a coffee despite the heat.

We arrived back at the car park after an hour or so away, to see the car baking in full sunlight. We both groaned aloud.

Fortunately the ladies had left the shade of the tree, so we took some cake and water out of the car with a sheet to sit on, and headed back to snap up its protection from the sun.

After my cake and coffee, with my head feeling more alert than usual from the caffeine hit I usually avoid these days, I tucked into the book I’d brought, as Zarin read through her yoga manual.

It was David Fontana’s Psychology, Religion and Spirituality.

I was already more than halfway through my re-reading of it. I’d bought it in 2005 and the occasional highlight indicated I had read at least parts of it before, but nothing had stuck in my mind in spite of the complimentary comment I’d scribbled in the flyleaf.

I’d enjoyed the book so far but nothing had prepared me for the pages I was about to read.

His references to Assagioli began to suggest I might be entering important territory, dealing as they did (page 163) with the personal self and the higher self and the concept of disidentification, all of which had strongly influenced me (see link).

Things calmed down again for a few pages until the topic of consciousness came up.

First of all Fontana reminded me of the Jungian model of consciousness (page 175), one that I had internalised many decades ago: it consists of four levels – normal waking consciousness, the preconscious, the personal unconscious, and the collective unconscious.

I won’t dwell on those or explain them further. I was just pleased to find myself on the home ground of my earlier days, but it was hardly a world changing insight.

It was when he began to refer to Ken Wilber’s The Spectrum of Consciousness that light bulbs started flashing. I have had that text on my shelves since October 2000 but have never bothered to read it. Apparently, according to Fontana (page 177) Wilber highly praises the Advaita Vedanta ‘developmental model of consciousness.’ And he quotes it at length.

There are six major levels, from the material (the most basic) through several levels to the ratiocinative level, the last one before the two highest levels kick in if you have worked hard enough or been very fortunate. It’s the last two levels that most engaged my attention.

The causal level (5) is where ‘consciousness can experience pure contentless awareness, or pure consciousness in and of itself.’ Level 6 is the Brahmanic level. Where ‘consciousness is aware of reality as a unified field of energy in which the material world, the individual, and the source of all phenomena, Brahman or the Absolute, are in essence identical with each other.’

In one way I was a bit surprised that I was getting so excited as levels of consciousness was not exactly a new and undiscovered topic for me (see links). When I paused to reflect though, I realised why these concepts were more alive for me now than they had been before.

One very recent poem, and particularly the experience that triggered, it have a bearing on this. I had been sitting in the garden at home with a cup of coffee and my notebook. To begin with I was just staring at the sky, as I thought. Then four lines of poetry came straight to mind, with appropriate scansion and full rhymes.

That poem broke abruptly through my cloud of thoughts like a shaft of sunlight. Since I wrote down those lines I have only changed five words, to help the potential reader understand better what I think my unconscious was trying to tell me. This is the amended version. It is rare for me not make many radical changes in a number of lines of the first draft of a poem: in fact that has only happened a handful of times at most in all the years I’ve been writing poetry.

Before I read the description of level 5, I felt the poem was simply providing me with a metaphor to capture the same point about consciousness as the mirror metaphor, namely that consciousness is not the same as its contents, just as a mirror is not what is reflected in it. I thought the poem’s insight was particularly helpful in this respect, as before I wrote it I had never thought to distinguish between clouds and the sky, just as, in a way, until I encountered Vipassana meditation[1], Assagioli’s disidentification and Koestenbaum’s reflection, I had been content to continue confusing my mind with what it was thinking, feeling, imagining, remembering and so on.

Suddenly though I was lifted to a different level of understanding for which my poem and the triggering experience had prepared me. I saw an immediate connection between the phrase ‘pure contentless awareness’ and my description of a ‘blue’ and ‘unchanging sky.’ ‘Blue’ is obviously the equivalent of ‘pure.’

However, the fact that the sky is not changed by the clouds that cross it, they simply hide it from us, had eluded me, just as the fact that consciousness is not changed by the thoughts and feelings that pass over or through it had also evaded my mind’s grasp. I had not only allowed my thought and feelings to hide the purity of consciousness from me but I had at some level not truly grasped that they had no effect on the ground of my consciousness at all.

Such is the power of metaphor for me.

This all goes further, though, and relates to level six also.

In another earlier poem, about whose triggering experience I now found myself forcefully reminded, I had described another experience of clouds and sky:

The key section reads:

When I was a child, delirious
they said, I floated lonely on a
cloud, bathed in sunlight. I’m serious.
Was it real? That I’ll never know for
sure. I didn’t see eternity
that day, but an OBE is far
from impossible. The clear beauty
of the blue expanse of sky, vivid,
serene, stays with me still. I could see
the sunlight streaming down, and tried
to turn and see the disc itself, but
failed.

Here I was above the concealing cloud of thought and feeling. I was as close to the sky in all its vivid purity as I could get. I obviously had not reached level 6: I could see the sunlight but not its source, the sun itself. When I recovered from the illness whose fever delivered me this gift, all the adults around me dismissed it as delirium, and I accepted that explanation, but the vivid memory of the experience has never left me. We didn’t understand in those days that factors that impair aspects of brain functioning can open the doors to different levels of experience that are ordinarily inaccessible.

I am beginning to suspect, or even to sense, that I had been steered into an unwise dismissal of something more like a peak experience, though not quite an epiphany, with important implications for my understanding of reality.

Ever since I can remember I have been on a quest for deeper understanding and still am, and am also haunted by a painful sense of having lost something infinitely precious. I think I may at last be getting closer to a convincing explanation for both those factors. The poem I am about to post next time, which was written after this post, is a kind of declaration of intent. Not quite the same as taking effective action though, I suspect.

Footnote:

[1]. As an article on the Buddhist Review website explains, ‘The meditator is trained to notice more and more of his own flowing life experience.’

 

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Trapped

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