The Nameless and The Named

I am not I.

I am this one walking beside me,

whom I do not see,

whom at times I manage to visit

and at other times.....I forget.

                                                                             Juan Ramon Jimenez

Growing older has brought on an audacity, a form of care-free intention that surpasses the considerations of the past. Now, I am surging with a passion for truth that goes beyond the comfort zones I’ve known. I can feel within me a kind of necessity, an urge to go into the deepest recesses of my being, to give voice to what has been within me (all these years), but has never been articulated. I’m bracing for surprise, discomfort, and learning.

These are words I have never let myself utter or know. All along, throughout my life, I have been two beings. Without knowing it, I am a twin being. One known, and one not. One, the me I have mostly identified with, the other, some stranger that has popped-up, from somewhere within, to shape my life.

I am not just I, I am some amalgam of myself, and another being, who is also me. I can’t really explain what I am describing.

I don’t have any control of this other, who is me. I have had some premonitions, insights, and surprise behaviors. Awareness has come to me unbidden. These moments were too specific, too germane, too well-targeted for me to ignore. For instance, I wrote Embracing Life without even knowing I was doing it. I don’t mean it was channeled, or some form of unconscious free writing. I thought I was dying at the time, but something else was happening. I wrote for my life, the words and ideas just flowed. I marveled, learning from the what emerged, and felt compelled to keep going.

I wrote a book-length manuscript that was mainly composed of things I didn’t know I knew. Something in me knew what I was doing, but the one I think of myself as, had no idea what I was up to. I was so confounded, I thought that I would probably die when I finished writing. Instead, the writing brought me back to life.

Shortly thereafter, I became Lucky, and the truth is, I knew I owed my continued existence to some mysterious part of myself that now lived more fully through me. Since then, I have grown more aware of what I call another side of me. I still have no control of this being, but I rely more heavily upon it. I believe, I am more this unknown other, than I am myself. That sounds strange, and is strange, but is more true than ever before.

I have a story I tell myself about this bizarre twist in my journey. It is a somewhat convoluted one, containing ideas that I am grappling with, and claims I cannot give myself credit for imagining — which all adds up, to a life that is a bifurcated.  When I was writing Embracing Life I became very enthralled with holons. Holons, were I thought abstract ideas, that tried to convey the dual-sided nature of reality. Taken from holography, the holon was a way of describing how it was that a part of a holographic image could contain the whole image.

Everything, according to this line of thought, has a dual nature; it is a part of something larger, and a wholeness itself. That includes me. It is like there are two mes: one represents the whole, and one the part. Since I can remember, I have identified as one, not knowing the other. One was the me I felt myself to be (part), and one is the one I also am (whole).

It is here, in my later life, where I can now see that both are operating within me. This has been always been true. Aging has increased my awareness, shedding light on past behavior, and revealing something that knew what life-trajectory I was on, even though, I had no idea at the time. Some internal being took me into the world I’ve inhabited, leaving another part of me uncertain and anxious.

Exposure to what, at first, was only an dim awareness has changed my life. The deeply paradoxical notion of a natural disposition toward whole/partness has led me to an awareness that also joins what seems to be opposite. I now enjoy an experience that contains both, a here and now surfacy awareness of separateness, and a deeper sense of connection. One does not eclipse the other, they both coexist.

My attention is not riveted to one or the other, but to both, revealing their relationship, and the linkages between them. This kind of consciousness makes a host of things evident to me. As time has gone on, I’ve come to see, that I am simultaneously aware of myself as part of the all, and as all that is. I don’t claim this to be a specialized spiritual sensibility, instead I tend to think of it, as a natural outcome of living and evolving with holonic awareness.

Growing older has had the effect of sharpening my awareness. I can see now what I couldn’t see before. On one hand, I’m not who I used to be, on another, I am who I always have been. I occupy this world like an ordinary human being, aging along, struggling for meaning, and experiencing a variety of vulnerabilities. Similarly, I see more than I imagined — a being with an invisible history, and a reliable trust of the enlarging picture.

