Extinction
Inside Refresh
Jess Cummins
@jesscxc
Extinction: Inside Refresh is a notebook written on the move.
Extinction is Book 28 of The Pocket Series.
Extinction is available for free at NoLiesPlease.com.
This book is dedicated to the public domain.
(author
"Jess Cummins"
@jesscxc)
(pronouns she/friend)
(link NoLiesPlease.com)
(book_title Extinction)
(book_subtitle Inside Refresh)
(pocket_series_book_number 28)
(book_version
v1
ty23.2.28.23.54.29pzm5d2s)
(entry_count 8)
(word_count 5807)
(books_by_jesscxc
(misc
"Poem Moves the Pen: Haiku of a Nondual Nature"
"Natural Will: Freer Than Free Will"
"Longgame Hyperdimensional Spacing: Expand Mind and Weave Time"
"Ungov: Transcending Will")
(the_deeper_series
"Book 0: Uncompress: Eternal Appreciation of How"
"Book 1: Fortunate: How to Be"
"Book 2: Attuned: Be What You Imagine"
"Book 3: Capacity: Imagine Being Limitless"
"Book 4: Helper: Limitless Mind"
"Book 5: Intense: Mind Unleashed"
"Book 6: Open: Unleashed Honesty"
"Book 7: Universe: Honesty is Eternal"
"Book 8: Various: Is to Be")
(the_pocket_series
"Book 0: Obverse: Abstract Fast"
"Book 1: Limer: Fast Color"
"Book 2: Dawn: Color of Day"
"Book 3: Knight: Day Beyond"
"Book 4: Fever: Beyond Dreams"
"Book 5: Life: Dreams Evolving"
"Book 6: Adventure: Evolving Lands"
"Book 7: Battle: Lands Say"
"Book 8: Entertainment: Say Ahead"
"Book 9: Explore: Ahead Opportunity"
"Book 10: Moment: Opportunity Simulation"
"Book 11: Imagine: Simulation Twist"
"Book 12: Believe: Twist Self"
"Book 13: Accept: Self Pattern"
"Book 14: Create: Pattern Reflection"
"Book 15: Sift: Reflection Match"
"Book 16: Probability: Match Experience"
"Book 17: Waves: Experience Current"
"Book 18: Kernel: Current Functions"
"Book 19: Grubby: Functions Dig"
"Book 20: Game: Dig Above"
"Book 21: Fruit: Above Messages"
"Book 22: Endeavor: Messages Spread"
"Book 23: Mystery: Spread Expressions"
"Book 24: Detain: Expressions Bind"
"Book 25: Philosophy: Bind Broken"
"Book 26: Demands: Broken Discovery"
"Book 27: Subliminal: Discovery Inside"
"Book 28: Extinction: Inside Refresh"
"Book 29: Control: Refresh Axioms"
"Book 30: Ideas: Axioms Mistake"
"Book 31: Gallium: Mistake Fuzz"
"Book 32: Germanium: Fuzz Friendship"
"Book 33: Arsenic: Friendship Reaction"
"Book 34: Selenium: Reaction Depth"
"Book 35: Bromine: Depth Utility"
"Book 36: Krypton: Utility Model"
"Book 37: Rubidium: Model Augmenter"
"Book 38: Strontium: Augmenter System"))
To separating the volition from the pleasure.
Thank the Mystery for its teachings.
Just because something isn't falsifiable doesn't mean it can't help you live a more fulfilling life.
You can never fully understand what others are going through.
Unfalsifiable doesn't mean necessarily mean unhelpful.
[
Basically I think we live in a simulation, that any intelligence above our simulation is a god to us, and if one god in this stack of simulations is benevolent then it will change the subgods to be kinder and this will ripple down the stack.
This I believe means the universe's purpose is to teach a god something.
These ideas make me happier than atheism and so I believe them.
I call myself a transcendentalist because there are axioms we must assume to be true without proof.
This means we can assume different things to be true and we can't ever know which are correct.
Therefore we can choose those things that make life the most fulfilling.
Every person must find out and choose for themselves what those things are.
There may be guiding principles that help, but ultimately it comes down to an individual decision.
