Who We Were In Time

by

I was recently reading Thomas Cleary’s The Tao of Politics. These are extracts from the heavily Taoist document the Huainanzi. Having read another set of extracts (Original Tao), I thought it would be a refresher, and helps convince me to buy a full translation which is 1000 pages long. As of this writing, it’s in the mail, so I got convinced.

However, beyond my compulsion and Cleary’s ever-excellent translations, he made an interesting comment on the Huainanzi and Taoism. The Huainanzi was written in a time of rebuilding after a painful period of war, a look back and a plan for the future. Cleary noted other formative Taoist documents, the Tao Te Ching and Chuang-tzu were written in times of war, and were affected as such. These were Taoist documents but written in radically different times.

That got me thinking about history and the words of wisdom we seek. Yes, we all know writings we partake in are written “of the time,” under certain conditions, and so forth. We accept that, but Cleary’s comment made me think that we know that but maybe we really need to think about it.

We may read books and scripture and so on that are written of their time, but even books of the same lineage like these Taoist documents are written under radically different situations. This isn’t different generations alone, these are people who wrote between war and peace, destruction, and construction, dying randomly from civil strife or having a chance to not do so.

I think it really behooves us to look at documents of our philosophical and mystical efforts and when we see something of it’s time, pause and reflect on that. Maybe we don’t just read and admire and learn from the great minds and philosophers in our library but ask what were they going through and seeing. History is experienced.

It’s said that Lao Tzu, author of the Tao Te Ching wrote it while hightailing it out of a city in disgust with the age. Sure, it’s probably mythical-metaphorical, but people of the time might get it as wise guys were saying “screw this, I’m riding a buffalo into the mountain” because things sucked.

It’ll help us better understand what we read because we get the time, the who, and the why. It’ll also let us have some empathy on those we seek to learn from. That above comment about bugging out of society makes me feel some sympathy for Lao Tzu even if he is a pen name or metaphor. Sometimes I want that buffalo – and boy do I get Chuang-Tzu’s desire to be poetically sarcastic as hell.

But another advantage to this? When you look at philosophical lineages – again like Taoism – across time, the writings occur in radically different situations. However among those books and essays across centuries you read, there are consistent patterns. Those consistent patterns are lessons that have survived different times, places, events – they’re worth learning from.

None of us are outside of history. When understanding timeless wisdom, we need to understand history to learn what’s transcended it – and understand what people went through. The timeless and the specific together.

-Xenofact

The Escape Capsule

by

When I meditate (regular breath and energy circulation) sometimes I notice a peculiar thing. Namely, I notice myself – and why I’m there.

Somewhere in what I’m doing there’s a bit of me there, pulling away and sealing itself off. It’s peculiar because I’m both meditating but also trying to separate myself from meditating. On top of that I’m aware of me doing it, so I’m watching myself watching myself try to separate myself from what I’m doing.

No wonder some people find meditation hard, disturbing, or weird. Or they drop a few shrooms and wonder what the hell is going on. Self and ego is strange no matter what’s forcing you to confront it, but meditation is cheaper.

I’ve recently christened this thing The Escape Capsule (though, yes, I’ve seen other terms and references to it), and have been thinking about what it tells me.

Part of our identity is based on separation. There’s us and the other stuff in the world and the other stuff inside ourselves. We try to separate from the world and we try to separate the “real me” from the stuff we don’t like in ourselves. Some of our “me” is an attempt to not be things, to get away – thus I recently called it The Escape Capsie.

(I could go into I and Thou but perhaps later.)

The Escape Capsule is that idea we can wall ourselves off, and I think there’s a wiff of simplistic immortalism. We can cut ourselves off from everything else and get away from it forever. In fact, I think that sometimes our idea of an immortal, separate soul may well come from this human tendency to run away..

I mean if we can feel distant from everything doesn’t that mean there’s some separate us?

Of course as we all know identity and self isn’t that clear. We can’t wall ourselves off from parts of us as it’s all us. Whatever identity we imagine atop the rickety pyramid of self, the pyramid is a lot larger than what we pretend we are. Too often our fears, desires, memories, and reality intrude and the Escape Capsule doesn’t protect us.

Of course we know it doesn’t protect us from the world. The world is bigger. The world is where “me” comes from.

Seeing The Escape Capsule helps me understand myself and my flaws. I also am sure you, if you meditate, have also had moments where the walls of The Escape Capsule melt and you realize your you isn’t you. It’s quite something to be yourself while seeing yourself melt away. It’s also quite something to realize how much of your idea of yourself is based on not being something.

This is one thing I’ve come to appreciate about meditation. The goal is to do it – not “perfectly,” not well, not to have certain experiences. But being there in those moments where you just see, even if what you see is disturbing or humbling.

And there are moments you can’t get away.

-Xenofact

Hand The Book Across Time

by

There are tales I’ve heard about Chinese scholars hiding their books in the walls of their home. Barring a fire, and even then, their writings would be be preserved. As I look at our troubled world here in the 21st century, I can understand that mindset. I die, the book lives on.

There’s something about humans saving knowledge.

We transmit stories by tales and song and riddles. We handed off culture in a marathon race among minds before we could write. What words and stories that are in your brain have passed on in some permutation since our ancestors hunted with stone-tipped spears?

How many archaeological digs find caches of wisdom? Scrolls in pots, carefully preserved bamboo strips, lovingly hidden paper, passionately engraved stone. Untold millions of people leaving behind their knowledge.

Then there are the transcriptionists and later the press. People copying book after book after book, at first by hand, then by block and plate, and today by computer and printer. There are people who’s lives are just the transmission or keeping of documents.

Think of the humorous findings by translators and relic-hunters, things preserved because people just keep records. How the internet laughs at terrible copper merchant Ea-Nasir. How we laugh in agreement at young Japanese Emperor Uda lovingly writing about his cat. Humans just keep records, and those so often outlive us – and today we shake our head at that merchant or pet our cat and feel connected to the ruler of a country long dead.

When evil threatens, we hide and preserve and transmit and print. For all that is lost to history, to time, to paper that frays and ink that fades, we have saved so much. We have opposed tyrants and we have avoided censorship, often at the cost of lives. We will die – or kill – to save information.

There is something so human in preserving the word. Something that is transcendent of the individual. To be human is to be information, to be transmission. The you that you are now, the me that I am now, are just momentary permutations of something much larger.

When I look at the world and all its suffering and problems, then back to all these singers and writers and printers, I think I understand. We’ve all been handing things off down the line since we could first think and communicate. Even as we find new ways to burn our planet and destroy each other, that urge lives on.

We hide the book in the walls, we sing the song, for that will build or save the future despite the present.

–Xenofact