As I’ve grown older, my inner life has begun to become more apparent. This has revealed a movement within, that I have long noticed, but didn’t consider important. Now however, I can see that the one I have considered myself, has moved toward the one I don’t know, and that that one has become more palpable.

Looking again at my life, shows that the latter has always been present, and exercised great influence upon my life course. This is a disturbing perception. It leaves me wondering about how autonomous I am? The evidence suggests that I am subject to inside influence, and that that influence came from an unknown aspect of me. I may not be autonomous in ways I don’t really understand. When I consider that experience, and look at my overall life course, I see that both elements of my being pulled in a same direction, but at different speeds. Sometimes, the more surfacy me dominated, sometimes the unknown me prevailed.

All of these perceptions lead me to think of conflict. I wonder if there were moments in my life when each may have pulled in different directions? I remember what a risk it was for me to go to graduate school. I was not at all sure I belonged — not because of the school — but because my self-image was one of inadequacy.

I was depressed for a long time. I had worked a series of good, but dissatisfying jobs. My self-image was in the dump. Basically, I was living beneath my capabilities. The girlfriend I had then, in a drunken tirade, shamed me into applying for, and going to grad school. She could see my potential better than I could. I tell this story on myself to illustrate a period of my life where there was an incongruity between the different aspects of my being. The me I related to was less me than the one that began emerging, when I later overcame my hesitancy and went to graduate school.

It is now possible for me to say that my life has largely been defined, or composed, by the interplay between different aspects of my being. One seems more defined by the opportunities afforded by life in my family, community and culture; whereas, the other seems to me to be a manifestation of some other imperative. One is a situation-bound, historically defined aspect, more part-like and of the moment, than the other, who is defined by a bigger, more holistic, timeless, and universal picture.

I have read Carl Jung. My experience sounds like Jung’s conception of Self and self. He posited a higher Self, that had a more transpersonal nature, and combined conscious and unconscious, to live more congruent with the life-force. His conception explains much of what I experience, with one important exception. Jung believed that the Higher Self only became evident through the hard work of sustained spiritual practice. My life has not been dedicated to any form of on-going, regular spiritual practice. The twin centers I experience have become evident to me naturally with no particular stimulant; not hallucinogens, spiritual practice, or aspiration.

I did have, at age 55, a medical form of initiation. I knew my consciousness had been altered. I experienced a long (3+ years) near-death experience where I existed like a terminal patient without actually crossing over. While being dismembered, as I was with my brain hemorrhage, and subsequent damage, my sense of self went through profound change — but it is only aging — that has brought me to my present considerations. Growing older has provided a natural stimulant. Repeated experience, of dual centers, has had the effect of altering my awareness. It has brought me to a life pattern, that appears to me to be totally organic, and built-in to the human psyche.

I have not been prepared for this element of experience. I don’t really know what to make of it. Maybe, Jung’s conception adequately captures my experience. I’m not satisfied with it, however.

I am some sort of composite being, with an identity that conforms to convention and one that doesn’t. My way of describing what I am experiencing, is that there is in me an alternate identity, arising from within. It isn’t threatening to replace my customary sense of self. At this point it mainly seems to be supplementing my awareness, and boosting my presence. I am being introduced to a bigger, more nuanced picture. I am also much more paradoxically aware, by that I mean, I have a much stronger sense of how connected things are. All of this makes me a different kind of being, human in a way I never expected.

So far, I am not upset by this side of me — as it seems to be adding to my capabilities — but I am bemused, wondering what it could possibly mean? The sense that something else—a distant, vague, and uncontrollable part of me— operates, leaves me feeling vulnerable, but inspired, like I have a secret superpower. I also feel an inchoate sense of responsibility. I don’t know if what I sense is common, known, and reliable or not.

I do have a theory though. It involves the increasing longevity of human life, and the perception that a new chapter in the evolution of human consciousness is arriving. Species survival, for we humans, may be tied to an increased awareness of exactly how connected we are to the natural processes of the Universe. And, if my experience is relevant, and reflects an embellishment of our nature, then it looks as if these same natural processes, are at work, altering our species.

