The Mind Wanderer

There’s something that terminally ill patients have over us. It’s acceptance. Being close to the end brings them closer to accept their fate, though it may be denial which is a natural first reaction to an overwhelming reality. 

Someone may ask: What good is it to have peace of mind when closer to the end? A moment free of anxiety, devoid of ego, absent from the sentient rill of rumination, is a state of mind you may chase after hours-on-end for a minute of its bliss. Good things require duly diligence: think of an orgasm, it doesn't just magically happen, it requires exertion. It is a kind of stress that is good for us, known as eustress. Eustress derives from activities such as exercise, too. Dealing with hardship, not running from it, requires an initiative on our behalf that if left undone can ultimately spell doom for us. 

Asking what good is it means you have no experience of it; it is not knowledge-based. It deals with a mindset that once experienced, you cannot walk away from. It is the ultimate natural high, similar to the calm after the storm that follows shortly after orgasm. Sex -whether with someone else or by ourselves- requires stimulation. The brain doesn't give us pleasure for nothing; it rewards behavior that is in our self-interest, like eating, sleeping, bonding. 

Countless philosophers with the Sysiphus Curse's complex, such as Camus, even Schopenhauer who boasted about Buddhism, got nowhere near the redemptive bliss of quiet contemplation. Once the mind gets used to the meditative trance, it requires less of a concerted effort which is surprising since in everything else, the more accustomed the mind gets, the more that it demands. Meditation is a phenomenon unlike any other, bridging sleep and consciousness unlike anything else, in a state that can be experienced unknowingly while taking on other disciplines, like the absorption a writer may experience, or a dancer, or a runner for that matter. It is sort of an abandonment that is not easily acquired, as the mind is often alerted to the possible threats that may arise, giving rise to the common experience of anxiety. It is not our default mechanism, as we may perhaps have been led to believe; the anxiety that supposedly derives from the fear of being attacked by a bear when there is none, is nonsensical. 

It is not observed in animals in the wild, just domestic humans; even seen in the domestic cat that is on alpha mode by nature, when raised around an unbalanced environment. 

It is therefore unlikely an evolutionary trait. It was probably something we picked up along the way, when we were still much part of them, not too long ago. This modern way of life is a freak show. 

Back then, we may have spent most of our time grazing and fooling around, not trying to impress our boss. Sure, nature demanded more of us, so we didn't have much time to think ahead as to what outfit to wear tomorrow for work. It simplifies things when you wear a uniform, and don't listen to those around that cast you out for doing menial work. The downtime can be used to think, and meditate, and not worry about what others think which I suppose was the initial setup. 

Life is not only hectic, but demands so much: you go to school for one third of your existence, and spend the rest of the time toiling away at a desk or in a cubicle, spending time with strangers that will in time become more a familiar sight than relatives. It makes no sense, but you make the best of it because there are bills to pay and demands to be met. 

Anxiety may be a trick that humans acquired when the thrill of hunting for their own food was replaced by a more sedentary lifestyle. It's not that prior to the introduction of agriculture, our ancestors had it easier, but the fight/flight survival mechanism was an anxious response; if ever a modern-day homo sapiens were to accidentally cross paths with a true apex predator and survive to tell it, the first thing that would probably follow would be an immense sense of tranquility, that human specimen would sleep soundly that night. Nothing like a real threat to really put the mind at ease. Instead, a trip to the kitchen to raid the frigde and then off to the couch hardly qualifies as an adventure worth telling for generations. 

Exercise, meditation, yoga, these are disciplines that tackle this existential dilemma, requiring more of an physical and mental exertion to achieve. It is difficult in the beginning, but the more you engage in an activity, the better you get at it, the easier it becomes and the more you end up seeking it. These may extend to high-end hobbies like writing or playing an instrument. 

Reading or listening to audio/videos on subjects that amaze us can help us to keep our minds engaged and our brains healthy. 

In the end, making up your mind about what works best for you, adding your own spin to the stirring wheel, and not relaying wholeheartedly on so-called experts forever, is critical. Witty folks can be silly, too. They emulate their masters, follow the trail of those that led them there, and in the midst, may end up summoning a lot of contradictory rethoric. We need not much than to see with our own eyes once our eyes are open. Be practical and take what works, get rid of what doesn't. Dig deep enough and sooner rather later the realization dawns that, deep down, we're ignorant in varying degrees and need no help to remain so. 