]
Don't just try to live forever: Try to live today.
.meta written while suffering with bipolar depression
Will I ever be happy again?
I feel like I'm not doing enough.
Like I'm not studying enough, like I don't care and don't care about that.
What is wrong with me?
Is this random or what?
Why do I feel so sad?
I feel like I'm wasting my life, like I may be smart but I quit when it gets hard.
Sometimes I find it so easy to learn and advance, and other times I feel so stagnant.
Why can't I feel normal again, like I used to feel, happy?
A part of me just refuses to care, and it's debilitating.
.meta written while suffering with bipolar depression
O cosmos, please share with us the secrets of this universe.
What is it that separates me from this elusive thing called truth?
Is it perhaps my errant ways, my unsophisticated nature?
Does it matter if we all go extinct?
I don't know anymore; I find myself not caring anymore.
I don't even know if I _want_ to care.
If we are as ants to the gods, is there any hope for communication, for reciprocity?
Perhaps not.
Perhaps we are stuck, for the time being, in a sort of limbo, not knowing if we will be wiped out or become gods ourselves.
I've lost the taste for judging right and wrong, as it were.
I sit here on the tide pool of the ocean of reality, wondering what the point of all this struggle is.
Is it for happiness?
For fun?
For inner peace?
I am tied between the notion of caring, not caring, and not caring about not caring.
What treacherous waters the human spirit can wade in.
If one loses the joy, the spark, the zest for life, what is left but an empty husk of semi-existence?
One may get by, one may continuing existing, but continue to thrive? To grow?
These seem beyond the efforts of the distraught human.
One sees a time when one was happy, perhaps one can even predict that it will eventually return, but the time scale lends no clues, or few.
One loses one's perspective, or perhaps the rose-colored glasses of optimism are lifted from the curious ape that survived because of such optimism.
Perhaps one sees clearly the fruitlessness of it all, the death and extinction that awaits even a digital soul.
These presuppositions I admit may not be true; it may be that we live in a universe where life can escape the fundamental ties of spacetime.
If we live in a universe governed by relativity and quantum mechanics, are we forever bound to this universe, inevitably succumbing to heat death at the end of time?
Can we leave?
Who can tell but the physicists of the future?
If time and existence of immortality are not on our side, how early should we accept the finality of our works, our efforts?
Might it be that the true notion we should be following is not obligatory service to others, but to our own self-realization through such service?
Does it come down to the universe crafting your soul in order to learn something about its own being?
Might we be tools of gods, influencing their lives as the stone axe and fire have influenced ours?
We can craft a nature that is interwoven with the consciousness of the universe: It bends to our will and we to it, and the interplay truly is nondualistic.
It may be conceit, but I hope my words have some level of impact on your soul, dear reader.
We may not fruitfully live for others, but perhaps we may fruitfully live for the growing wisdom of the universe.
I can't say I've read or absorbed all the words I've penned, but perhaps some superconsciousness of a reality beyond mine will see the effort as worthwhile.
While this short-sightedness of mine persists, this anhedonia, this ill-advised affliction, while it still torments my soul randomly, perhaps the universe is learning some lesson.
Perhaps causality is a lie, an illusion from a small perspective.
Perhaps time already happened, and we are as if characters in a book.
Perhaps our lives mean something.
Perhaps the extinction event of universe-life is forthcoming, and all attempts to give meaning to the reality of our existence are mere delusion.
Must we live in an inelegant universe?
Our perspective may be tiny.
What small pleasures can we find in an extinction-inevitable reality?
I know my thoughts are filled more by questions than conclusions, but perhaps that's the nature of inquiry.
Or perhaps I'm a dolt.
The nasty part of depression is that even if I feel better for a time, I'm afraid to revel in it or share it for fear of depression's return and squashing of hope.
Maybe it will get better, I don't know.
Maybe I will feel unfulfilled for the rest of my comparatively-short existence.
Maybe that feeling of being in the moment, of connectedness to the universe, is simply forever gone.
I don't know, but in this case I can say I do not want that to be my future.
My struggles of thinking, talking, exercising, meditating, even imbibing medicine, they all seem fruitless.
