Category Archives: Contemplative Practices

How to Save the World: Individualism to Community

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My biggest takeaways from the course The Political Ecology of Death in the Anthropocene mainly came from our lively and engaging class discussions. One of the main, most pivotal thoughts that often came to the forefront of my mind during this class, was how the fear of death in Western society often provokes the cultural worldview of individualism. Therefore, my final synthesis paper explored this thought and the ramifications of it particularly relating to the Anthropocene.

This thought connected to the course content in multiple ways. One was through the contemplative practices. As stated in my previous blog post, I struggled to connect with the contemplative practices through this course, as I often found myself distracted by the productive cycle of the Western education system. However, this made me question how inextricably hard it is for participants in the capitalist system to be comfortable with the notion of ‘doing nothing’. This is linked to Terror Management Theory, as doing nothing, or sitting with your own mind for a second is contradictory to the productivity cycle of a worldview dominated by individualism. As most in the US, have this worldview, either as a choice or an indirect indoctrination by the institutions built upon it, when we do not conform to the capitalist system, we feel closer to death.

So, what is the solution? How do we live? The action project in this class allowed me to appreciate the idea of community. As someone who has not participated in a group project since secondary school, I forgot about the value of social connection within a classroom. In our increasingly isolated society, community is rare but increasingly more important. The fear of death is something inextricably linked with human behaviour, but by finding immortality projects within community action rather than individual prosperity, there can be a shift in cultural narratives. In Active Hope, this is spoken about regarding shifting the notion of power from being a dominating force to a collaborative one. Individualism in our society causes so much destruction, it can be linked to the mental health crisis, the ecological crisis and may even be the downfall of our civilisation. However, with a shift in our cultural worldview, from individual to community, this may be the shift we need in order to save humanity.

A John Berger quote, in a ‘meme’ format that I think beautifully describes how lonely our society can become when it is dictated by individualism, how social connection is craved, and how this relates to the fear of death.

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Parallel to Climate Politics

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Walking around a room with 18 other people, eyes on the floor, lights off, mind adrift in thoughts of death, climate change, and politics, was a confounding experience.

My takeaways from this strange contemplative practice did not become clear until days later. In the moment, the practice seemed somehow ironic and meaningful, yet I could not understand why. I now see my experiences in this practice as almost representing or paralleling the politics of climate change.

Mindfulness among the masses. Image Credit: Unknown

With our eyes on the ground, I felt overwhelmed. Listening to Karen’s descriptions of the world, I felt helpless in the face our extensive problems. There is so much to unpack, not enough time, and I don’t even know where to start. Amongst all these other shoes walking around the floor, how can anything I do be significant? How can I sway people to my side if we all come from different backgrounds, have different priorities, and live in a polarized playground where everything is black and white, or so gray in between that it is unintelligible? This overwhelming feeling is matched in the politics of climate change. It is such an extensive issue that leaders and individuals have no idea where to start or how to help. This overwhelmingness is dangerous because it can lead to stalling on solutions, and inaction which could effectively cause voluntary human extinction.

When we lifted our eyes to acknowledge each other I struggled to remain serious. I found the reality of 19 of us aimlessly wandering the tiny classroom, trying not to hit each other, while listening to poems about death funny. Sort of a “laugh because otherwise you’ll cry” response. This reaction is similar to how many people handle the climate crisis—they don’t take it seriously. They laugh because it is a wild idea that humans could unintentionally cause so much destruction and death while wandering the earth industrializing. They ignore it, because if they believe that there is nothing they can do, then it is better to laugh and cherish what they have while they are alive, rather than to get lost in a spiral of despair waiting to die.

In this practice I felt myself putting on a face for my peers. I couldn’t just acknowledge them with an honest expression of my feelings because that would have been too vulnerable. I felt like I had to smile, exaggerate my expressions, and communicate a false narrative. This, too, is similar to the politics of climate change. World leaders go to climate conferences and exaggerate their actions and intentions, project their virtue and strength, and hide their vulnerability and honest reality of confusion and disaster. We want to die with pride, and for our largely old politicians, acknowledging a problem would mean dying guilty.

Bonn, Germany Climate Conference. Image Credit: UNFCC

Why Won’t My Brain Shut Up?

