2/2/05
Lacking certain knowledge about most things in life, I feel a bit hesitant to publicly describe my ontological belief system, for fear of exposing a wrong guess and experiencing a rather severe form of buyer's remorse. I also have a tendency to try to resist descriptive categorization. I see this as worth mentioning at the outset because of the acculturative role classification plays in the way one sees oneself in the world. From the moment new human life takes form on this planet, someone lurks near at hand waiting to begin the lifelong disassociating process of categorizing and labeling it according to demographic, geographic, linguistic, physiognomic, and psychographic characteristics in order to try to assess and define it in terms of its economic liability or potential to others. Madison Avenue has devised an exact science of pigeonholing consumers as young as 2 years old, the more effectively to siphon from their (or their parents') pockets billions of dollars of discretionary income annually.
A long time ago I read an item that listed and provided descriptions of specific psychographic segments of the buyer population. Imagine my disillusionment upon discovering a clearly defined category of Birkenstock-wearing types who like to think of themselves as somehow not even showing up on the radar when it comes to branding and affixing consumer types! This clique of mall-hating wannabe nonconformists typically buys a particular type of clothing (often purchased through mail order), predictably chooses from a short list of vehicles every ten years or so, and enjoys a standardized array of people-powered leisure activities. Dang! They had me nailed.
Or had they zeroed in on something else? I don't accept that "clothes make the wo/man" or that "we are what we drive" or even that the effects of our interactions or communications capture our most meaningful essence. I may experience certain emotions, exhibit behaviors, or cherish values that unknown strategists on the other side of the continent can predict, but even my thoughts don't describe the core "I".
Someone recently asked me about my spiritual practice, and I had to admit that I have none, other than an active awareness of and striving for personal growth from one day to the next. It got me thinking, though, and when I returned home I googled 'spirituality' and discovered what had previously gone missing from my life: crystals, incense, books, DVDs, trips to Meccas of all price tags and descriptions, coaching, bumper stickers, workshops, tarot cards, jewelry, statues, bells, and my personal favorite—Reiki distance healing via the internet, courtesy of PayPal. Though my online quest for spirituality did not yield information about traditional religious customs and rituals, I read about practices echoing my already existent belief that prayer and meditation and even thought itself (in sort of an Observer effect) can affect a person's energy in real and concrete ways, benefiting physical and mental health, relationships, one's experience of life, and her reality.
But I believe that my construction of reality reflects only a tiny glimmer of Truth with a capital T, if such a thing even exists. Thus, anything I may experience or even conceive of cannot begin to characterize or define the mysteries of the universe or of a single cell, let alone unseen energies and dimensions identified only by trace and inference. I like to think of myself as reasonably bright, and given that I can't envision, let alone describe, Being in its totality, I have difficulty thinking anyone else can do it better, even if they do have a securely encrypted website or claim to have a political mandate. While not knowing tells me to withhold judgment on those folks, my epistemic foundationlessness doesn't restrain me from political involvement. In a pragmatic way, I sometimes send money that I've saved by not buying clothes, cars, gadgets, crystals, incense, and internet Reiki to support people trained to engage in the political power structure in what I, in my limited wisdom, deem positive ways.
If they thought I had any money left, Madison Avenue spiritualists might peg me as a greenish, left-leaning new ager (much as I shudder at that thought), given my predictably eclectic, post-modern jumble of existential, Jungian, Taoist, Indian, and inescapably, Christian-influenced ideas, with a dash of pop quantum physics (the mathless variety) for good measure.
I accept as if "true" some ideas that I once heard encapsulated in the following stylized but pleasantly catchy, mantra purveyed by onetime-hippie-turned-Tzutujil-Mayan-shaman MartÃn Prechtel: "Long life, honey in the heart, no evil, and 13 thank yous." Long life represents an indigenous history and lineage within each of us, in our very bones constructed from the same materials as the stars and planets, our body fluids that resemble nothing so much as the great oceans, our muscles and organs supplied by plants and animals, and our spirits inseparably intertwined with the thousands of dead who went before us, formed us, and whose force continues to resonate with our own. I take 'honey in the heart' to refer to joie de vivre, which encompasses love, humor, well-being, and surrender to family, friends, lovers, and life itself. The phrase 'no evil' refers to negativity, which quickly devolves into a destructive power. Rather, by choosing to process them we can compost such seemingly negative things as grief and misfortune into a rich humus that actually fosters growth and happiness. And finally, gratitude ratchets energy upward, feeding all of the above in an ongoing, cyclical fashion.
I don't know where we come from or where we go when we die, nor do I feel a need for command of that information. I do, however, feel an urgency to do the best I can in terms of taking responsibility for and developing intentionality toward my experience. I can't say why, other than that it holds some sort of compelling meaning for me. I think of life as resembling a track event, where competition has less to do with outstripping other performers than about transcending one's own previous best. If I believe in a god/higher power/divine nature, I might tentatively describe it as a collective and ubiquitous energy/consciousness that informs and reflects every animate and inanimate object: the power of life itself. I expect that when that force mysteriously makes like a leaf and, uh, my body turns to compost, what I think of as "I" will dissolve into a dimension outside of space/time and unlimited by the structure of my mind where reality manifests in a vastly and unknowably different manner than it does to me here and now.
Thanks to Coturnix, who writes one of my favorite blogs, Science and Politics, for hosting Carnival of the Godless this week. There's a great variety of thoughtful and creative stuff there... check it out! If you'd like to read more, next week's COTG will be hosted 2/20/05 at Philosophy, et cetera. If you'd like to participate, send submissions to cotg-submission@brentrasmussen.com. If you'd like to host, email cotg-host@brentrassmussen.com