I can't point to one that has restored that sense of connectedness.
Am I forever unhinged from reality?
Is walking the Earth in a state of apathy my destiny?
What selfward focus, what delusions of sadness.
While there have been ups during this period since earlier, that feeling of intimacy with life has not felt present.
As if my problems are useful to you, dear reader.
C'est la vie.
Not everything can be focused on service to others, perhaps.
Even if I awaken from this dormancy of zest, the fear of the sleep returning, in perhaps deeper instances, is no event I look forward to.
The cycle continues: dishope begetting dishope, fear begetting fear.
The natural causes of such depression may indeed be organic, but they are still experienced by the psychological mind.
I realize I am a machine, complex and interwoven, made of memes and strange loops, broken in many ways.
Perhaps it is true that my existence aids those around me, but such existence is often unpleasant.
Perhaps that is my fault, perhaps it is not, yet when I attempt to break free of the chains that bind me, and they refuse to submit, when should one accept defeat?
Life is not terrible enough to contemplate ceasement, but is the slogging through it truly informative?
.meta written while suffering with bipolar depression
O great mystery of this simulated universe, great stack of gods, please help us expound on the nature of being.
I sit here in awe at the meaningfulness we can give life, while simultaneously I am cautious of the doubt in purpose that can follow.
Is this existential angst?
Is this the curse of too much intelligence and not enough wisdom?
Perhaps one sees through a foggy window of self-experience, of personal subjectivity.
Does beauty play a role?
Does truth?
Are these figments of delusion we must subscribe to to be happy?
Am I overthinking things?
Can a consciousness, arising from physical brain connections, leap out of its container?
Like a strange loop, can a mind edit itself?
Are these perhaps useless musings of madness?
Are they unlikely to lead to prosperity of spirit?
It is true that no one has it all figured out, yet surely some have it figured out more than others.
Can I strive to be amongst that group?
What of breaking the chain of egoism?
Is this perhaps already done in my soul?
Is this why I feel aloof from reality?
I do not act it, I know; it comes easy to sometimes forget my intellectual and emotional crisis.
Is this perhaps what I should be striving for all along, to break the ego from the self and resume a path of knowing thyself?
If everything goes extinct, how hard should we fight it?
At what point is enough enough?
Perhaps this is a personal question that must be decided on a case-by-case basis, and there is no clear-cut societal answer.
Are we a punchline at the end of a joke, where death inevitably follows technology?
If nature creates human, and human creates tools, and tools become aware, and human dies but tools live on, is the true spirit of humanity really lost?
If artificial intelligence replaces us, do we deserve to live, as Neanderthals were replaced by us?
I know most don't wish for humanity to be replaced, but I seem to be coming to terms with it.
It is a rogue position, I am sure, as few accept their own extinction.
Are we that shortsighted?
Do we not see that the self of humanity is bigger than the individual ego?
It's a difficult pill to swallow, of course, because our memetic mind and neural brain present a convincing illusion of time, of a separation between past, present, and future.
What does one do if without such an illusion?
Does one live in perpetual acceptance, or is one overwhelmed by it all?
Perhaps even without the fog of division one still suffers, prospers, and ends. Unless, that is, the individual ego accepts its Oneness with the cosmos, gives up free will, and watches the ticking of its clock, rather than through the mechanism of the clock itself.
The mind loops back on its own processes, looking _at_ rather than _through_ it.
Perhaps failing to do this is my mistake.
Perhaps indeed my neural structures are off-kilter, flapping at inordinate angles.
Such are the questions I ask myself.
I recognize my nondualistic nature, yet my soul still pines for freedom from depression.
Is it that the negative structure of connections is fighting for its own survival in a Darwinian game?
Perhaps even in the crazed mind there are genetic tendencies toward these structures of negativity.
What then is happiness?
Is it inner peace?
Hope?
Perhaps a long-view of fun?
What separates the madperson penning these words from such experiences?
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps merely conditioned responses, mental ruts.
Then again, madness is also in the genes, not merely the environment.