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When we first started contemplative practices, I couldn’t focus. My mind has a habit of wandering. I find myself lost in streams of consciousness, daydreaming, dissociating – whatever you want to call it, I cannot focus on a thought. When told to close my eyes in a dark room in the morning, my brain rushes – when told to think of one thing, it tries even harder to think of something else. Specifically, when asked to think about my death and mortality, I want to think about it and try to, but I struggle to produce fluid thoughts. What comes out is fragmented notions of what I think I should think about death rather than anything connected to an actual feeling.

I constantly feel distracted, and the contemplative practices have often only exacerbated it. So, why won’t my brain shut up? Why is it continually running from something, like it is afraid to take a break like it is afraid it won’t come back on again? I can tie my fear of death to

‘Busy Brain’ stock image represents the way capitalist productivity infiltrates the human mind.

my experiences with contemplative practices. I am constantly distracted as if my brain is allowed to settle for a second, and I just do nothing, my mind no longer feels as if I am living a fulfilling life. In Western capitalist society specifically, it is not common to just do nothing. The way society functions are through extreme productivity, individualism and competition, meaning you cannot sit and think, you cannot do nothing, and you cannot contemplate. Once you do, you are no longer a meaningful part of society.

In The Worm at the Core, Terror Management Theory explains that people are constantly craving distraction, either consciously or subconsciously, from their looming mortality. To subscribe to this, they chase a cultural worldview that fills them with a sense of self-worth. Western capitalism plays into this model extremely easily. Using contemplative practices to face this, therefore, seems beneficial, so why has it still been extremely difficult for me? Am I too caught up in the cycle of productivity that my mind will not contemplate? Is my mind too indoctrinated with the Western capitalist system? Or is it rather the contemplative practice itself that will not work in a classroom, in a university, that is entirely orientated around productivity and capitalist prosperity?

Living Statues

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As an athlete, I have had the opportunity to do contemplative practices all the time. In my “athletic world”, a lot of the times, these practices have the name of race visualizations. Me and my boat would gather the night before the race, close our eyes relax and have our coxswain (the person that give the directions in the boat) “walk” us through the whole process of getting to the start line, race and finishing the race. The say that for the brain it is like you are actually doing the race. That practice prepares you in a mental way so you can keep your emotions in control the day of the race. “Your body will do whatever you command, it is the brain you need to convince”, that is a phrase that we hear all the time in my sport and it is said so when we start experiencing severe pain from how hard we are pushing, we keep pushing harder. We push so hard that a lot of rowers pass out after races. That keeps reminding me how powerful the brain is. I am glad that we get the opportunity to reflect on the contemplative practices we do in class. I really feel more connected to the present in every practice but there was one that really got my attention. Some weeks go, we did a standing practice. After standing we had to walk but only looking down, making zero eye contact for some minutes, just us and our thoughts, so alone in a room full of people. It was just like everyday life, walking around the campus while looking on our phones, taking for granted the moments and the people that walk past us. After walking around in the class looking down, we were told to start making eye contact. After so many weeks of class with these people, iIt was like I was meeting everyone for the first time. We would look each other and giggle for no reason, something so pure that almost made me feel like a kid again. I saw the smiles of some people in the class for the first time. On the documentary we saw last week, “Journey of the Universe”, there was a part that it was talking about living among statues and how it changes our self perception. And that go me wondering, if we take a moment to actually notice the world, by seeing all people running through their lives and be these moving “statues” what can change in our consciousness and self conception?

Chocolate and Chip

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During our most recent contemplative practice, which Professor Litfin recorded for us to listen to over Thanksgiving break, I took some time to reflect on where my holiday meal came from.

My aunt hosted our annual family dinner this year, so we were incredibly lucky to enjoy potatoes, green beans, eggs, and various fruits straight from her farm. But some of our food, like the turkey, needed to be bought from the grocery store. That turkey is what (or who) I thought most about during the contemplation exercise. Specifically, I considered what that turkey’s life must have been like before it ended up on our table. The article we read last month about slaughterhouses (Working Undercover in a Slaughterhouse: an interview with Timothy Pachirat) had a profound impact on my thought process.

As the article points out, death is widely normalized in our culture, but, at the same time, we all take great care to willingly ignore it. Deep down, I’m sure my family and I all understood that the turkey on our table had suffered for most of its life. It probably lived in awful conditions in a factory farm, where it was forcefully fattened up and bludgeoned to death, all for some family to eat in celebration of a holiday whose origins are rife with much of the same exploitation and violence. This reality is not one that many of us want to think about, but it’s one I forced myself to confront to help me be more appreciative of the (unwilling) sacrifice that animal made.