 

 

 

  

We, Who Have Outlived Our Lives

“Deep down in my soul, the flame has gone out.”

—     From “Longest Day” by John Mellenkamp 

I never expected to have this experience. But, for nearly a year now I’ve been living in the doldrums. That is an old nautical term, that hails back to the time that all ocean travel was via sailing. It refers to when the wind stopped, all motion ceased, and the sea was calm. Movement stopped, and no one knew if, or when, it would resume. In my case, the vitality and juiciness has gone out of my life. I am alive, but in no way, I’ve been before.

Recently, I caught myself, saying to friends, That I had “outlived my life.” At the time, I thought I was referring to a sense of no longer feeling any purpose. Later, the feeling blossomed into a more complete lethargy. I had come to a stopping point. Nothing stirred inside. I was bereft of movement. I went on, zombie-like, but I had no motivating fire in my engine, no life in my life.

I’ve been worrying, like many old people do, that I might outlive my money — but what has been happening is — that I have outlived my story. This has many implications for me. All of which add-up to a feeling of pointlessness. Maybe, this is just a phase, the wind will return, or another fire will start burning. But, I’m sensing something else. I am at an endpoint, a place where there is no longer a road.

I had a dream several weeks ago. I was at a graduation ceremony. I, along with several others, were graduating from a rigorous program. We were at a banquet to celebrate. The dream had other facets, not so important to this process. I later awakened with a great sense of completeness. I still feel it. I knew I had been through something significant. I was proud of myself and content. Yet, I did find myself later wondering ‘what now.’ I was ready to go on.

That’s where I am now. Only, there is no perceptible movement. Just this sense that I have outlived the program, graduated, and no longer know why I continue to exist. As you might guess, I wondered about this a lot. More so, as my uncertainty and lethargy have grown. All I know is that I seem to be motionless, going nowhere, doing nothing, feeling lost, wondering if I still belong.

I have begun to think of myself as a piece of flotsam left over from the great explosion of Creation. I’m here, having witnessed some of it, but now only a leftover, a sign of what was. I can attest to what has happened, but I do not have any perception of anything happening now.

Finally, this is an old person’s lament. Isolation haunts this vibrancy. Maybe, this is, the near-final gasp of an old way of being. Dying can be as messy as all birth.

I am also considering the possibility that by coming to the end of ‘my life,’ I am at last, living out ‘the life’ I haven’t lived. A life of not having to have a purpose, of being loved for no good reason, of having nothing to do. That goes beyond all the earthly forms of value I’ve been taught — and all the ways I’ve believed.

Maybe, I have graduated!

And, still, I have much to learn.

 

 

 

  

Failure To Thrive (Late Onset)

I’ve been sick for a couple of weeks now. It seems that I am suffering from an amalgam of differing ailments; asthma, allergies, stomach flu, and most germane to this piece, what I call “failure to thrive.” It is the latter that I intend to concentrate upon. Being sick in the winter time isn’t all that unusual — but becoming despondent is. This has been an eye-opening experience, one that has brought into my awareness, one of the most heartbreaking aspects of being human. When one is left alone long enough, one’s system begins to lose life.

 

‘Failure to thrive’ has traditionally been associated with the young. It refers to the way the organism of a young person loses energy and collapses from not being touched, or cared about. It is a very sad and tragic form of demise. Usually thought of as an orphan’s ailment, I have come to realize it is a very human form of neglect. Old people are also prone to it. I am now, someone who knows more about it, than I want to. I’ve been touched by the absence of touch.

 

There comes a point in some people’s lives where there just isn’t anyone around. This is inevitable, and we all should be prepared for it. These moments can be a lot of things; refreshing, disturbing, distract-less, elevating, abysmal, or happy; but they all are only temporary. An old person, like an infant, can be completely neglected. Even if cared for, the busyness, or involvement of another, can result in neglect. That’s when the failure to thrive can set in. And when it does, I can now attest, it is worse than depression, and kicks the legs out from underneath the will to live.

