Life is like…an adventure game

There’s a series of adventure games I used to play when I was younger called Monkey Island.  One of my favorites was the third in the series – The Curse of Monkey Island.  The main character is a young pirate with the amazingly ridiculous name of Guybrush Threepwood.  He runs into various sorts of problems which you spend the game sorting through.

My everyday life often reminds me of this game.  Problems, puzzles in the game, are stacked. 

Game Problem: Your fiancee has turned into a gold statue because of a cursed ring you accidentally gave her.  You have to go to a different island to get a different ring to remove the curse.  But first you have to get a ship, a crew, and a map.  But first you have to convince possible crew members to come with you.  In order to do that, you first have to prove to one of them you can find gold.  So first you have to do that…..

Real Life Problem: Not dying.  So you need food, so you need money to buy food, so you need a job to get money, so you need a car to get to your job.  But your car’s been totaled.  So you need to get a new one, for which you need a photo ID and proof of insurance.  But you’ve lost your wallet.  So you need to get a replacement driver’s license, so you need to print out the form online to fill out and mail in with a check….

In the game, these sort of stacked problems are fun.  In real life, they feel closer to home and just make me stressed out.  I’ve also noticed that in the game, I’m more willing to try ridiculous stuff just for fun.  I’ll make Guybrush say the most ridiculous stuff I can to other characters, just to see what will happen and how they’ll react, because it’s funny.  In real life, I’ll play it as safe as I can out of fear of what will happen and how others will react to me.  It’s not nearly as funny to me in real life when people get upset as it is in the game.  So what’s the difference?  Why do I feel so hurt by others’ reactions in real life, but find it funny in the game?

Another question that comes to mind is that of control.  In the game, you choose who Guybrush talks to, and you can choose from a list of things to make him say.  In real life, where do the options of what to say come from?  How is it decided what I do and where I go?  Is it more like watching a game being played?….which you can do here…..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IBUfXq0nbk

Neuroscience and doership

I kept running into Patrick Haggard’s name related to neurological studies having to do with doership.  Found this video of a talk of his:

http://forum-network.org/lecture/neuroscience-human-will

God’s Will

God’s Will is what is.

My will is a collection of desires and fears leading to intentions.

God’s Will transcends and gives rise to all that is.

My will is experienced as a product of God’s Will.

God’s Will makes no mistakes and meets no opposition.

My will often run contrary to what is, but even this is God’s Will.

There is existence and awareness of existence.  This is what is, God’s Will.

Within existence, of which there is awareness, arise many reactionary and associative thoughts and feelings, desires and fears, intentions and motivations.

Among the thoughts and feelings are desires related to nonexistent fantasies, and fears related to nonexistent worries.  The content of these fantasies and worries consist of what is not, but the existence of the fantasies and worries themselves is what is.

My will only is as a result of God’s Will.

Living outside of God’s Will is impossible.

Living in accordance with God’s Will is acceptance of what is.

Living in rebellion of God’s Will is denial of what is through the delusions of control and fantasy.

To live in rebellion of God’s Will is to assume a position of higher authority than that Power which created all that ever has been, is now, or ever could be; that Power which every moment gives rise to existence and all of its contents; that Power which burns the Sun and spins the Earth; that Power which beats my heart and fills my lungs.

Lord, guide me by Thy Will
May my life be lived in acceptance
May my mind be freed of delusion
Thy Will, not mine, be done.
Amen

Liar in Our Midst!

I’ve found a liar in our midst!  “Our” meaning the numerous thought-producing motivations that float through the conscious window during waking life.

I noticed this voice for the first time while lifting weights with my apartment mates.  We were spotting for each other while taking turns doing sets of bench presses.  Toward the end of a set I was doing, I could feel my arms getting tired and said, “I’m going to try to do one more, but I probably can’t do it.”  It was sort of like a pessimistic Babe Ruth pointing to the bench to call that he was about to strike out.  If I couldn’t lift the weights, but had already said that I knew I couldn’t, then it would be less of a blow to my ego.

Of course, this wasn’t entirely conscious at the time.  I just blurted out the words based on the feeling of saving myself from an upcoming possible failure.  And sure enough, I wasn’t able to lift the weights again on that set.

My apartment mates and I got a kick out of what we started calling the “Whatisself motivation tapes”.  It was suggested that the military could send copies to Al-Qaeda as a new counterterrorism tactic.  New from the US Military: Terrorism motivational tapes.  Featuring such uplifting mantras as: “You can try to strap a bomb to yourself, but it probably won’t work,”  and “Best not attempt it, it’ll probably fail.”

So on the next set I tried an experiment.  I told myself that I’d make it to 8 reps, where on the previous set I had crapped out at 6.  And sure enough I made 8.

This voice has come up other places, most often noticed when I’m exercising.  While walking the stairs of the 36-floor Cathedral of Learning at the University of Pittsburgh: “Let’s just do four sets, or maybe three; we know we can do that.”  (I ended up doing five).  While running a two mile loop up to a nearby track and back: “Let’s just go up to the end up this street and back; we know we can do that.” (I ended up doing the whole 2-mile loop).  While doing a solo backpacking trip: “Let’s cut across the river early and make this a 10-mile day like we did last year.”  (I ended up doing the full trail loop plus adding an extra mile due to a wrong turn – a 15.5 mile day).

