Thought is Like Quicksand

Cartoon duck

“What’s the big idea?” ~ Donald Duck

Thought is like quicksand–one step, and “you” are in it up to your neck.

But we can learn all about quicksand, mostly how to recognize it, so you don’t get stuck in the mire.

Then you can step around it, like a seasoned eco-traveller.

Or go ahead and sink, losing all–or nothing.

Whaddya know?

Want to join the Thinking Dialogues? Click on the hat!

quicksand

 

Going to the Land Beyond Belief~Confabulating Oz

Becoming Aware of the Mind, by Andrew Gable

Becoming Aware of the Mind, by Andrew Gable

Thought persists, but does our belief in it, and identification with it, have to continue as a persistent way of living, albeit incoherently? Is there a gap in which to look and see–does thought really tells us the way life is and who we are? Or is it the very thing that creates what life appears to be, and all the changing ideas we have of ourselves?

Inspired by the book, Thought as a System, by David Bohm, I’m proposing opportunities to look as a group at the mechanics of thought, how it both plays tricks and doles out treats—moment by moment.

Thought/mind is a system. It has its fixations, reflexes, coherence and incoherence. It is in cahoots with the body, also part of the reflexive system, that appears to make thoughts evidence of truth, of identity–this opinion is true; it is mine; it is who I am. I know because I feel it.

Thinking in and of itself is not the problem. It’s useful, necessary, and highly creative. But incoherent thinking can be observed, and perhaps in that seeing, become coherent, servant rather than master.

I’m starting a series of group dialogues on the incoherent tendencies of thought and how that incoherence manifests as feeling as if what thought says were true, and seemingly coherent. It can mean the difference between being at war or in peace with ourselves and the world, which are one and the same–in thought.

Attention to thought is not exclusive to nonduality. Where is Buddhism, Christianity, Advaita, Zen, but in the objectifying, the structural nature of thought? Incoherent thinking impacts everything from politics, the environment, world hunger, family, relationship, and my/your life as it is lived day to day.

Perhaps we won’t have so many “problems” to solve, if we are able to watch how the problem is created. This ongoing dialogue could be thought of as a kind of “thinking school,” where the separative, divisive, personalized tendency of thought is seen for what it is, in the crucible of the group, from the premise of inseparability. One mind, not my mind and his/her mind.

There will be three 1 1/2 hr dialogues per week, to accommodate time differences. They will be held on Tuesdays at 9:30 am, and Thursdays at 1:00 pm, and Saturdays at 9:30—all MDT, beginning January 6th, 2015.  The idea is to look at this on a weekly basis until Toto pulls the curtain aside and there is less smoke and mirrors and more-kindly-old-man-from-Kansas running the show. The kingdom of Oz is not———what we think it is.

Having decided that looking at incoherent thought is absolutely separate from and more important than the money charged or the money to be made, I am changing the price structure, literally reducing the cost by over 50%. Because I do have to show up, keep track of who is coming,  send out invites, answer questions, update the website with developments, and other administrative costs, the price has been reduced to $40 per month, for 1 call a week, which will add up to 4 calls per month, 6 hours of dialogue time. depending upon the month. These dialogues will be ongoing, for as long as interest (and/or the tendency towards incoherent thinking) continues.

If interested in exploring and exposing the mechanics of mind through group dialogue, please contact me at Colette.kelso@gmail.com The book, Thought As A System, by David Bohm, is available as a downloadable pdf here–in addition to the link above. More details can be found on the Thinking Dialogues page.

Beyond the Yellow Brick Road ~ eone Film

Beyond the Yellow Brick Road ~ eone Film

 

Dreamer in a Dream: A Somnambulist’s Reverie, as Told to a Bird

Benny the Dreamer in SH13

I’m dreaming this dream within a dream, where I’m seemingly lucid within the dream, and scurrying around between life-like characters, shouting, “Wait, stop! Look! Wake up!” Many of them are moaning, from emotional and physical pain, as if there were a war at the beginning of the dream, and this is the fallout. Some of them, however, are happily riding bikes, making bank deposits, reciting poetry, and so on. Apparently, they were not in the beginning of the dream, so they’re oblivious to the mayhem.

Good thing. I leave them to their bikes, banks, and poems. This is triage after all. Finally, out of a feeling a bit like sheer exhaustion, I guess (all tired out, in a dream!), I see that even screaming “Wake up!” is a bit silly. The dream goes on, in spite of my exhaustion.

Like zombie lore, perhaps I figured that to see one is to know one, that this is how zombies gather together–safety in numbers, secret handshake, and all that. And we’re all zombies here! But very few are actually paying any attention to me. (I do get the occasional wink and knowing smile, but these characters just appear, more like the face of the Cheshire Cat, and disappear as soon as they are noticed.) The moaning and the poetry readings go on at the same time, in the same place. Oh, my gosh. What a beautiful, full, rich dream this is! Colorful, loud, dramatic–with a kind of neorealism feel to it, like The Bicycle Thief. Not in black and white, though. Not this one.

And for a moment, in this dream, there is the thought, “Just be sarcastic, that’ll do the trick. Sarcasm does wonders when it comes to snapping people out of a somnambulist reverie, right?” And so sarcastic comments flash through the mind, as I walk and look upon the wounded and the oblivious. But I haven’t the heart, or the stomach. Or, the mouth opens, but nothing comes out. It’s like that, sometimes, in dreams. And, these images are starting to fade around the edges anyway, and morph into something unrecognizable. I can’t even see my own body, come to realize, and don’t know who or where I am, just the viewer of this dream, apparently. Is that moaning coming from me? Or, do I love poetry, too? I watch the disappearing and the morphing (or, it is observed), and seem to have lost my objective here, all that shouting and screaming. So what’s the point, I think, sarcastically?!cardinal_mask_2

Oh, to wake up. It’s a dream, silly. That’s all that I can recall, for the moment…

Wait! I find myself looking out a window that opens out into a miniature garden, telling this dream to what appears to be a very attentive, very red cardinal, resting patiently on a budding branch. Like he’s really listening.

Oh, crap! Dreaming again! Like Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner, the game never stops.