(Photo by Win McNamee/Getty Images)

After gaining this clarity, I found myself thinking back to Thanksgiving morning, when President Biden officially pardoned Chocolate and Chip at the White House (pictured right). When I was watching this event, I felt joy that these turkeys would go on to live happily and healthily for many more years. However, I’ve realized instead that our country has this tradition of sparing the life of one or two turkeys every Thanksgiving merely to obfuscate those we’d rather not see.

In closing, I am thankful for the many insights I have gained throughout this quarter from our weekly contemplative practices, and as this class comes to an end, I am beginning to realize the positive impact they have had on me. Setting aside some time to just sit with my thoughts is something I plan to do more of in the future.

We are Social Creatures

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I’ve always found contemplative practices to be a frustration that I endure rather than something beneficial. No matter how hard I try, I often can’t even fully register what is being said by the person guiding the practice, and my thoughts will jump everywhere except where I want them to be. I find myself having not a single helpful thought when it’s just me by myself trying to look inwards.

 For our contemplative practices specifically, I wonder if my lack of connection with them is my own personal TMT come to life. Our practices are often heavy and full of mortality and death. Perhaps I am subconsciously choosing not to engage with them so I don’t have to face my own death anxiety? On a similar train of thought, maybe I just don’t like being alone with my thoughts. Maybe the topics we cover in this class are simply too heavy and big to bear alone. By nature, we are social creatures, and I personally value group discussions and group learning when faced with the monumental challenges we’ve covered in class.

The one contemplative practice that did really work for me was one we did in a group of three taking on different perspectives (everything is great, everything is terrible, and everything is as it is). After each perspective we shared about what we were feeling. It was interesting to me how the thoughts that I was so firm on in my own head were drastically changed and shifted by my group mates when they shared their ideas. I discovered that we all have deep rooted anxieties and fears about death and the state of the world, but that we all think about them differently, and all come to the same conclusion: we want to do something about it.

This contemplative practice made me realize that we all inherently fear death and for the future of our civilization, but it’s not as heavy of a burden to carry when you talk about it with others. At the end of the day, it’s important to be able to sit with your own thoughts, but it’s equally, if not more important, to talk about them and experience them with others. We are a social species, and so contemplating the problems that we face shouldn’t be a solitary experience.

A rather cheesy, yet appropriate graphic from Ben & Jerry’s

Contemplation and Learning a New Way to Learn

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I’ve come to realize these past several months that I don’t really understand what internalization is–I’ve always thought of it as a means of assimilating our realities into our being, but I had never understood what that process looks like until this class. Contemplation and our contemplative practices have given me merely a glimpse into how this process can be. Learning for me has always been a surface level of information absorption in which I would take in information and memorized via rote practicing until I had “understood” it. However, I never bothered to figure out the “why” or “how” something was the way it was. Through contemplation, I was able to engage with the material on a deeper level, mobilizing my emotions and even my physical body to also learn.

One of the most impactful contemplative practices that we had done was one in which Karen walked us through taking different perspectives:

  1. One that believes that the world is progressively getting worse, and that our future is bleak–a sort of pessimistic worldview.
  2. One that believes that the world is great and is healing–a more optimistic outlook.
  3. Finally, one that is indifferent to the world, and takes everything as it is–acceptance.

In each of these practices, it was notably hard to focus as these perspectives are particularly disparate. Each one was accompanied with its own set of emotions and physical reactions. When we were instructed to take on the first perspective, I had felt a lot more tense than before, and my mind started to become inundated with worrisome thoughts. In contrast, the second perspective galvanized me, and made me feel a rush of gratitude and a desire to feel active.

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I began to apply this thinking to Active Hope and I found that the disagreements that I had with the seemingly pointless steps to achieve progress had converted to curiosity through these practices. Our discussions have become less abstract for me, and contemplation has allowed me to feel what people were saying and what I was seeing on a very deep, personal level.

While these practices have been insightful, I do have my reservations about them. For a good amount of them, I found myself lost in my own mind and unable to really grapple with what Karen was saying. Nevertheless, these practices have been enriching, and I hope to continue exploring these practices.