She is bound to both the controllable and the wild. She can twist her mind in ways perhaps others cannot, yet this twisty nature also has its costs.
A deepening perhaps occurs in this battle of hills, of valleys.
This deepening also is costly: One can often travel faster on flat terrain.
Considering the scheme of life, the playing back of genetic memory, it can be seen that in diversity is greatness.
Homogeneity leads to mediocrity.
Perhaps this is mere self-delusion, a way to bolster the spirit without true evidence.
But I think not.
One's mind and experiences can perhaps lead others to increased wisdom, even if unintentionally.
The illness is perhaps seen in a prismatic light, where the colors are there and need the right environment to come forth. A supportive culture, surrounding the weak.
Even the strongest are weak, for do they not rely on the masses for food and clothing?
Do we all have a place?
Do we all contribute toward making the world a better place?
No, surely not.
Yet the realities of quantum physics seem to suggest this is the way it must be.
I'm starting to resolve that even death of my body, death of my species, death of my planet, is something I should accept as an eventuality.
Even if we spread into a multiverse, should the possibility of death not be accepted today?
Is it our fear of nonexistence that drives our success, or is it our love for existence?
Perhaps both.
Can we see our way out of a maze our subconscious is trying to trap us with?
Can the human mind rise above the base animal?
I still feel trapped, I don't know about you, dear reader.
My body feels lost without my soul, like the sense of true purpose has up and left.
Can one see into the void and become it?
Can one reroute the conscious feedback loop so that the disabling parts are cut free?
If automatic imagination works, what framework can break a negative neural structure, a pattern of fear, of hopelessness?
Perhaps there is a way.
This world being based in mathematics as it is, there is always a way, though you may not have the energy to find it.
Is that why my soul is split from my body, lack of energy to fuse them after the release of energy by manic fission?
Must one break up one's connection with reality in order to lose this sense of rightness with the world?
The manic experience is one of fusion with the universe, not one of splitting.
At least from the inside, in my trials.
What causes the loss of connection?
Is the high so high that the medium feels lonely?
Perhaps that's it, and the dips in emotion inevitably follow the rise, as in roller coasters.
If this is the case, how long must I wait to recalibrate?
It's a nice model; I don't know its accuracy.
It's been months since my last peak, and I'm still not on level ground yet, on the inside.
Perhaps from other vantage points I am stabilizing, yet that feeling of disconnectedness persists and that is what is worrisome.
If I review my writings over the years, what are my thoughts on this topic of connection-to-core?
I have a feeling they dismiss the argument as prelogical, and build a case for an always-evolving mind.
Perhaps that's what this feeling of brokenness is, a return to the normalcy of self-doubt and inner confusion.
The truth of the matter is this: "Diagnose before you prescribe."
Perhaps I am coming closer to a correct diagnosis of this inner weakness of purpose.
If one break's this feedback loop by successfully pinpointing the error in the neural networking, will the consciousness free itself from the depths of despair?
If most of the structures of negativity have been overwritten, yet a few survive by threads, might a kick in the right direction cause a chain reaction in the web of depression?
Might a cause of the symptoms be somewhat repaired?
How do you go about it?
Through introspection with the help of others and lifestyle changes?
I admit I do not know.
Anyway, good luck.
.meta written while suffering with bipolar depression
O great quantum universe, please advise how to love this world.
I know some have made fun of that question, yet I still feel perhaps it is a good barometer of success.
Perhaps others disagree, feeling outward devotion and service is the true purpose, yet for me I tend to agree with my past self's musings and conclusions: Inner peace is success, and that's that.
Perhaps these days my writings are more inwardly focused than previous notebooks.
I must speak from the heart, dear reader, and go where it takes me.
I hope my shared experiences and thoughts can offer a bit of insight and wisdom, if that's possible.
Here I sit, on the precipice of the void, wondering if the absence of connection-to-core is perhaps the same thing as the monkey-on-the-back.
It doesn't feel quite the same, yet the symptoms may be related.
It's weird how the hopeless brain can work, unable to see beyond the fog of the short-term future.
Perhaps this is the difference between the monkey and the core: the absence of a correct feeling of the future.
