Introspection: A Challenge in and of Itself

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I struggled a lot with this blog post. I wanted badly to write about how much insight I have gained from the contemplative practices, because I see that so many of my classmates love them. In all honesty, I find it extremely difficult to focus during contemplative practices and I cannot remember any particular practice or what thoughts it sparked in me. The noise of the fan and the persistent discomfort of my chair against my back alone are enough to completely prevent me from entering into introspection. I feel that I would gain more by journaling responses to some of the prompts presented in our contemplative practices. I also gain more self-awareness and insight about my place within systems when I am in conversation with someone else or when I can synthesize materials from one course with content from another. For example, I gained a lot of insight on Limberg and Barnes’ piece about “Culture War 2.0” when I mentioned it in a discussion in my Spanish seminar, because we were able to consider how it might apply to cultures within Latin America and I was able to spend more time thinking about how I might play into one or more of those “tribes.”

Still, I believe and respect that the practices are fruitful for others who find it easier to quiet their minds and who are less distracted by the abundance of sensory inputs with which daily life barrages us. I do think that inner work is an important component in activism and in retraining our brains, should we find that our ingrained beliefs do not align with our values. I agree with the assertion in Schley’s “Sustainability: The Inner and Outer Work” that our emotions can give us feedback which can inform the potential direction of our individual and collective efforts to create change, and that inner work helps people recognize the qualities and attitudes necessary to make a difference. I also think that healthy emotional regulation would be crucial to any radical, positive social movement or reorganization, as with this come empathy and resilience. For many people, contemplative practice and meditation are helpful for such regulation. In the meantime, I will continue to put effort into trying to adapt the practices to my needs to see if I am able to gain more going forward.

(Michael Menchaca). This artist’s work deserves attention for its intended purpose, but I include it here because I find it to be overwhelming and for me it is a visual representation of how my mind feels during contemplative practices.

Getting in the Moment of the Anthropocene

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The contemplative practice: the unified act of a small group of students closing their eyes to reflect on the hard subjects of the Anthropocene. These practices are supposed to be meditative, accessing different wavelengths of the brain. For the most part, all my early experiences with them have been lackluster in terms of how they affected me inwardly. I saw them more as a respite from my long commute and my active, sometimes anxious mind. The subject matters of this class never really hit me emotionally, that is, I don’t think I was ever shaken to the core. Even the hard subjects, like from the film Albatross, were simply emotions for me to experience. I would acknowledge them, my emotions, but I would move past them, so to speak. I wouldn’t let them bring me down. I’m an optimistic person, always have been. I think it’s just in my personality. I live by the moment. I can’t think of the what-ifs like a terrorist getting ahold of nuclear weapons from a destabilized Pakistan or a disruption from Saudi Arabia’s oil supply causing “a social earthquake,” as Thomas Homer-Dixon put it. 

My view of life is sort of a flexible one. Often, my days look pretty much the same, but given the chance, I will change with the wind. I, for example, never thought I would see myself maintaining my relative sanity commuting so many hours each day. I managed it by living in the moment, and eventually, about halfway through the quarter, I took that philosophy of living in the moment to the contemplative practice. I finally allowed myself to relax, instead of rest. My posture was usually sluggish, slouching slightly. During one of the practices, I decided to sit up straight, and strangely more important, I kept my feet flat on the ground. I don’t know why, maybe it makes me closer to the Earth, but there is something about keeping my feet flat on the ground that allowed me to be more in a meditative state. Through this contemplative practice and others, I began to realize that living in the moment is one thing, but striving to live further and deeper into the moment is another. I am living in the Anthropocene—and I am learning to die in the Anthropocene. The Anthropocene is a moment in time that I am learning to live in, every second of it.

https://movementmonthly.com/2015/05/01/keep-your-feet-on-the-ground-the-key-to-staying-vertical/

Sapience and contemplation

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The contemplative practices are reflective of the general themes of the class. Whereas the class is interdisciplinary, the contemplative practices integrate meditation, introspection, literary analysis, and group discussion. This introspective behavior is uniquely human, allowing us to disconnect ourselves from the moment and consider any number of possibilities. As discussed in the book The Worm at the Core, human evolution has led to two particular relevant capacities, a high degree of self-awareness and the ability to think in terms of the past, present, and future. The result of such is to integrate both the past and potential futures into our perspective while making decisions and analyzing ourselves and the world around us.

Even when the direction and focus of contemplative practice itself is fairly irrelevant, certain aspects are highly relevant to the overarching themes of the class. As was further discussed in The Worm at the Core, it is the aforementioned capacity to think about in term of the past, present, and future is what leads to the understanding that we will inevitably die. This awareness is uniquely human is the sense that it is present even in the absence of an immediate threat and has a pervasive influence on our attitudes and behavior. The introspective element which enables such is present in the contemplative practices and allows us an opportunity to examine how death influences our own perspectives and behavior.

