Sunday 4 November 2001

Pic of the day: There was still a faint awareness ...

Mindless

I was peacefully reading various debate fora (or forums, in American English) about Civ3. (Incidentally, opinions differ, but it seems that most players find it worth the money.) There were some rather funny comments, as you may expect when intelligent people write informally. But hardly enough to cause this reaction. I started to get restless and hyper, like normal people do after too much coffee perhaps. It grew harder and harder to concentrate, as I felt a growing urge to get up and dance. At the end I was simply vibrating, so I got up and took a 15 minutes walk.

The brisk walk helped, and in the end I hardly even felt the need to sing nonsense songs. (An urge I did manage to suppress, though I guess I may have been whistling.) It's quite a while since I have felt so hyper. I suspect an infection is under way. By careful studies of my diary archive, I have found that bouts of unexplained energy is usually followed by some kind of sickness. My current theory is that the body notices the attack before I do, and releases hormones that gives added energy. This energy is meant for the immune system, I suppose, but I use it for my own less productive means. Then again, I could be wrong. I really only noticed the sequence of things: First energy, then illness. It seems like a pattern to me.

Then again, mind and body are linked in ways I don't fully understand. Perhaps if I had a medical education I would understand it. Then again, perhaps not. Theory is nice, but sometimes you just can't replace experience.

***

A most unusual experience was the one I had yesterday evening, as I was playing Civ2 and trying the swarm strategy. While I played, my mind slowed and then came to a complete halt. Yes indeed. I sat there looking at the screen. It looked familiar, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do with it, or why I was here in the first place. And most notably, there were no words anywhere. Usually there is an oversupply of words in my brain. Even while doing almost anything, there are some words. Either I think them or not, but they are usually there for the taking. Now the wellspring was empty. I felt that something was unusual, but I did not feel afraid.

Then again, I had experience. During my younger adult years, I meditated quite a bit, and also gained some experience with emptiness meditation. In this second level meditation, the goal is inner silence and inactivity. To just be. It isn't easy to achieve, usually. Then again, meditation is not really about achieving. The way is the goal. Still, the measure of experience I had made yesterday's episode familiar, almost comforting. I just was, and that is after all enough, when there is no demand upon us. After some minutes, my mind gradually came back.

Still it makes me wonder. Is this how people experience the world in late stages of Alzheimer's? Familiar objects still seem familiar, but you have no idea what they are there for. You know that it is possible to do things, but you don't know what, or why you should do them. You know that you are there, but you cannot talk to yourself. Then again, you don't need to. The self and the Oversoul are there together; like two birds in a tree, to use a Hindu analogy. No, even that analogy is not quite right. There simply are no words to express what lies beneath the words. Is this the mind when the mind is gone? I don't have the faintest idea. And in fact, I hope to not find out. I like my mind. And I guess I could take a hint and not force it to mindless things.

***

But in the void, and in the silence
there was still a kind of knowledge
a faint awareness:
awareness not of name or person
and not of memories of the past;
the awareness knew only itself.

G.O.L.: No Bounds.

(Yes, you've seen it before. I quoted it on July 11, 2000, "Resurrection men", while writing about some science fiction idea.)