Category Archive

Risk makes us feel alive.

Playa Tortuga on Culebrita, Puerto Rico

This past week I enjoyed a fantastic Puerto Rican vacation in waking life and a beautiful romance in dreams. Only one of them “happened”, but both are now only memories.

If everyone buried their head in the sand, nearly all of our problems would disappear.

Passionless encounters induce boredom.

When we think about a possible future we anticipate.

When we think about an impossible future we fantasize.

Sometimes we fantasize about things that could be but never will, and other times our fantasies are so improbable that they may as well be impossible.The boundary between anticipation and fantasy is often unclear because the future is uncertain.

Sometimes I wonder if consciousness is no more than a linguistic illusion.

I keep returning to a thought from July:

Every event occurs somewhere between anticipation and memory.

Boris recently commented along these lines as well:

Consciousness is rooted in the past, I think.

Anticipation, in a sense, acts as a projected memory: we think about how we will remember an event.

Separation lets us see familiarity in new ways.

We learn incredible things from others simply by listening and observing.

Idle hours spent alone create boredom. But idleness in a tribe or community is priceless.

Off in Augusta for my Uncle’s wedding!

Not all good things need to be re-encountered.

No change is lasting until it permeates the subconscious.

When we use an object frequently it often appears to almost develop a personality.

In memory of 66,000 miles over the past 8 years in my 1992 Accord–and toward an automobile-free existence.

Things we regularly encounter do not often strike us as bizarre.

Back in State College.

We can always recognize qualities in ourselves, even if no descriptive categories or labels exist.

Every event occurs somewhere between anticipation and memory.

It is our perception, not our clocks, that determines the length of each memory.

The echo lives longer than the source.

Can we always dismiss coincidence as accidental?

No matter how busy we are, we experience moments of solitude every day. Whether extended or brief, frequent or occasional, it is part of being human to pause and reflect upon the story that we live.

When you’ve let the past heal, the present becomes quite rewarding.

The concept of savagery is no longer fashionable; but it is impossible to escape our primal nature, which we encounter continually every day.

Satire is one of the highest art forms.

The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world by deciphering and interpreting its inner qualifications and thus adds his contribution to the creative act.

Marcel Duchamp

I can’t stop listening to Frank Zappa, and I have no idea why.

Always be sure you like what you see in the mirror.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

Matthew 6:25-6

Some stories in life have a definite beginning and ending, while others have nebulous boundaries. With the later, we often do not recognize that there even was a story–until we begin to tell it for the first time.

Some experiences make a lasting impression and create a memory.

Other experiences are intense and short-lived and leave no memory. If we created memories of these events, they would cease to be significant.

Writing produces a permanency of thought: it cannot be forgotten, because it is a record. Talking produces only a memory, as the thoughts dissipate into the air. For recreating an idea or experience, writing is more suitable.

But often, talking is a better choice.

Memories are faded experiences.

During an experience, there are physical and mental responses to stimuli that create the moment of the event–brain chemistry, muscle response, sensory input, and the like all contribute to the total experience. When the moment ends, however, these stimuli fade away, leaving only a memory. A memory recounts these stimuli, but it is not identical to them.

Some experiences are more intense than others, which can lead to a lingering experience; that is, a powerful experience may have effects that last beyond the moment of the experience. Sometimes this is a simple physical response, such as adrenaline remaining high shortly after an exertion. Other times the response is more complex. In any case, when the lingering traces of this response disappear, recollection of the experience becomes a memory.

In theory, it should be possibly to have a significant enough experience that its effects never dwindle. Such an event would never become a memory because the effect and response is everlasting.

When the end is definite and near, it is easy to focus on every individual moment up to this point–but since the end is known, we know the memories will be what is left.

The loss of enumeration is an indicator of familiarity.

I remember when the Mall of America first opened. I kept track of the number of times I went to the mall at first, but after the 7th or 8th trip I lost count. After this, trips to the mall became less unique because it was now a more familiar site. But it is not as if #9 is any more difficult to count than #8; it is simple to increment a counter to keep track of a number of occurrences. For some reason, when familiarity comes the counting process diminishes in importance. It wasn’t that I couldn’t keep track of these trips; it was simply that it was no longer important.

I have noticed that this is true for a lot of other experiences in life. Not all experiences lose their enumeration after the same number of occurrences, but it seems to me that this point is often reached by #10.

Home is where your stuff is.

That’s why temporary living places for short time periods don’t quite seem like home–often you don’t take all your stuff with you.

But home is also where your memories are. So even if you have all your stuff, a new place doesn’t seem like home until you’ve made some memories. In the same way, even if you have settled in somewhere new, the place you grew up feels like home because of all the memories that were formed there.

Leaving my home in PA to go home to MN.

Sometimes in life there are certain moments that carry a tremendous energy or power. Often my experiences of this kind are musical, but these moments are certainly not limited to music. The strange thing about these powerful moments is that it is not something that is easily recreated. Musicians can rehearse to remove the likelihood of error, but this only ensures that the music sounds good–not that these high-energy bursts occur. Familiarity with the instruments and fellow musicians improves the probability of experiencing one of these powerful moments, but it can never guarantee that they will occur with any frequency. Even the most talented professional musicians experience these moments during performances and practices.

These musical experiences are something I can remember vividly, but it is impossible to dictate the steps leading to their recreation. They simply occur in the moment.