 

I hate to say it, but I think many of us old people need to guard against the potency of neglect. In my experience, this isn’t just about how often I get touched, although sometimes it is, but rather who is doing the touching, and with how much care. I find myself seeking out attention, like the hungry seek out food. And I’m learning my spirit needs attention, touch, and especially caring, as much as I need air. If I don’t have an adequate supply, I go out of existence more slowly than with the absence of air, but it is a painful form of drowning, never-the-less.

 

Recently, I learned that the highest rate of suicide in this culture is amongst people over the age of 83. This is even higher than the much more publicized rate of suicide amongst teenagers. Both are tragic, and say too much about our dysfunctional culture, but only one is considered a problem. The other reflects the neglect prevalent in the elder world.

 

Speaking of the environment, I have long contended that the old and the environment are on the same continuum — treat one badly, you do the same to the other — but this period of my life, is making more vivid, how neglecting one form of life (old people) is neglecting all forms of life. Nature is suffering from a failure to thrive too!

 

The Slow Lane has always been devoted to the notion that going too fast has obscured too much. Busyness, doing, staying active are all forms of neglect. Ones we too easily take pride in. It is the way of modern times, modern identity — and a lethal treatment of those, like old people, and the environment, who can’t maintain that velocity. This is efficiency at its worst. I have known for a long-time the cost of speed to our spirituality, but now I have a more vivid sense of what a failure to thrive is actually about. It has come for, and from, all of us. 

 

Neglect is an equal-opportunity experience. It isn’t something you want to experience; nor your family, friends, or other loved ones. It is a social disease, which is characteristic of our modern times. Guard yourself against it — but remember — you could be a carrier, and someone near you may be failing to thrive right now.

 

 

 

  

The Slow Lane

The storm had already broken when I began to write.  I was decimated by the stroke, and further assailed by brain damage. I began the Slow Lane while I was going down. It looked, and felt, like I was dying — losing functioning on a pretty regular basis. I wrote in some desperate attempt to feel like I was of some use. Nothing was very pretty or elegant.

In the beginning, I called it “Reports From The Slow Lane,” thinking that the challenges I was experiencing might be useful to my community. Amazingly, I could still think of others, as I was being pulled under.  In part, the writing of ‘reports’ gave me a sense of connection. I needed to feel less alone. I also felt like what I was going through could be meaningful to oth

“The Slow Lane,” from its advent, was an attempt to integrate the role of tragedy in my / the community’s life

Later on, I’m not sure when, I received the first gift of awareness that transformed my suffering. I didn’t know it at the time. I was too consumed with going down. But I fairly quickly realized I had been slowed down, and could no longer function at cultural speed. Suddenly, I got how much I was missing, when I operated normally. “The Slow Lane” became about speed, physical, psychological and spiritual. It hasn’t always been consistent, but speed has been a regular subject. The world changed as slowing occurred.

I started writing as a drowning man. Strangely, as I lost functioning, I gained awareness. New parts of me, came on-line. I was going down, but becoming new, a better, more aware me. I hope I captured some of those changes in those lost and confusing years. “The Slow Lane” helped me integrate a slow-breaking miracle, a time where nature re-made me. I discovered I could swim in the darkness. Writing took on a new meaning.

Since that time, “The Slow Lane” has taken its current form. It was written partially for you the readers, and partially for me, the writer. Hopefully, I have conveyed the benefits of hardship, and how much life shapes us using pressure. That is a lesson that we could use right now. I also hope “The Slow Lane” does something to increase awareness of the true miracle of being human. Human’s, I now see, become more as they become less. It has been a painful but enduring lesson. A lot of Slow Lane pieces have been about that. Reassurance as we age.

Now, it’s morphing into something else. I think it will always be about slowing, and the human condition, but I can feel some other awareness pulling me into another orbit. The monk side of me is trembling. The writer, is going to be more of the ventriloquist in the future. Meaning: the dummy will keep going. I am also going to be getting even slower. Feeling the call more. Going farther astray. Eventually gone.