It has been stated that some others are reaping some benefit from the contemplative practices, but in my experience they have contributed less than nothing, actively devaluing my time spent in a class I paid to attend. This is congruent with my previous experiences with meditation, but contrary to my experiences with introspection. Whereas the latter allows me to form a better understanding of my own perspectives and how my cognition may be being influenced, the former has always struck me as an egregious waste of time without the potential for any sort of benefit to be derived from its practice. The introspection within the contemplative practices tends towards such without tangible benefit, benefiting me neither within or without the class. Were the sessions to be more focused on furthering our understanding of the class topics, I would be relatively contented. As a result of the aforementioned issues, combined with how limited my time has been this quarter, I am left with naught but frustration following the contemplative practices.

References:
Solomon, S., Greenberg, J., & Pyszczynski, T. A. (2015). The worm at the core: On the role of death in life.

Saint Jerome Writing by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio

Contemplation as an Antidote to Fear

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These days, I’m some form of anxious or scared almost all of the time. And while I could chalk this up to an anxiety disorder, or some other deep-seated biochemical imbalance, I think that it has more to do with what I study. 

For the past few years, I’ve spent most of my days thinking about death, dying, and endings. In my classes, we talk about climate change, which many of my professors and classmates theorize will lead to the fall of our civilization. After school, I go to the geoarchaeology lab and pick through the remains of a society that has fallen, trying to understand my ancestors from 60,000 years ago. I think about the shaky undergraduate assistant who may, 60,000 years from now, pick apart my life, and try to understand why my civilization has fallen. She’ll analyze every mistake we’ve made and every sign we’ve ignored. And of course, these thoughts of societal death follow me home.

This deep-seated fear I hold over the inevitable fall of our civilization can get overwhelming, and contemplative practices have been incredibly useful to me in managing this. I was scared at first, because I thought that thinking more deeply about death, in a space with no distractions, would worsen my anxiety. And, initially it did–the first few contemplative practices I participated in left me feeling off-kilter and overwhelmed.

But, over the past few weeks, contemplation on death has become my form of terror management–the concept described in Solomon, Greenberg, and Pyszczynski’s “The Worm at the Core,” as the way in which people cope with the looming terror of death. Contemplative practices allow me to center myself by sinking more deeply into my fears, but also help me to better feel connection to my physical self, which in turn quiets my mind. They entice me to focus on my present experience as a time of abundance and possibility, instead of eventual doom. And this shift in perspective has lessened my fears and, therefore, enhanced my ability to connect more meaningfully with the coursework. As Walt Whitman writes of perspective in “A Song of the Rolling Earth,”

“I swear the earth shall surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete! 

I swear the earth remains broken and jagged only to him or her who remains broken and 

Jagged!”

 

This is an image my friend took of me while caving in Washington recently. During the trip, we sat down, turned out the lights, and did a short contemplative practice together in the thick darkness just listening to our breathing and thinking about where we were within the earth. Afterward, we found that we had both calmed down significantly–contemplating in a focused way on the danger and the physical actualities of our experience helped us to cope with the fear we felt.

 

The Value of Giving Yourself a Moment to Absorb and Reflect

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To be completely frank, this blog post has been the most difficult for me to wrap my mind around. I rarely take notes on what is said and thus I have little content to reference, but I can reference my emotions and impact the contemplative practices have had upon my learning. Facing the Anthropocene can often be extremely draining when hearing of the heartbreaking damage caused upon the planet, seen in the Albatross documentary where fledgling birds lose their lives to our pollution, as well as quite possible collapse of life as we have come to know it. When speaking, reading, and writing about such grim and guilt-causing topics the heart and mind can quickly become overwhelmed. This is why I believe in the crucial nature of the contemplative practices which allow one to truly reflect upon what we have absorbed from class and quell the anxiety that causes the denial that plagues the human race. Being in tune with the room and each other grounds the material and reminds you that everyone present is likely experiencing similar emotions. The contemplative practices prevent me personally from checking out when the material reaches depressing topics. As someone who struggles with anxiety every day the contemplative moments allow my racing thoughts to slow so I may truly grasp class concepts. Again my apologies for the lack of references, but I believe that the point of the practices is not to take notes but instead feel the forces that connect all of us and allow yourself to embrace them.

