I did not choose the title "Impermanence" in order to eulogize the dead. However, tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of Elizabeth Shapiro's passing, and I can't avoid thinking about it, so I will write something.
The title comes from a true story: "yes yes yes" was, according to her, the first thought she had when she saw me for the first time, and "yes, yes, yes" was the last thing she said to me twenty-four years later.
The first "yes yes yes" was when a friend won me at a Quaker School silent auction fund raiser in Cambridge Ma. I offered a gourmet meal. He had ulterior motives and invited a woman he thought I'd like. The evening was filled with delicious yeses, and they continued like some Molly Bloom at the end of James Joyce's Ulysses.
The last "yes yes yes" was difficult for her to say. She couldn't speak anymore without pain, and these were the last words I heard her say. Beyond the pain, the words were difficult because they answered my question in a way that sent me away from her.
My question was "do you really want me to leave you here at the hospital and fly to California and make arrangements so you can get on an air ambulance tomorrow and fly to a clinic where a specialist will immediately perform radical heroic surgery in an attempt to give you a few more years of life, but maybe you will die while I'm gone, and maybe you will be unable to get on the plane, and maybe the surgery will fail?"
Her "yes yes yes" spurred me on to a non-stop 48-hour mind-warp filled with incredible coincidences and extreme pendulum swings. Someday I will write it all down, including a taxi ride going much faster than I had ever gone, over 120 mph, because I said "airport as fast as possible" and the driver turned out to be a Russian race car driver.
Today I eulogize a loved one who was fearless as her breast cancer slowly spread throughout her body, looking for a way to ruin her, but failing again and again. The brain tumor in her cerebellum could have ruined her, but she recovered completely and went on to dance with her usual grace like nothing bad had happened. The tumor in her lower spine could have crippled her, but somehow, that tumor just went away and she continued to dance. The final spread to her lungs was different.
I am grateful I made it back in time, and was able to bring her home from the hospital, and that she had two days to see and hear her many friends who came over to say goodbye.
My last words to her invited her to try to join me if she wished. I explained there was plenty of room in my head, and she could rearrange things if she needed to. She heard me loud and clear, and it certainly felt like she made the leap. She locked eyes with me and then passed on, without blinking, as a Maui sunset danced across her fading eyes.
The principle of impermanence was never more personal to me.
---
used to be me
the golden age: 1.618 years old
11/18/09
11/4/09
Can we embrace impermanence and life at the same time?
People find amazingly creative ways to resist impermanence.
The Greek historian Herodotus visited Egypt around 450 BC and described how the Egyptians preserved their dead. Apparently, it took 600 pounds of a mixture of four salts, a hundred yards of fine Egyptian linen, resins like frankincense and myrrh, and about 70 days of human effort. Four canopic jars were used to store the liver, stomach, intestines and lungs. The heart was left in; it was believed to contain the person's essence. The brain, on the other hand, was removed through the nose and discarded. The entire mind blowing procedure is a strange mix of specialized knowledge and gross ignorance. Where is your essence without a brain?
The modern equivalent might be cryogenics. This is the inverse of mummification: throw away everything the Egyptians were concerned with, then keep the brain. According to your brain, the answer to the question "what is your most important organ" is "the brain". Self-serving, or simply, the self itself? Consider a brain transplant and ask yourself whether you'd rather be the donor or the recipient. Without a body, is there a self? The distinguished neurologist Antonio Damasio would probably say no; the sense of self depends on the entire living organism and its bodily interactions with the world.
Cryogenics may be superior to mummification, but it has problems. Bad employees might use your frozen head for batting practice, as they did recently with Ted Williams. Even if your frozen head is well maintained, can it ever be defrosted and given a body? Will future people miss you so much they want you back again?
A future fantasy is to upload "yourself" into some nano-tech quadrillion-transistor neural network substrate with terahertz connectivity to a wide array of sensors and social nets. This may enable "you" to make thousands of "friends" per second on some future Facebook, but what picture are you going to use for a head shot? Is that you? And back to Damasio, can you even feel self-aware without a biological body?
Some people want their self to live forever, but what is the self? Are we a heart? Are we a brain? Are we a face? Are we a pattern of information that can be digitized and transferred? The "pattern of information" makes sense, but the pattern is dynamic, not static. If the pattern is frozen and static, it is dead. Is that a clue? Wouldn't it be ironic if our futile resistance against impermanence is actually a resistance against the dynamic life force itself?
Can we embrace impermanence and life at the same time?
---
The Greek historian Herodotus visited Egypt around 450 BC and described how the Egyptians preserved their dead. Apparently, it took 600 pounds of a mixture of four salts, a hundred yards of fine Egyptian linen, resins like frankincense and myrrh, and about 70 days of human effort. Four canopic jars were used to store the liver, stomach, intestines and lungs. The heart was left in; it was believed to contain the person's essence. The brain, on the other hand, was removed through the nose and discarded. The entire mind blowing procedure is a strange mix of specialized knowledge and gross ignorance. Where is your essence without a brain?
The modern equivalent might be cryogenics. This is the inverse of mummification: throw away everything the Egyptians were concerned with, then keep the brain. According to your brain, the answer to the question "what is your most important organ" is "the brain". Self-serving, or simply, the self itself? Consider a brain transplant and ask yourself whether you'd rather be the donor or the recipient. Without a body, is there a self? The distinguished neurologist Antonio Damasio would probably say no; the sense of self depends on the entire living organism and its bodily interactions with the world.
Cryogenics may be superior to mummification, but it has problems. Bad employees might use your frozen head for batting practice, as they did recently with Ted Williams. Even if your frozen head is well maintained, can it ever be defrosted and given a body? Will future people miss you so much they want you back again?