There isn’t much, in the usual sense, to look forward to. Life is moving me slowly towards the barn. I intend to keep writing, to be smitten with learning, to be more and more at home with myself, but I feel the weeds parting, and me moving slowly towards them.  So, be forewarned, we are all headed in that relieving direction. The Slow Lane is too.

I’m not sure of the when, where, or how. I don’t know how imminent change is. I’m very human in that way. The unknown stalks me too. But, I can feel something coming, and I have a sense that it is beyond undoing. The moment remains a great favor to us, and I intend to be in it thoroughly. I want the Slow Lane to be there with me, but I’m not sure it will be.

 

 

 

  

Sitting In Limbo

Life passes. There is no wave, no conclusion, forward signal, or stop sign. The air is not quite immobile, not quite moving. Stillness prevails. But it isn’t peaceful stillness. There is a sense of stasis. It is, as if, there is a long pause between breathes. I don’t know if it is ‘in’ before ‘out,’ or ‘out’ before ‘in.’ But I know I’m in-between. Paused.

I can’t say what is happening. If, anything. The world hasn’t stopped, but things are happening in slow distant motion. Silently. As if, some kind of regulator was inhibiting the moment from proceeding. Awkwardness fills everything with pensive uncertainty.

It could be as obvious, as waiting for the new administration to take over on January 20^th. I’ve never felt so much like a lame duck. Or, it could be like knowing an asteroid is headed this way, but isn’t here yet. Something is getting closer and closer. I can feel it in the stillness of the air, in the aimlessness of my life, in the suspension that permeates things, but I can’t name it.

My days hold a strange purposeless purpose. I am on pause, but I’m not sure why I’m on hold. The Sun, Moon, and Universe are all doing their thing, faithfully, so I am not worried about being at the end, it is more like some new beginning is about to start up. Yes, this is some sort of pregnant pause.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never really been good at these moments. I don’t usually react well to being on hold, or anticipating. Limbo and I haven’t been good friends. So, you can imagine my uneasiness. The longer hold lasts, the greater my dismay. Walking on eggshells is play, compared to what I’m feeling now. I’d rather be struck by lightning, blasted into pieces, than endure this much uncertainty.

Having said all of that, helps convey the discomfort I feel in the midst of this prolonged pause. Maybe, its just me, I’m just making up being here. I’m already disrupted, between who I used to be, and who I’m about to become. Am I somehow not me, or some other me? I don’t know for sure. The moment has blinded my usually sure inner eye.

I feel something weighing on me, it isn’t some gravitational thing, it’s more like portent, throwing my rhythm into an uncoordinated mess — a halting, faltering, semi-collapse. I’ve been caught outside my oyster shell.

It might just be I’m getting older. Aging is disruptive, inconvenient — and is a pause that renews — but usually only in ultimate terms. I can’t fathom what I sense. My senses have been made dull in worldly ways, but certain inner faculties have sharpened, and these, lead me to notice the strange pause that is occurring. Maybe it is because I’m getting older, that I’m able to feel it. 

In any case, I’m assailed by this sensation —while I’m on hold — something slinks towards us.

Something is poised.

 

 

 

  

Life’s Life

There is an antidote to the madness in the world now. While things outside us, which we have little power to influence, are deteriorating, inside each of us there is the possibility of serenity. This is a story of how that has become possible for me, and of how a variation of that, could be possible for you.

A few months ago, at age 99, my mother died. She left me lots of memories, and part of her estate. It turned out to be more money than I knew she had. Though surprised, it still didn’t put to rest my fear, that my money might run out before I die. A friend of mine helped me realize I was living in fear, and acting like I was disconnected. For some reason I heard her. I knew I had lived differently after my stroke, and that my name “Lucky” came from that time. So, I suddenly got that I had lost what I once knew, and that I needed to return to what had once been true for me.

So, began a period of my life I call “monk mode.” In it, I am recollecting all of the little practices I developed for myself, that contributed to my feeling of oneness with Life (my sense of the ultimate). During the dark years of my illness, when I was losing so much, I recalled that I had been reduced down, so that I no longer felt my life was mine. I was Life’s life. Later, when I lived, I realized it was that shift, that saved my life, and calmed me down. From thinking and believing I owned my own life, that I was losing, to realizing I was in fact living Life’s life. That shift enabled me to live fully as a radically disabled man.