Why, I do not even know to the extent of my own ignorance. Knowing what you don't know is not knowing, it still is an ignorant claim. Ah, the illusion of knowledge. 

We know that it is an illusion because every generation knows just how silly the previous one was, and the wisest of them, well, we know they did not always had the best of fates. And what's worse, they seemed rather sick of life. 

Our very young show no signs of having such a defective mechanism, as they go about exploring the world around the minute they can do so, with wicked and menacing curiosity, they keep a smile on their face and it is easy that before they get to know themselves, they were better selves than ever thereafter. They liked one another before discovering that society would later on segregate them. In kindergarten, kids mingle as if there were in a playground but by the time they're in high school, all tables are divided by race, though we are taught segregation happened long ago. 

It is only when the process of education instills in them other fears, that the child slowly learns it is best to behave and assimilate the parental guide, to emulate their ways, to blend in. We become pleasers, at some point, fearful we might be cast out. And parents, stressed out as they are, tend to relegate much of the load on teachers. Little can we learn from people who were, in many respects, overgrown children themselves. But what made me the way I am, in particular? What accidents took place that I think were critical in evolving the unique way I did? Not that I was all that very special to begin with. Good looks, and beautiful minds abound, but in this unusual case, I gotta thank my father for not being around, my mother for having spoiled me until I was old enough to migrate to a much better place, etc. But many can count on such horrible stories, and the narrative that is their life changed little as a consequence. What else, then, could've been the culprit? 

If I could pinpoint the reason why I consider myself lucky is in an unfortunate event: I never attended a single year of school in the same school. This alone would have been a bad experience for anyone, surely no one could come out unscathed from such experience. And neither did I. 

But there was an upside to it, think about it: curious about books and learning, I did not attend a place that could have destroyed that proclivity. Instead, since I missed school, and the place where we lived changed often, I was exposed to many different minds, people, places, and so I think that was the critical component. 

Mom moved a lot, from neighborhood to neighborhood, city to city, even country to a neighboring country, and sometimes I followed as she brought me along with her, and at other times, I stayed behind and endured her absence the best I could, living among strangers, family of hers or dad, but always somewhere different. 

In the process, I learnt not to get too attached to anything or anyone for long, and nothing along the way was perennial enough to leave a trace. Which made me sort of a feral cat, a well-fed, nurtured street dog who lived in several places, none of which was horrible or good enough. Nothing as macabre as it seems, but it gave me a broadened horizon not to have a roof over my head that I could call mine for longer than a year or so. It wasn't until I was ten years old that things began to be more sedentary, and just when I was getting used to it, I was shipped to the United States of America. 

Here, the story did not end any differently. I moved from home to home, but at least I kept the same city. It was not in my nature to choose a steady profession, just learn, live day by day, as I had always done before. And I continued to learn, earning just enough to get by. Mom would often ask if I had enough to eat. In our conversations over the phone, I would reassure her that the problem here it was not if there was enough to eat. It was the opposite: too much of it. 

But enough about me. 

Our modern way of life is to blame: the instinct of survival that would normally take place when faced by an actual threat is replaced by superfluous fears. Among them, but not limited to: losing a girlfriend, a job, our lifehood. It's not that we fear the lion that is no more; it's that we fear the lion that we've become. 

Understand that not only is there no lion around, that we have become the apex predator instead. How else could our species have had the atrocious impact it has had on the rest of the animal kingdom? 

Harari mentions that we were insignificant creatures that evolved from whimpy ancestors. It's likely that the whimpiness comes from a much more recent era, perhaps with the advent of agriculture, the rise of armies and cities, the desolate world that up until very recently was all we ever knew. 

None of the academics of previous centuries makes an emphasis on meditation because it was not in style up until less than a century ago, westerners denied the utility of everything coming east of the world. 

In his book Twilight of the Idols, Nietzsche asserts Buddhism is a thousand times more profound than Christianity, in that it states that "life is suffering", that it doesn't give any explanation as to why and instead it simply puts forth this eloquent truth, according to Nietzsche. 

If he would've read more, he would've found that Buddhism does say plenty about the cause of it and how to remedy it. Great thinkers of his caliber did mention the Buddha but inexplicably missed out on taking meditation seriously.  