These images all portray how meditation, mindfulness, and contemplation affect the brain and its reception of information as well as health.

https://www.lionsroar.com/this-is-your-brain-on-mindfulness/https://www.realsimple.com/health/mind-mood/mindfulness-improves-brain-health-neuroplasticityhttps://mashable.com/article/adhd-mindfulness-meditation

The Beauty of Stillness

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Throughout this course, we have discussed the ways that the fear of death unconsciously drives many of our life decisions. Buddhist teacher Chögyam Trungpa argues that “we must examine (this fear) through meditation” and if “we look closely, we’ll see basic goodness… at the core of our experience”. After engaging in these contemplative practices, I can understand the combative effect of mindful meditation. 

I have often struggled to feel gratitude for the present moment. Instead, I yearn for the day that follows or ache for the day that has passed. This brings me to my reflection on the contemplative practices that we have participated in this quarter. I initially struggled with the stillness that accompanies these contemplative practices. In the past, I have found that keeping myself busy is the best aid to my anxiety, so this stillness felt uncomfortable. Contemplative practices have allowed me to become comfortable with stillness and feel more connected to my role as a human in the Anthropocene. 

In our most recent practice, I found myself reflecting on how it feels to be a human living in the Anthropocene. I began to focus on the appreciation I had for my body as I sat still on the ground. I reflected on the great power and responsibility that comes with the human experience. I focused on my gratitude to the natural world as I gazed out onto the beautiful campus I get to call home. And most notably, I was with myself in the present moment. 

The course material we study can be disheartening. It is difficult to hear the ways that humanity has destroyed our beautiful earth. However, taking the time to reflect on the beauty of the world through contemplative practices has been an aid to the often-heavy material we discuss. I have been reflecting on the writers of Active Hope’s argument, that “it is too easy to go on unconsciously contributing to the unraveling of our world. We become part of the story of the Great Turning when we increase our awareness, seek to learn more, and alert others to the issues we all face.” Through these contemplative practices, I have begun to feel the power that I have as a human in the Anthropocene. I have a burning desire to become a part of the Great Turning, rather than sit back in complacency as I watch the unraveling of our earth. 

https://theconversation.com/nows-the-time-to-rethink-your-relationship-with-nature-151641

WE ARE NATURE – LIVING IN THE ANTHROPOCENE

biscotto87, et al. “Meditation Stock Illustrations.” IStock, https://www.istockphoto.com/illustrations/meditation.

 

Contemplative Practices, Healing Through Self-Awareness : Annie’s Reflection

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I had never used contemplative practices as a daily routine in my life – up until I began this course. I never was the type of person to prioritize the transformative experience of focusing on oneself. I was skeptical at first, not knowing if I was going to gain a deeper understanding of these practices. I still nonetheless enjoyed taking time during class to fully give myself space to be. Once I became comfortable, with being uncomfortable sitting across from newly acquainted people I began to look forward to this time. I first experienced a sense of observation, as I counted each inhale and exhale from my breath. I felt connected. 

I began to reflect on Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Law that Marries All Things”, and specifically his line, “the cloud is free only to go with the wind.” This freedom to be, and become who we are has stuck with me as we delved deeper into contemplative practice. A freedom I often took for granted. But for me, my understanding of freedom also connected my heightened awareness of death. Our course material has helped bridge the gap between life and death. I think specifically of our reading by Mark Lynas,  “The God Species: Saving the Planet in the Age of Humans,”  How we as individuals have crossed the planetary boundaries and entered into an egotistical system that rules above all other life. I found myself feeling rage after reading this piece. Through this feeling, however, I was able to find inspiration. Contemplative practice has helped me fuel my anger. By enforcing the idea that we do need to check with our individual self. This could be impactful towards making substantial environmental change. We must analyze our physical and emotional connection to the Earth. 

Once in class, we were asked if the course material had begun to weigh on any of us. I felt strongly that I had noticed a change in my emotional being upon starting this course. It was until we had read “Gravity’s Law” by Rainer Maria Rilke, that I felt as if I could deeply accept this weight I was feeling. “If we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees.” The fire inside of me felt sparked once again, to enact change and find healing amidst the inevitability of our dying system. 

Connection To, or Knowledge Of?

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In reflection, I am grateful for the epistemological shift facilitated by the contemplative practices this quarter. Because of the emotional and intellectual breadth and depth of our course materials, I’ve had greater access by way of building connection to the material than through my attempts to “grasp” it. To this end, the contemplative practice has been very helpful. I doubt very much that I’ll ever really know Death, or (beyond a comically reduced synopsis), understand the convergent processes which together constitute the Anthropocene. Instead, my best work and healthiest responses come about through exploration of my relationship to these concepts.

As we watched Journey of the Universe in class, I was struck by the implication that human “insight” is causally linked to (and therefore inextricable from) the physical and biological processes of the universe. Rather than something generated or contained within me, awareness may simply arise there. Consciousness, by this model, is an emergent property of a system. While conceptually I can muster a dim understanding of this, I can more wholly come into a felt experience of it. I’ve been primed to accept this sense through awareness of breath – like the breath, a thought or a feeling can arise, interact with my body, and return, changed, to the broader system. Instead of repository, I can frame myself as a conduit for information.