Remembering, that I knew connection, brought a renewed confidence. I was returning to what I had already experienced. So, on election eve, many weeks later, when I could read the writing on the wall, I went to bed disappointed, but calm. I awakened in the middle of the night to a fear storm, but was able to go back to sleep, by shifting my attention to being Life’s life. I was beyond disruption. The assurance of what was within me, knowing that my being depended on identifying with Life, was so much greater, than any choices that the new electee would make. I am beyond his ministrations, and beyond the madness of our times.

I identify with Life. Not everybody does. I take my re-assurance from the knowledge that I am safely tucked under the wings of Life. But re-assurance is available in many forms; non-dual awareness, super-frequency life, manifestations of love, traditional spirituality, and other forms. The quality of inner life is what provides the immunity to what is happening outside. What is crucial is what is within each of us. The madness will go on, many will be hurt, change probably disruption will happen, but each of us is prepared, by the counter-weight of our inner lives.

Joseph Campbell used to say, “There are as many ways into paradise as there are people.” I say, “There are as many ways to identify with a larger reality as there are the willing.” Re-assurance, and immunity, follows.                                                                                                                                              

I hope you can find your version of being Life’s life. Then, this election, will be truly significant.

 

 

  

Incubator

My father shared a story with me before he died.  He prefaced the story by saying that he experienced his only miracle that day. It happened when he was kid, a boy of 9 or 10. I guess this was on the farm about 1935. He grew up in rural Iowa, before electrification. His mother raised chickens. One day, while he was in the house, he saw her incubating a bunch of eggs in the kitchen. He was amazed to see the chicks begin to hatch out.  He watched with wonder, as each egg shook with life, and the chicks broke their shells, and found their way into this world. This event touched something in him, that resulted in his remembering it 70 years later.

He told me this story, which he had never shared before, a few months before his death. I knew the moment was important to him, and was awed by a similar experience I had had in my last days of high school. As I was finishing twelfth grade, and confronting a new life, I attempted to write my first poem. It was about being in an egg, about to hatch out. The poem centered on the experience of being compelled to seek, a larger, less confining world to occupy. At the time I was very aware I didn’t know what was beyond my shell. I was caught in complex situation, between a world I knew, and one I didn’t.

I remembered these two events, my father’s story, and my own experience, while I was contemplating this life. This memory set me on a reverie, that is filling me with a kind of full-bodied awe. Taken by the coincidence of my father’s experience, and the vividness of my own recollection, I started imagining this life as an experience of being incubated. I have long thought of my life as a learning and growing experience. What if, I am here being prepared, for another, perhaps more complex existence? This question occurred in my thoughts — but it has a lot of explanatory value.

When I look back at my life, which aging is increasingly compelling me to do, I see that there are patterns of growth that I cannot take credit for. It is like I just got more mature. There was little, or no effort on my part. Seemingly, Life just grew me into something more.

During my reverie, I began to think of Life, as a kind of incubator. Things started coming together in a new way. I think of myself as “Lucky,” the product of some universal happenstance, but what if, I was really intended? Afterall, I am being raised here. Then perhaps, this life, which I call mine, has a kind of coherence, I’ve never considered before! Maybe all those relationships, jobs, failures, gentle moments, realizations, and griefs, have prepared me for a newer, broader life? The shell feels a lot like death now. I am confronted by a compelling feeling that I know: I am confined by a world too small for me, and caught before, a world beyond my knowing.

I grasp this pattern. I have been somewhere like this before. Despite the many indignities – the loss of vitality, health, social status, prestige, and a basic de-humanization — I am hatching out, becoming the next iteration of Life. I’m not old, I’m quasi-new.

The incubator seems to be working a kind of alchemical magic. Changing the grossly inexperienced, into something fit for the Universe’s needs. I like this reverie. It beckons me toward a new and unforeseen entrance.