Why is so good about it? Well, we do not have to get a near-death experience or be close to the end in order to rip off the benefits of serenity. Nowadays it is mentioned by everyone, just recently Sam Harris asked Yuval Harari if he had kids, when Harari mentions meditating for two hours a day. 

Meditation is not the byproduct of thinking things in-depth, thoroughly, or clearly. 

Quite the opposite, it is the abandonment of reasoning, the liberation of the mind, a state closer to that of dreaming, in which the rigid walls of consciousness give way to the broadened horizons of possibilities. Except in dreams, it happens in a distorted way, as the mind is restful enough to drift into sleep, but still awake enough to dream. The phase of sleep where dreams take place is not the deepest, like swimming in an ocean, dreams require seeing things closer to the surface, where there is still light. But as the mind drifts deeper and deeper, dreams subside, and unconsciousness' anchor sets out to do its bidding: pruning, healing, and restoring itself. 

It is no wonder that illness puts us to bed. Rest is imperative, as is lack of appetite, and fever to kill off the parasitic or viral infection. A calm mind heals. 

There are five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance (the closest to peace of mind). Some of them may not go past beyond denial. 

In American Beauty, the character Ricky Fitts (Wes Bentley) delivers one of the best quotes in the film: "Never underestimate the power of denial." 

Full-blown denial can morph into delusion, in severe mental cases, it's self-preservation at its worst, a survival mechanism to obviate an otherwise unbearable truth. Madness may very well be the mind's last stand, a desperate course of action years in the making, the very last resort. 

For a better question than what good is peace of mind when the end is near is the assertion that there can really be no health without peace of mind. That the reason we get sick is because health to us modern creatures is good so long as we can engage in ways that can only ruin it: drinking alcohol in excess, sacrificing sleep for working longer hours, partying often, spending lavishly, overeating, and overworrying. All of these activities are good for business but horrible for our overall health. 

We could take back control by simply exerting self-control, the kind that can only come from settling ourselves by calming our overactive minds. What if instead of having to go through the motions of those five stages of grief, we sat down quietly somewhere and breathed in deeply, exhale fully, and repeat until the answer manifests itself. In a single move, we eliminate four miserable stages that result from an unsteady mindset and all it takes is settling ourselves first and foremost, twenty to forty minutes will lead you to the gates of nirvana, that most precious state of bliss that is a mind at peace. 

In essence, health is synonymous with a mind at ease. It is why a system in disarray, is called dis-ease. Serenity plays a fundamental role in wellness. It is the go-to state of most organisms as it preserves energy. Human misery is in its fuss-and-toss-a-ways. After a long day of work, we yearn for nothing more than going back home and unwind. Leisure is in the comfort and relaxation we seek. 

That most unusual of all visitors is the brain's default-mode; instilled in us since early in our formation is a sense of duty whose debt is never fully paid, the obligation that enslaves us, and responsibility that never ends.  

When we are overwhelmed, it can be summoned upon, if one calls for it. You don't have to wait for it to happen, you can anticipate the gruesome routine to unfold and take preemptive strikes at it by getting into a relaxation mode prior to engagement. Meditation, like exercise, works best if taken seriously enough. Nothing is fun in the beginning, it may take a toll for it to grow initially, but it is far less difficult and a lot more fun than learning how to play the piano. Think of the premise of meditation: you learn to deal with anxiety at its core. You get to tackle the beast of always having something to do, never finding a moment to yourself, and from the lack of finding comfort in the company of your own solitude is that we end up making the worst mistakes in life. We never stop, and when we do, it is because our body, exhausted and tired, forces to. It is never too late to pick up the ability to unwind at a single breath, but the earlier, the better. Once you manage to find your own pace and rhythm, you can device made-up ways to combat stress and the iceberg of anxiety will crack and gradually melt. 

You just have to whisper in the right tone, ask and you shall receive. Silence is the language in which the gods speak. In times of despair, do not listen to the mind. The mind is, again, like an ocean, of which you initially see just the shore; and that inner anxious voice of yours, think of it as a sailor, venturing out into the sea. 

Your mind will encounter chatty mind-like sailors on its way. What's beyond that early encounter, pass the nosy seafarers, the tide's bubbly splash, the tumultuous waters on the coast? This is the dilemma we all face within: all of the activities that demand our attention, all the people that want to take our time, take our life, one piece, every second, at a time. The interior dialogue, picture it as intermittent waves, crashing against the rocks ashore. You have to get out to sea, and get away from it all, so go back to the seaman venturing out into the ocean beyond the waves breaking ashore. 