This voice means well.  It’s just not very accurate.  The motivation here is to save myself from failure by sticking to the known, the familiar, the already proven to be possible.  And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  But this sort of overly cautious approach can in many cases keep me from accomplishing what I’m capable of, as I’ve seen several times.  And it’s especially unhelpful when the only danger I’m trying to save myself from is a hit to my pride.

Still, while it speaks I typically take this voice to be me speaking (i.e. I believe it).  But since this voice has proven to be wrong several times, another inner voice has started to take notice.  Now there’s a hint of doubt when I have the feeling of “I probably can’t do X, so let’s play it safe.”  There’s a reaction saying, “Maybe I can’t, but probably I can.  Let’s see who’s right.”

The Lord’s Prayer

Meeting Life at the Table

In conversation with my dad this evening he mentioned something an old seminary teacher of his used to talk about regarding scripture study:

There are two ways to read scripture.  One way is to lay it on the table, put it to sleep, and do surgery on it.  The other way is to sit at the table with it and have a conversation.  The first way to read scripture refers to an analytical approach: breaking it apart, examining how it’s built, looking at where the pieces came from and how they fit together.  The second way refers to an ongoing, living dialogue.

The point in this differentiation isn’t to say that one method is better than the other.  To continue the metaphor of looking at scripture like a person, there is much to be learned from looking at how a person is put together and built.  This sort of examination can give an explanation for why they move the way they do, what allows them to make sounds, why their voice sounds like it does.  But it is quite another thing to listen to just what the person may say to you when they are awake.

It occurred to me that it’s much safer in a way to keep this metaphorical messenger asleep to examine him.  It puts the situation on my terms.  But to keep him awake and become involved in conversation with him engages me personally and takes me out of a safe position of control.  I am then no longer an objective bystander, but am subject to the effects of the message with which I am engaged.

It also occurred to me that this metaphor might apply to my life story.  It is my natural preference to examine things analytically, my own life included.  How am I built?  How did my past create the patterns that I see in my mind now?  Who in my past did I learn my habits from?  I still think that there is something to gain from this approach, not in the least being gaining some sense of distance or detachment from my own patterns.  But what about this other approach?  What happens when I allow my life to actively engage me in conversation?  What message is my life speaking to me when I give up a safe position of control and listen attentively?

Higher Power

The AA Big Book asks a simple question in the chapter entitled “We Agnostics.”  The question is, “Do I now believe, or am I even willing to believe, that there is a Power greater than myself?”

My typical reading of this question would trigger all sorts of notions, biases, and preconceptions in my mind.  I would read into the word “Power” that what they really mean is the Christian God (who I define according to my biases), and that they’re secretly trying to convert me to Christianity or something.  And I can’t let them manipulate me like that.

But for some reason, a recent reading of this chapter, and this question in particular, brought about a different reaction.  When I read this question, I read the word “Power” as if it was lowercase: “…am I even willing to believe, that there is a power greater than myself?”  Then it struck me as ridiculous how reluctant I was to say “yes” to this question.  To say “no” would mean that I believe I am the greatest power in existence.

And in a sense, I do tend toward believing I am in control over way more than I am.  I take responsibility for the reactions of others, and I feel a great anxiety about trying to get others to act how I want.  I feel shame and guilt about my own faults and flaws, as if I’m responsible for my own upbringing or physical makeup.  And I have in the past even felt guilty and frustrated about the state of the world at large.  I’ve used the first-person subjectivism of Douglas Harding as a rationalization for why I am indeed the center of the universe (“I’m all that is!”), and therefore extremely important.

But I can’t, of course, honestly say I control it all.  As I had to break it to my dad on the phone, I am not actually the one making the Sun rise and set each day.  He seemed happy I was so perceptive as to have noticed this.  An early spring thunderstorm was another reminder of what is greater and more powerful than myself, bringing with its lightning and strong winds the implication that my very life could easily be taken.  A walk through the cosmology department of a local university brought another reminder, where they had created a computer simulation of two galaxies colliding with each other over millions of years, playing continuously on a screen.  I’m certainly not the power doing that!  I don’t know the slightest thing about making galaxies collide.  But some power has brought about this whole thing, and is capable of smashing two galaxies together!  And not even just two, but there are millions of these things!

This song by Bjork has been in my head a lot recently:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1icGUVn77PM&feature=related

Gatha

Motivations lie scattered
like so many supporting sticks
in the cellar of an old house
held up by twigs.
To keep the house upright
is to work without rest,
here a little, there a little,
like spinning plates.
Work is driven by
fearful creaks and groans,
and proud dreams of
ornate mansions.
But here in the cellar floor
is a door unopened.
Its ancient wood planks
smell of childhood days
playfully lost amongst
sunlit trees on
timeless summer afternoons.
The occasional splash heard
against its unseen side
recalls crisp ocean air
blown across the bright
deck of a sailboat
free at sea.
If only such a door
could lead back to
that place of endless wonder.
But no time now to
explore this door’s depths,
for the house threatens
to crumble at the
slightest quiver or breeze.
How much longer can this
tiring and tedious
work continue before you
Peek beneath the
hidden door at the
base of your rotting house,
To face the inevitable
and find out what
Power really keeps
this houseboat afloat?