A future fantasy is to upload "yourself" into some nano-tech quadrillion-transistor neural network substrate with terahertz connectivity to a wide array of sensors and social nets. This may enable "you" to make thousands of "friends" per second on some future Facebook, but what picture are you going to use for a head shot? Is that you? And back to Damasio, can you even feel self-aware without a biological body?
Some people want their self to live forever, but what is the self? Are we a heart? Are we a brain? Are we a face? Are we a pattern of information that can be digitized and transferred? The "pattern of information" makes sense, but the pattern is dynamic, not static. If the pattern is frozen and static, it is dead. Is that a clue? Wouldn't it be ironic if our futile resistance against impermanence is actually a resistance against the dynamic life force itself?
Can we embrace impermanence and life at the same time?
---
10/28/09
"I used to believe in skepticism, but now I'm not so sure."
That quote has the self-referential quality of a Douglas Hofstadter construct and the subtlety of a Zen koan. It reminds me of Socrates explaining his wisdom: he knows that he doesn't know, as oppose to the fools who think they do. Some ancient variations from Sanskrit and Chinese got it wrong, claiming "he who knows, and knows that he knows is wise; follow him". Sounds like dictation from the king.
The human brain craves certainty. We want leaders who know. Socrates questioned authority and was executed for corrupting young minds.
But certainty is the enemy of understanding. The principle of impermanence trumps certainty. Yesterday's certainties turn into tomorrow's jokes. It used to be so obvious that everything revolves around our flat earth and was made by god so we could play like his children, and earth is our kindergarten except when we eat to much fruit from the tree of knowledge.
Those of faith may interpret the quote to suggest that with age, youthful egoism gives way to spiritual wisdom. The arrogant tools of scientific inquiry are seen as limited. What is unlimited is opening to the infinite revelations of transcendent being, a continual surrender to something bigger than the delusions of self-hood, the desire for a permanent, absolute truth.
Those of science may see the irony of the word "believe" and will get the hint; science is not a belief system. However, professional scientists can be guilty of blind faith in their own specialized system, and have little time or patience for anything judged to be nonsense. Skepticism serves science well, but only after there is a believable foundation to build on. Seldom is the foundation re-examined; that would be a waste of time and energy, and could drive a brain mad. Science makes the a priori claim that there is nothing so exciting as a proof that the foundation needs to be re-built, but many real human scientists don't seem to act that way.
When your foundation eventually crumbles, do you experience suffering or bliss? Is it possible to avoid the suffering by remaining detached from all foundations? Will your loved ones care to be with with you if you attain a high level of detachment from them? Will you be able to practice medicine if you doubt the techniques? Will you survive if you don't care? I remain skeptical about excessive detachment; seems like an attachment. The Chinese Book of Changes noted how things have a way of changing into their opposite when they become too extreme.
Some may see the quote as getting back to the fundamental form of pure skepticism. I'm not so sure anymore, about anything whatsoever, except for one subjective certainty: I have a consciousness that comes and goes, and behind that consciousness is a vast complex of subtle connections with everything unconscious, and with everything that has been and now is, including all life and all humanity. These connections drive my consciousness from one state to the next.
With an act of will, my consciousness can be focused. Sometimes, when my will seems free, I freely focus my consciousness on the tragedy of the impermanence of consciousness itself, and this fills me with a sorrowful compassion for all consciousness everywhere, and this compassion exists beyond skepticism.
---
The human brain craves certainty. We want leaders who know. Socrates questioned authority and was executed for corrupting young minds.
But certainty is the enemy of understanding. The principle of impermanence trumps certainty. Yesterday's certainties turn into tomorrow's jokes. It used to be so obvious that everything revolves around our flat earth and was made by god so we could play like his children, and earth is our kindergarten except when we eat to much fruit from the tree of knowledge.
Those of faith may interpret the quote to suggest that with age, youthful egoism gives way to spiritual wisdom. The arrogant tools of scientific inquiry are seen as limited. What is unlimited is opening to the infinite revelations of transcendent being, a continual surrender to something bigger than the delusions of self-hood, the desire for a permanent, absolute truth.
Those of science may see the irony of the word "believe" and will get the hint; science is not a belief system. However, professional scientists can be guilty of blind faith in their own specialized system, and have little time or patience for anything judged to be nonsense. Skepticism serves science well, but only after there is a believable foundation to build on. Seldom is the foundation re-examined; that would be a waste of time and energy, and could drive a brain mad. Science makes the a priori claim that there is nothing so exciting as a proof that the foundation needs to be re-built, but many real human scientists don't seem to act that way.
When your foundation eventually crumbles, do you experience suffering or bliss? Is it possible to avoid the suffering by remaining detached from all foundations? Will your loved ones care to be with with you if you attain a high level of detachment from them? Will you be able to practice medicine if you doubt the techniques? Will you survive if you don't care? I remain skeptical about excessive detachment; seems like an attachment. The Chinese Book of Changes noted how things have a way of changing into their opposite when they become too extreme.
Some may see the quote as getting back to the fundamental form of pure skepticism. I'm not so sure anymore, about anything whatsoever, except for one subjective certainty: I have a consciousness that comes and goes, and behind that consciousness is a vast complex of subtle connections with everything unconscious, and with everything that has been and now is, including all life and all humanity. These connections drive my consciousness from one state to the next.
With an act of will, my consciousness can be focused. Sometimes, when my will seems free, I freely focus my consciousness on the tragedy of the impermanence of consciousness itself, and this fills me with a sorrowful compassion for all consciousness everywhere, and this compassion exists beyond skepticism.
---
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments