{"id":21048,"date":"2019-04-19T06:32:07","date_gmt":"2019-04-19T10:32:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=21048"},"modified":"2019-04-19T06:32:07","modified_gmt":"2019-04-19T10:32:07","slug":"enumerating-the-domains-of-mind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2019\/04\/enumerating-the-domains-of-mind\/","title":{"rendered":"Enumerating the Domains of Mind"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"'Last<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “Last Temptation: The Last Temptation of Eve,” by user Hartwig HKD (Hartwig Kopp=Delaney) on Flickr<\/a>. (Used here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The photographer provides virtually no information about the photo’s “meaning,” or its construction for that matter, and I’m not sure it’s worth trying to tease it out. But I will say it feels right for this week’s theme, such as it is… and that that feeling itself may be the point.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Thought is said to be the mind; we have the notion that it is something abstract or spiritual or immaterial. Then there is the body, which is very physical. And we have emotions, which are perhaps somewhere in between. The idea is that they are all different. That is, we\u00a0think<\/em>\u00a0of them as different.\u00a0 And we experience them as different because we think of them as different.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(David Bohm [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

We make our lives pleasurable, and therefore bearable, by picturing them as they might be; it is less obvious, though, what these compelling fantasy lives — lives of, as it were, a more complete satisfaction — are a self-cure for. Our solutions tell us what our problems are; our fantasy lives are not — or not necessarily — alternatives to, or refuges from, those real lives but an essential part of them… There is nothing more obscure than the relationship between the lived and the unlived life… So we may need to think of ourselves as always living a double life, the one that we wish for and the one that we practice; the one that never happens and the one that keeps happening.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Adam Phillips [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a> (italicized paragraph):<\/p>\n

Maybe it’s all utterly meaningless. Maybe it’s all unutterably meaningful. If you want to know which, pay attention to what it means to be truly human in a world that half the time we’re in love with and half the time scares the hell out of us. Any fiction that helps us pay attention to that is religious fiction. The unexpected sound of your name on somebody’s lips. The good dream. The strange coincidence. The moment that brings tears to your eyes. The person who brings life to your life. Even the smallest events hold the greatest clues…<\/em><\/p>\n

So pay attention. As a summation of all that I’ve ever had to say as a writer I’d settle for that. And as a talisman or motto for that journey in search of a homeland, which is what faith is, I’d settle for that, too.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Frederick Buechner [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Convenience Store Aquinas<\/strong><\/p>\n

7-Eleven’s a misnomer, like “mind-
\nbody” problem. They never close. The hyphen’s<\/p>\n

a dash of form. Sure, this mind-body’s
\na machine, if you want, plowing across town<\/p>\n

to the steak house. American Spirit. Give us
\nthe yellow pack. No matches? This dollar<\/p>\n

fifty-nine Santa lighter, too. Big Grab bag
\nof Doritos. No, the “engine” is not<\/p>\n

separate — it’s part of the machine. Sure, paper’s
\ngood, container for recycling. Rain’s no problem.<\/p>\n

I eat the Doritos, smoke up — one for you?
\nThe chips are part of my machine —<\/p>\n

matter inside matter — smoke fires my lungs,
\ngives me that slap of pleasure in my<\/p>\n

tailbone, maybe stimulates a thought.
\nI’m prime matter informed by the soul.<\/p>\n

No, I didn’t just slip the word in there:
\nthat’s a spade — it digs through bullshit.<\/p>\n

Lean close, under the awning, cover up,
\nyou want a light. The mist can’t decide<\/p>\n

if it’s rain or fog. Streetlight moons, clouds
\naround the neon signs. Pink as the steak<\/p>\n

we’re heading for. The comfort of a red leather
\nbanquette. No, your engine exists as part of<\/p>\n

and powers its machine; separated, both are just
\nscrap, bunch of gears, rusty sprockets.<\/p>\n

An unlit oven. Unbaked potatoes. Sour cream
\ninside a cow, chives growing mostly underground.<\/p>\n

“Engine” is a bad analogy. I’m one thing,
\nnot two, no intermediaries. I don’t<\/p>\n

have<\/em> a body, I am one. A hollow
\none at the moment. What’ll it be?<\/p>\n

Filet mignon? Slab of prime rib, don’t trim
\nthe fat? Twelve oz. T-bone, two inches thick?<\/p>\n

No, I’ll wait until after I eat for another,
\nbut you go right ahead. Here’s a light.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(John Hennessy [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Memories feel geological in their repose, solid and true, the bedrock of consciousness. They may include knowing that it’s hard to lead a cow down steps, or how the indri-indri of Madagascar got its name, or the time you accidentally grabbed a strange man’s hand in a crowd (thinking it was your friend’s), or how you felt hitting a home run in Little League, or your first car (a used VW that rattled like an old dinette set), or a grisly murder you just read about that made you rethink capital punishment, or an unconscious detailed operating guide to the body that manages each cell’s tiny factory.<\/p>\n

Memories inform our actions, keep us company, and give us our noisy, ever-chattering sense of self. Because we’re moody giants, every day we subtly revise who we think we are. Part of the android’s tragedy in the Ridley Scott film Blade Runner<\/em> is that he possesses a long, self-defining chain of memories. Though ruthless and lacking empathy, and technically not a person, he can remember. Played by Rutger Hauer, he contains a self who witnessed marvels on Earth and Mars and fears losing his unique mental jazz in death.<\/p>\n

Without memories we wouldn’t know who we are, how we once were, who we’d like to be in the memorable future. We are the sum of our memories. They provide a continuous private sense of one’s self. Change your memory and you change your identity. Then shouldn’t we try to bank good memories, ones that will define us as we wish to be? I’m surprised by how many people do just that. Even tour companies advertise: “Bring home wonderful memories.” Here we are, a happy family taking a Disney cruise , documented on film<\/em>. But memory isn’t like a camcorder, computer, or storage bin. It’s more restless, more creative, and it’s not one of anything. Each memory is a plural event, an ensemble of synchronized neurons, some side by side, others relatively far apart.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Diane Ackerman [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “Last Temptation: The Last Temptation of Eve,” by user Hartwig HKD (Hartwig Kopp=Delaney) on Flickr. (Used here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The photographer provides virtually no information about the photo’s “meaning,” or its construction for that matter, and I’m not sure it’s worth trying to tease it out. But I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":21054,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"Frederich Buechner, Diane Ackerman, et al.: 'Enumerating the Domains of Mind'","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,251,4159],"tags":[61,1438,1504,3344,4696,4904,4905,4906,4907],"class_list":{"0":"post-21048","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-art","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"category-essays","12":"tag-memory","13":"tag-diane-ackerman","14":"tag-frederick-buechner","15":"tag-david-bohm","16":"tag-soul","17":"tag-adam-phillips","18":"tag-john-hennessy","19":"tag-body","20":"tag-mind","21":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/04\/lasttemptation_hartwighkd_thumb.jpg?fit=500%2C383&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-5tu","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21048","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21048"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21048\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21055,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21048\/revisions\/21055"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/21054"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21048"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21048"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21048"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}