Everything in life is only for now.

But “now” can last for a short or long time, which sometimes makes things difficult.

There are an infinite number of things you didn’t think about today.

Sometimes simplicity itself carries the message.

Simplicity sometimes itself carries the message.

Simplicity itself sometimes carries the message.

Simplicity itself carries sometimes the message.

Simplicity itself carries the sometimes message.

Simplicity itself carries the message sometimes.

The “absolute” frame of temporal reference is typically based on the quantum properties of the cesium atom. While this is fine for measuring macroscopic events–such as the orbit of the Earth–it lends itself to apparent contradictions in our perception and measurement of time.

We often perceive time based on our mental activity–the rate of our thoughts, the depth of our thoughts, the frequency of our thoughts, etc. Especially if most of our energy is being spent on mental activity (which could be mental engagement in a physical activity), there can be a discrepancy between our own experience of time compared against the “absolute” passage of time. But isn’t the idea of absolute time simply a synchronization of our mental clocks with the cesium clock? We all have our own internal mechanisms for keeping track of time, which generally are suitable in most cases. Why do we need to know how many hours a social event lasts if it feels like a good long time? There have been times where I have purposefully removed my watch so I can enjoy my internal clock without having to worry about comparison with an “absolute” frame of reference. Sometimes it is necessary to use this “absolute” scale, but other times it can be more of a hinderance than a help.

Also see Chris Allen’s entry for today.

Jesus said to his disciples, “Compare me to something and tell me what I am like.”

Simon Peter said to him, “You are like a just angel.”
Matthew said to him, “You are like a wise philosopher.”
Thomas said to him, “Teacher, my mouth is utterly unable to say what you are like.”

Jesus said, “I am not your teacher. Because you have drunk, you have become intoxicated from the bubbling spring that I have tended.” And he took him, and withdrew, and spoke three sayings to him.

When Thomas came back to his friends, they asked him, “What did Jesus say to you?”

Thomas said to them, “If I tell you one of the sayings he spoke to me, you will pick up rocks and stone me, and fire will come from the rocks and devour you.”

Gospel of Thomas 13

I think I finally figured out the question I’ve been getting at with these “memory” posts.

Most of the time, I am not convinced that “live for the moment” is a great philosophy. Experiences are fleeting while memories are lasting. Therefore, wouldn’t it make sense to live for the memories? This makes sense to me, except when I have an amazing experience. There have been times when I’ve pondered this question during a great experience, and at the time I know that “live for the moment” is more appropriate than “live for the memory”. Yet outside of one of these experiences, I am unable to discern why I reached this conclusion. Thus, the question (phrased as a statement).

Guts: Godo, how did you decide to be a blacksmith?

Godo: Family Trade.

Guts: Do you like it?

Godo: I don’t know. I’ve been gripping this thing since before I could even walk. I didn’t choose this…this is who I am. I just strike it, I don’t think. I spent my youth desperate to forge a better sword, become a better smith. Before I knew it, I was old. I don’t even know what the hell I strike the iron for.

Guts: …

Godo: But there is still one thing I like about it: the sparks. I like seeing sparks. Breathtaking. Life. Bursting before my eyes for just a moment. My life.

(Berserk, Episode 20)

(In Hong Kong, printing my boarding pass and starting the journey home!)

If I share an activity with someone and we both remember it, then it is our memory.

If they don’t remember it, then it is my memory.

If I don’t remember it, then it is their memory.

If neither of us remember it, and no one else is around, then it is nobody’s memory, even though the event still occurred.

(Last night in Beijing, leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow morning.)

We found some excellent wings here in Beijing. Less than a block away from our hostel is a small family-owned place with a tiny grill and various chicken components for grilling (wings, gizzards, hearts, etc.). We tried the wings yesterday and had to come back today for an evening snack, just to get more of the taste. I realized that this is one of those little “one time only” experiences, given that: 1) it will probably be awhile before I return to Beijing; 2) if I do return to Beijing, the restaurant may not be in the same form; 3) it would be futile to try and recreate this unique flavor at home. Some things in life are experienced in a short moment of enjoyment and can never be relived. My memory of the experience is the knowledge that I had something good, but I will not really be able to preserve anything more than this knowledge.

But it was still good.

I think Billy Joel got part of this in “Piano Man”:

He says, Son, can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad and its sweet and I knew it complete
When I wore a younger mans clothes

I’ve been thinking about something regarding memories and experiences, but I haven’t been able to put it all together yet–so I’ll just post fragments at a time and hope that it eventually takes form.

How often are you successful at remembering an experience? I don’t mean a memory of what you did, but rather a memory of exactly how you felt at the time, what you experienced. For instance, I know which foods I enjoy and I can “almost taste them” when hungry and thinking about them. But I don’t really recall the full experience of eating good food until I actually do so. Eating is a familiar example, and because we eat multiple times a day we are often able to approximate the memory. There are many other experiences, though, that mentally/emotionally/physically invoke a strong response that are not done with the regularity of eating. Although I do have a memory of the event, it is not until the same event is repeated that I actually remember the experience.

Strangely enough, though, while this observation holds true for a lot of things in my life, I am able to recall the experience of summitting Mount Kilimanjaro. Even though it occurred in 2004, my memory of the summit still makes me smile almost the same way I did two years ago. But for some reason, this is the only memory I can say this about.