As our seaman pushes his vessel through, leaving behind the harsh current, he makes way to calmer, undulating waters. Aboard his vessel, he drifts deeper into the blue till nothing more than open ocean and the vastness of quietude is the only divisible thing in the horizon. 

Thoughts are washed away, like footprints in the sand. Plans not taken upon, are but sandcastles. As if we were staring deep into an inscrutable void, even as we sail away and pull our own, the hefty chains of Murphy's Law weigh upon us. It's like putting paper ships, flying kites or drones, the sky will never be covered; all of the messages left in countless inebriated bottles will come crashing back to us. 

But enough similes, let us contemplate a little of the science of dreams, then we'll see what we are up against: during rapid eye movement sleep, it turns out, is when we dream. And while we're there dreaming, the brain segregates paralyzing chemicals to keep from acting out our dreams. Perhaps the same mechanism is present when in wishful thinking, what is it that stops us from acting out what would be semi-rational impulses, like taking a trip overseas to see a young old flame of ours? To forget scrutiny and call someone up out of the blue. Our impulses are like dreaming in a paralyzed body when we let the moment go by. It's not like we can possibly summon all of the unsteady machinations going on inside each one of us at any given time. Not only does the mind never stops conspiring to make us happy, until we eventually settle it with a quick bite, or whatever scratches the itch off. 

That is the mind to tame, the unconquerable arena of our animalistic gladiator prancing around with a wooden sword, mocking the expecting crowd gathered on the stands before the emperor of reason cleans the slate by sending the lions in. Our lives are so demanding, and our resolve so timid, most of the time we let the carnage go unnoticed. Reasonably, it argues, that there will be another chance or that we cannot possibly incarnate every whimsical impulse, but we're running out of chances and it's not like that inner voice is going to stop harassing us into taking matters into our hands once we listen to just one of its demands. If it settles for a piece of bread, some almond milk, and a banana to quench its quest, it can't be all that sinister, to begin with. It'll surely throw the towel after packing in a more adventurous punch. 

In REM sleep, the muscles in our body may be temporarily paralyzed, but the head still acts out to the point that it often wakes up and finds itself trapped in bed, immobilized. In medieval times, it was thought of as a sex demon pinning us down; the female form, it was called a succubus. 

It’s well beyond our understanding, rushing as we are to make it to the finish line, that we rarely come to a standstill, not realizing what more can we get out of this rat race still. Buddhism simply states in its first noble truth that life is suffering. It doesn't sugarcoat it, it is a pill hard to swallow, but if it is contemplated long and hard, it is sooner rather than later we come to realize that, in essence, is the most precious thing to know. It's not pessimistic to assess the potential hurdles ahead and point out the best route through this rough patch. It just fingers the way there, doesn't high-five you for getting there nor waves a welcoming hand, instead of waving goodbye, as if you were crossing an imaginary finish line. "Imaginary", it pertains to perception, therefore everything that is conceivable, in most respects, is imaginary. 

And so, it follows that the cause of misery is this constant sought-after precious stone: pleasure. The way to remedy such is, according to Buddhism, detachment from one’s self and the attainment of Nirvana through meditation practice. Meditation eases the transition between wakeful and restorative states. It switches off our flight-fight-or-freeze survival response and activates our body's rest-and-digest, an intrinsic apathetic state self-imposed by a meditated mind. Mindfulness is about mindlessness. Sleep has been squared off with death, but the brain comes alive at night, actively reestructures and unwires itself as it sees fit in somnolence; it is as if it couldn't wait to shut off the conscious processesses to get to work. The crisp emotional output of a good night sleep feels like getting off, to a good start. Sleep is put off in many regards, equated to boredom, as a movie, book or conversation that "puts you to sleep"; but if you think all the good things that put you to sleep, you'll see that sleep is in the back of our primal mind, as the ultimate congratulatory gesture. Inducing a somniferous state are, among others: having an orgasm, having a feast, having a few drinks, having enough money, having someone to cuddle with, having it your way, having peace of mind, having earned it. The brain's default follow or precede homeostasis, when all of our affairs are in order, having reached a stable equilibrium. In alpha (both relaxed and calmly alert), as well as bliss or ecstatic joy, non-rapid eye movement sleep (non-REM), daydreaming, reflex action, internal mentation (mind wandering), among others, are the go-to status as soon as the primal danger subsides. 