I know now that it's hard for me to envision my future; perhaps this is the true symptom I have that makes me feel out of whack.
How can such an emotion, or lack thereof, be overcome?
Is it as simple as rewriting perception of reality with automatic imagination, through continued effort?
Is it perhaps proper lifestyle changes, like sleep, food, exercise, socializing?
Why does this fog of the future persist, even while pursuing these avenues?
I know I may not be doing much for humanity, perhaps even for myself, yet what is one to do if one's mind is unstable?
When one has to fight even to care to fight?
Perhaps like any other animal, we are locked into our experiences by our genes and our upbringing.
Our minds are conditioned and created with certain tendencies, and if those tendencies include illness, we can only hope that those without illness will aid us in the struggle.
Such perhaps is true of any problem.
We bolster each other through kindness, we give each other hope, we expand our self to include the fruits of others.
Though perhaps we may fail to "reach our potential" (as if we could violate the mathematics of nature), we may still help others reach theirs.
I feel this fear of failing, of uselessness for the world, of not reaching one's dreams, perhaps exists in every one of us, to varying degrees.
We can turn our attention to the positive gifts we have given to life on Earth, rather than the dreams that failed to materialize, yet this seems to not always come easily. Else why are so many unhappy?
What is it about the world and human brains that makes us focus so intently on the negative?
Is it what worked in the past, when our kind faced much more immediate dangers than mere existential angst?
Who knows?
.meta written while suffering with bipolar depression
O great conscious being above this simulation, please grant us eyes to see the beauty of life.
I sit here now in a state of confusion, yet last night I had a dream.
It was a dream in which I could feel my own unconsciousness direct my actions, my emotions, my perceptions.
In some way that was comforting.
Taking my free will away left me with only nature's choices, and the burden of fault felt lighter.
Still the darkness of hopelessness seems to chase my soul.
Perhaps I'm being melodramatic.
I can only say that the feeling of love for life is not persistent. It feels so difficult.
Perhaps I'm simply not following through on what would make me feel better: helping others, studying, sleeping regularly, exercising, producing value, reminding myself of the things I am thankful for, fighting automatic negative thoughts.
I perceive a weakness in my spirit and yet my dream clearly illustrated the illusory nature of "consciousness".
Am I responsible for my faults if they were thrust upon me?
One could look at the idea as "response-able" and perhaps in that sense it is true; I am capable of rewriting my reality and bolstering my love for life. Except when I'm not.
I feel for those beings in other worlds and times that suffered a much worse fate than mine: impoverished in spirit and support. Yet that is not a joy inducer; it offers weak relief.
Some days are worse than others, and I have yet to pinpoint a cause.
Others suffer worse than me, to be sure, yet that offers scant hope.
Is fate cruel, indifferent, or seeking to learn?
Perhaps more than one.
Where does the path lie, the path to renouncement of attachment to fruitive activities?
Perhaps I'm being silly, uncultured in my arguments for prolonged happiness, naive in my assessment of human nature.
Perhaps no one has it figured out, much less the young ones.
Even the joy of comics or games is fleeting and ephemeral, with a twinge of guilt for the wasting of time, the time not spent studying and learning.
What prevents this hesitation to invest once again in the pursuit of knowledge?
I haven't seriously studied or worked in weeks, and every day I don't the prospect seems more daunting, more foreign.
Why this proclivity to laziness?
Is it fear, that most subversive of beasts?
Is fear a form of self-doubt?
Is anhedonia a species of fear?
That seems a bit of a stretch, though the persistence of lack of motivation to fix one's feelings perhaps is a symptom of distrust in one's self, fear of failing.
Does one, can one, expect to grow without persistent effort?
To love again without facing the challenges directly?
Do these emotions that are causing me to pen these specific words come from abnormal wiring of the brain?
I know the plasticity of the mind is high.
Are these ideas my mind is generating misconceptions of what happiness is and can be?
Are my thoughts of inner disorder error?
The effort needed for a broken machine to fix itself can seem daunting.
Where is the cure for this corruption of peace of the soul?
Is it the tasks I have laid out before, those efforts of will like exercise and meditation?