I consider this in relation to philosopher Timothy Norton’s definition of hyperobjects – explained in this blurb as “entities of such vast temporal and spatial dimensions that they defeat traditional ideas about what a thing is in the first place”. He offers climate change as the ultimate example; I would argue that “death” or “Anthropocene” also qualify. As “things” in themselves, these concepts are too massive for me to contain intellectually, and the concept of managing them is absurd. I can, instead, cultivate a relationship with the hyperobject. How does awareness of it arise in me? What does it do when it lands? And how can that awareness return, changed, to the broader system? Because it facilitates this relational engagement, I see contemplative practice as a path out of overwhelm and isolation in the face of the planetary hyperobjects with which we engage in this course.

 

The aquarium in my home is a system whose parts I do not fully understand, but instead define relationally.

 

The Space Between the Earth and the Stars: Mahika’s Thoughts on Gravity

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My dad and I like to go star gazing. We drive out to central Washington in the middle of the night, he sets up his wide-angle camera lens and fine tunes his long exposure settings, and I lay on the ground in a parking lot. When I look at the stars, I like to imagine that instead of looking up, I am looking down – suspended in space, held close by the Earth. “Gravity’s Law” by Rainer Maria Rilke makes me feel the same way.

During our contemplative practices, I have pushed myself to sit quietly and think deeply about poems and my personal responses to them, both intellectually and emotionally. I’ve always wanted to be a poetry person – the idea of lyrical verses and esoteric metaphors seems romantic, and poetry is such a valuable medium used to communicate beyond simply the literal words on the page. Somehow, though, I’ve never gotten the chance to devote motivated and genuine time to its study. Through the contemplative practices, I have been able to connect the poems we read to the class material as well as to my own life. Rilke’s instructions to ground ourselves and “trust in our heaviness” – emphasizing the collective pronouns – remind me of the innate connections we have discussed between the human experience and the biosphere. I think about Avi Solomon’s piece “Working Undercover in a Slaughterhouse” and wonder how we ever became so disconnected in the first place.

And the contemplative practices could truly not have come at a better time. Going into this school year feeling confused about my future but particularly connected to the Earth after a summer spent outdoors, I wasn’t sure how contemplative practices would help me find my way. But sure enough, the moment I began thinking about the grounding feeling of the floor beneath my feet, and the constant embrace of gravity, I felt less lost. When anxious or stressed I often feel as if there are far too many things to ever control, but simply focusing on the comforting force always pulling me down makes it easier. Though our group contemplative practices only last a short ten weeks, I will take the grounding processes with me far beyond this class, into my interactions with the Earth, the sky, and other people.

One of my dad’s Milky Way photographs, and an example of the intimate relationship between Earth, stars, us, and the gravitational forces that bind us all

Introspection: the Antidote to Capitalism

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Though I believed I had come to terms with my mortality, the contemplative practices in class helped me wander through depths I had not previously thought to explore. As an immigrant to this country, my family relied strongly on the value of hard work, and the ability to reap the fruits of your labor in America. As a result, I became invested in the allure of Capitalism, while still having concerns over its inherent inequality. This is a commonly explored topic in the book, Learning to Die in the Anthropocene. Though the new carbon-based economic system has provided an increased amount of riches and improved quality of life, there seems to be evident winners and losers. The author explains that cheap, efficient, labor has become the cornerstone of our society with a reverse in our carbon usage to mitigate climate change, nearly impossible. 

When reflecting on this during one of our contemplative practices, I tried to imagine what my life could look like without the riches of Capitalism. Somehow, having close to nothing seemed like it would provide me with a sense of intrinsic happiness like no other. However, I would still need to have some sense of security in living which would require a foundation of wealth. Through these practices, I tried to envision societies that may not be rooted in excessive wealth but in meeting necessities. If my fundamental needs were met, I would be able to truly immerse myself in activities that would help me gain the most value out of my life.

One of Walt Whitman’s poems reads: “human bodies are words, myriads of words, in the best poems re-appears the body”. I reflected on this in another contemplative practice. I filtered memories in the past where I have felt genuinely fulfilled. I realized that these were when I created art, poems, and stories that encapsulated my ideas at the time. I thought of singers and writers whose works are remembered well beyond their passing, and it dawned upon me that I could leave a legacy of my own (admittedly, at a much smaller scale). It is possible that others may be reassured by this as well. I believe that spreading contemplative practices to the masses is a partial antidote to Capitalism; it may only be with true introspection that we as a society may begin to internalize the limit to our quest for materialistic wealth.