Wakeful states, on the other hand, ranging from mild alertness to high levels of stress, demand a lot of energy; it is not the brain's default mechanism to be in an excited state of mind. The sentinel hypothesis holds that some in a group of animals must remain vigilant during sleep cycles since sleep is potentially a time of dangerous predatory occurrence.  As humans, we did not evolve to sleep a certain amount of hours straight, as we are often led to believe, but fall in and out of sleep cycles, ranging in periodic stages: most of our sleep is non-REM in which the brain repairs tissues, builds bone and muscle, and strengthens the immune system. A lot goes on while we sleep, the subconscious mind is busy, even parts of the brain that deal with actions while awake, predominantly in the early stages of sleep and stages leading itself to a wake-up stage; fluctuations between states of subconscious and unconscious thoughts overlap, giving rise to periodic conscious stages, having lucid dreams as a consequential byproduct of this phenomena that is not yet fully understood. In many respects, sleep remains a mystery, we're just beginning to understand it's basics. One thing is clear: during sleep, the brain remains active, even the part we deal with when awakened; the only reason that the sleeping mind doesn't physically act out during sleep is that the body is paralyzed for the time being. Were you ever woken up by a nightmare and found yourself pinned down to bed, immobilized? The phenomenon is so common that has been described since ancient times, in folklore known as a sex demon. It makes evolutionary sense that the mind remains active, in all probability as a survival mechanism in case of danger. Self-preservation may be in mind to keep the body from enacting dreams in reality while asleep; you can only imagine how easy a prey to a predator, let alone to others or ourselves, if such was the case. Just as we remain not too far from vigilant awareness during sleep, should the need arise to face an imminent threat, it is not inconceivable that we are half asleep while awake, fully submerged in a dreamlike state. As we go about our lives, how often do we find ourselves daydreaming, fantasizing, zoning in and out of consciousness while up and running? If anything, the conscious thought is like a flickering light in the dreamlike darkness that is our multi-layered existence.

Meditation is a midway between wakeful and restorative states, a bridge that connects the best of both worlds. It has benefits that transcend those of sleep, melting the iceberg covered mountain of our anxious landscape. Melt it down, drop by drop, if you disengage from the noise and hustles of modern life, slipping through the watery cracks of that metaphoric iceberg. Just like sleep, meditation comes in stages (Dharana, Dhyanam, and Samadhi). In the first act, it pays homage to a stimulus in the form of an object like a candle, or an action, like falling rain or breathing, or something abstract like visceral fire. In the second act, a bond or relationship is forged between the object and the subject, like a dance between the two from which you may gain insight, knowledge, or an immense sense of peace or wellbeing. In the third final act, everything falls into the oneness that is the universe. If we do know anything, in the hundreds of years of abstruse scientific study is that, at the core, you and I, and everything in between is but one thing. How is it that we go about making boundaries that separate us from others, geographical lines that divide us, ideological fortresses surmounting us inside? It is well beyond our understanding.  

Ways to attain and retain serenity are spending time alone, in complete solitude, rejoicing in silence, contemplating one’s self without judgment, dissolving all provocative arguments within. Just sitting in a quiet place, laying back in a comfy chair or down in bed, letting the mind unravel, emptying its thought-content. The incessant flow of thoughts will subside, as it makes way to your breath. Inhale deeply, exhaling softly, calming the mind down to its natural state. This is what the Buddhists call Nirvana. This is not a place in and of its own. It’s a state of mind you can only acquire if you ease yourself of the constant demands of life. Leave the burden on the side and immerse yourself in the deepest, purest form of silence. There, in the quietude of it, you’ll find that there really is nothing to worry about. 

Bob Marley composed the album Legend shortly after being diagnosed with cancer, a type of malignant melanoma under the nail of a toe He could have been perhaps saved, had he listened to his doctors' advice to amputate his toe, something that would've hindered his performance. Instead, he chose to live his life, touring for another eight years. He soared in song and praises, the lines in Three Little Birds, may reflect his condition: “My feet is my only carriage, so wipe your tears I say.”