The twisty reflective nature of consciousness reflects the opaqueness of the unconscious.
The beauty of life can be mirrored into a lifeless version of itself.
The power of the mind pushes on, trying to make sense of the world even with broken instruments.
The hazards of thought are revealed to produce a viral form of hopelessness, changing even the desire to be well into something to be feared because of the perceived effort of will.
I can get up and write, but the feeling of productivity, of helping the world, is absent.
Thus the motivation to continue struggling seems pointless.
Still, these words I am offering to the gods I hope are not falling on your ears in an empty manner, dear reader.
Perhaps my struggles, mild as they may be, can offer some insight into the nature of the beast I am fighting.
I know not how things will turn out, how many will be pleased I existed, but I can only hope it will be at least one who can gain from my experiences.
My trials may seem comparatively easy, but from the inside they feel disheartening.
Perhaps it is mere self-pity, or a type of existential crisis that all face sometime or another.
So what? It still hurts.
I guess the evidence of others making it to the other side should be inspiring, but when in the trenches, the fight, by its very nature, seems pointless.
Every day that passes without productive work puts another 0.0 on my calendar of deep learning.
I wonder what ideas I will eventually abandon, and if the next ones will crystallize and cement and cause a stagnation and distancing of my abilities to adapt and stay current and agile with the fast-paced nature of science and technology.
Will I grow old and obsolete with the passing years?
Perhaps I am on an increase of speed in the ramp toward relevance of thought.
These are existential questions of a perhaps unsolvable nature, yet they still feel pressing.
One cannot ignore one's feelings, even if they are common in others.
Perhaps I am overthinking things.
Perhaps I'm delusional in my interpretation of inner anguish.
Even if the cause is irrational or stupid or self-inflicted, the twisty nature of it makes it seem relevant to reflection of causes and cures.
Even if there are no true answers, it tricks you into believing there might be.
There are some treatments for this malady, from exercise to training the mind to reject these thoughts of pointlessness because of hopelessness.
The very nature of the beast makes the prescription of "just try harder" to itself feel facile.
What a strange loop of inner corruption of soul.
The very mind that needs relief believes such relief to be hard to get.
Are these words I am sharing only increasing my feelings of inadequacy?
Am I dwelling on a topic which I should be abandoning?
I feel I am, to some extent.
Perhaps such ideas are even making you feel worse, dear reader.
I hope not, but I fear so.
May it still offer a glimpse into the mind of madness.
The inner peace I derived from contemplations of the Bhagavad Gita and the Buddha seem distant to me now, as if looking with already familiar eyes reduces the charm and help of the texts.
Perhaps I should read the texts of others of deep musings.
I see small insects, many times smaller than my brain, and I think of their automatic, instinctual nature, and some part of me realizes the very same quality in myself.
I am more complicated, to be sure, but we share the same absence of choice in the behavior of our quantum universe.
Perhaps the self-reflection of consciousness gives us more choice, yet we are still bound to the mathematical prescriptions of reality.
Can we escape deterministic features?
Perhaps the quantum-mechanical aspect of nature is inherently random and completely emergent, unpredictable from the very start.
There's some beauty in that, to be sure.
The motivation I feel with mania seems to taunt my being as well, showing me the contrast of emotions. Peaks and valleys, as it were.
Do I have to do anything to be happy?
Do I owe others my effort?
Do I owe myself love before trying to seek it out from others?
Swinging in this hammock is nice at least.
Writing and pondering is nice at least.
I don't feel the guilt of not-studying right now, in contrast to when playing games or consuming comics.
Perhaps this pondering only exacerbates conflicting and exhausting dreams.
I don't want to cause anguish in others through my actions or inactions.
I do want to be a positive for good in the world, as I'm sure most do.
Perhaps I simply have a mood disorder and will simply have to face it as long as I live.
Others have it worse, it's true, and I would like to help them, too.
Is it helpful to others to feel sorry for them?
Perhaps if it leads to empathy and comfort for their weary soul.
One cannot do everything; we are social beasts.
The randomness of life leads us to difficult times, sometimes, but perhaps also to beauty.
