Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Mind is Not a Residence

Lately, I've been very interested in what people have been thinking - just in general. It's amazing to me that someone can be thinking so many thoughts and yet not share any of them; amazing in the senses of both awe and perturbation. The brain is so minuscule. Thoughts are so immense.

What really do people think about all the time? People you know. People you don't know. People you may have said one word to. People you hate. People you love. I recognize that there is an entire field devoted to the understanding of essentially what I am asking. But if I have learned anything about life, I know that there is almost always an exception to the tendencies. And as much as I admire psychology and its applications, it just seems so shallow - shallow like a deep puddle. Whereas, I believe the mind is an abyss of memories, thoughts and computations. And to really know the mind means to know the person and apparently the world. But much easier said than done. Many people have a hard time simply understanding what their own identity is. Just take a look at one of our own better attempts at this idea:

Know Thyself

by Alexander Pope

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of mankind is Man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act or rest,
In doubt to deem himself a God or Beast,
In doubt his mind or body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reasoning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such
Whether he thinks too little or too much:
Chaos of thought and passion, all confused;
Still by himself abused, or disabused;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurled:
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!

Among all the literature I found regarding "knowing thyself" much of it alluded somehow to God. This I find ironic since apparently about God we know so much. But the truth is that we really know squat and want to think we do. My point then is that explaining how one "knows thyself" in terms of how/what God even is or represents is like trying to hike the Grand Canyon while having your legs tied together... and blindfolded. However, Pope does come to the honest conclusion that this task is "
the riddle of the world." Alright, so that didn't go over so well, did it. Moving on.

The fascinating part about the mind is that not only is there so much inside to be understood, but it can also be expressed in so many different ways - through simply thinking, talking to oneself, talking to someone else, writing things down, drawing an image, making a gesture, forming an art (and I know I'm leaving plenty out).

Here's another interesting thing to note. It is that the more you open a mind, the larger it seems. It's the same idea with mouths or caves. And sometimes there are times when you're inside a mind, mouth, or cave and you find another tunnel that leads to another new place; kind of like seeking untreaded and uncharted lands. And sometimes these lands are vaguely familiar in a way - like somehow we've been here before, in a dream perhaps. I think that in an alternate reality where thoughts are tangible, dreams alone would positively drown us all with even greater alternate realities.

So I suppose in a way the mind is a vessel. It is its own vessel traversing itself and the journey is never over.

Though I feel Socrates said it best: "
I know that I know nothing."

Photo credit: Sebastian Kaulitzki, http://www.dreamstime.com/

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Blogging in Twilight

Twilight: meaning either dawn or dusk, but so much more.

The sun is still hiding over one of Pittsburgh's many hills yet and I'm sure it's more than 18 degrees below the horizon. But I can feel the presence of twilight. It is that time when something is ending but another is beginning. Twilight very much reminds me of the Heap Paradox. Let me explain:
If there are X number of grains in a heap, and if there are X-1 grains in a heap, then there can exist heaps of 30 grains, 10 grains, 3 grains, or even no grains at all. This is because if from a heap I remove one grain and it is still considered a heap, there is no science to determine when, after taking away a certain number of grains, the heap becomes less than a heap - or a non-heap if you will. Thus, quantitatively, we have catastrophe.
So twilight is somewhat like the heap in that, to the naked human eye, it is really quite difficult to scientifically determine the precise beginning and ending of a dawn or a dusk. And I'm not stating this because I simply wanted to use the word "non-heap" in a blog post. But I state this because I feel that it is beauty and the illusion of time which confuse and sedate the internal clock of us all. I mean to refer to the moments when you are so absorbed by one thing that it completely grabs your attention and you essentially lose track of time - literally.

Which brings me to an interesting item: the
TARDIS, which defies all of these laws. By thwarting the experience of natural time and space progression, the TARDIS manages to (I think) disrupt realize the precision of time and space.

My point [or rather my proposal]: 1. When humans are in contact with beauty (of course relative to one's own definition), they tend to cherish the moment, savor the senses, and if only for a split second, lose all conception of time and space instantaneously. 2. When time and space are
disrupted altered, humans may often lose the ability, if only for a split second, to perceive beauty - truly, to its fullest deserving.

So, suppose if we discontinue thinking about how many grains are in a heap. Would we find beauty in a heap? Or at least more beauty than there was before?

My hypothesis: I think so.

And hopefully, by the time we sort out our thoughts, the twilight has not completely vanished into the workday, and its beauty can be admired for just one more minute.

X+1

Photo credit: Wikipedia Commons

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Ode to a Bag of Pretzels

It is so ridiculously cold in my room right now. For May it has been rather cool in Pittsburgh - almost disturbingly. What concerns me even more is that I'll be heading North in about a week. For the few days I have remaining in the Steel City I've resorted to oddly familiar tactics usually reserved for winter: sleeping under comforters, wearing coats, wrapping myself in fleece, using lip balm [more often], thinking of Alaska, assigning verbal thrashings to heaters that are seasonally incapable, thinking of southern California. Yet, I still manage to obtain a noticeable redness on my face from attending Carnegie Mellon's swell outdoor commencement ceremony. And yes, I was freezing the entire time.

Today I wrote a song.

Synopsis: A woman is followed onto a bus by another more elderly looking woman. About halfway through the younger woman's ride, the nice old lady falls asleep and lands on the younger woman's shoulder. Failing to wake her up, the awake lady soon discovers the shear reality that this woman was not sleeping, but dead.
To say the least the song is pretty morbid - fucked up even. Nevertheless, it seems that I have strengths in composing works that are cognitively and situationally awkward. This will be part of Bus Stop Opera's show this weekend in New York City.

There are still many many things I need to do before I leave Pittsburgh - pack, meet with friends, finish the orchestra parts to the above song, defrost my fridge, hope and pray the professor for one of my classes actually gave me a final grade instead of choosing to secretly be annoyed by me. Regardless, none of that is on my mind anymore; not even the
music always playing in the background. In fact, at the moment there doesn't seem to be much at all on my mind. Who to blame, whether it possibly be the time of day, or a lack of sleep, or simply mental exhaustion, I really have no idea. All I know is that I'm leaving a place which, for the past few weeks, I've been eager to escape. This spring semester has allowed me to enjoy virtually no extra-curriculum. It's time, I suppose, as cliché as it may sound, to reteach myself how to live.

1:50 am. A bag of mini pretzels faces me - an ironic reminder of the big things yet to happen.