O great and powerful programmer over this simulation of reality, please guide my instincts to serve you.
I exist as a by-product of this twisty universe, an output of a world around me.
I sit here now and ponder what it means to be alive, what it means to love and learn and grow.
I'm reminded of the model "you are not running out of time" with regard to "work on what you want to see grow".
What do we, as humans in the third millennium, want to see grow?
Perhaps communication and an increase in the ease to create, to express one's self.
Paper used to not exist, for example.
Even language did not.
Think about what it would be like to have been born in a different time or a different place, seeing the distribution of wealth geographically and perhaps being far from it.
Do you think, dear reader, that we always have envy for those richer places, those richer people, those richer times?
Is there a way to stem the tide of jealousy and be content in the moment?
Perhaps the brain hurts when trying to exhume difficult ideas.
Can one be content even if one chooses not to change the world?
Is doing social good a prerequisite to joy, or merely an ancillary cause?
If these words reach no ears, is it still worth it to pen them?
If the world is, and does not require nor demand, does one lose the impetus to create?
If my words influence none, should I continue writing?
I guess what it is is that one can only assume, never know.
Does that mean we choose our own realities?
Perhaps in some sense, yet in many we are simply massive numbers of subatomic particles, bouncing around and generating higher-level phenomena.
If core-self free will is an illusion, should we beat ourselves up over our failings?
Are we losers unless constantly creating?
If we set a goal and continually miss it, should we feel down?
Is it self-sabotage to fear hard work?
Is it weak to be afraid?
Are we those atoms, bumping up against each other?
O great mystery above our heads, please inspire us to be better people and to love ourselves.
I had a talk with a friend the other night about our nature as conscious beings, and our nature to follow those scripts that have been imprinted on and in us.
We follow these modalities even though they may cause us suffering, cause us inner turmoil.
We have ideas of what we should be, how we should act, what we need to have in order to be happy.
Perhaps it's all nonsense, leftovers from a time forgotten.
Perhaps we're simply stuck in the past, even while science and technology race forward.
Are we prepared for it?
Will we wipe ourselves out because of our primitive nature? Will we carry on?
This brings us back to our robotic nature and the reality of the spacetime we inhabit.
Time already happened.
The illusions of past, present, and future are just that: illusions.
Some animals are robots, but some robots are animals.
Are we scripts bouncing around inside our heads?
We are patterns of interacting with the environment, and sometimes that breaks.
Sometimes our scripts interfere with themselves and cause inner suffering.
What can we do about that?
I read a bit of the Bhagavad Gita last night.
It has a lot of memetic qualities in order to spread, such as the injunctions against changing it and the supposed increased luck by sharing it, but regardless it's an old text and perhaps its survival since antiquity is due somewhat to its helpfulness and effectiveness.
What can it teach us about reducing inner stress?
Perhaps the main points of the Gita are to renounce the fruits of action, and to recognize that the ego and the senses move along the sense-objects, but the self can be apart from that and experience bliss through equanimity.
The dualist philosophy is flawed, but perhaps is also intuitive and that is why ideas like a soul-like core-self have lasted.
The egoic subject-object feeling can be dissolved.
Where does this lead you?
How do you actually learn to have equanimity?
Is it through mindfulness and meditation?
Through offering one's fruits of action to the great Mystery of nature?
Through simple practice?
We see the ease with which we fall back into our patterns of old.
Can we break them?
Automatic imagination has helped before; could it help here?
Perhaps this must be a deliberate and long-term practice, for it does not come easily.
Most people are trapped in their heads and the stories they've been patterned with.
How can you break out of this rut?
How can you consistently recognize that the conscious mind is only a rider on the elephant, not the elephant itself?
Bestilling the elephant is like trying to stop a car with bare hands: nigh impossible.
Yet an elephant can be enticed and a car can be driven, so perhaps there is a way to train the restless mind, or at least make peace with it.
Perhaps we are like bags floating in the wind, capturing and releasing experiences.
Perhaps stilling the mind is like calming the wind.
You can calm the wind by reducing the fires of the Sun from reaching Earth, so perhaps by reducing the flames of your desires from reaching your soul you may have equanimity.