Notes from Maine - 2021/08/29
My sister and nephew are safely back home. They vacationed here for a few weeks this August. We visited the beach and a couple of lakes, finding ways to beat the heat. There’s never enough time to exhaust all the fun things to do, but I think we had a good mix of relaxation and activities.
My nephew is never bored—always something to do. Whether it’s on his cellphone or computer, he has friends that are a click away and a dozen worlds to immerse himself in. The way he loses himself reminds me of my sister. She would dive into a book and I was suddenly an only child (my brother, when he was around, was far too old to play with).
I believe those quiet, introspective moments gave me a chance to really ponder over my surroundings. One day, in my back yard, it occurred to me that I had no way of knowing if anyone else in the world was real. Was there a way to distinguish between a vivid dream and reality? Descartes said, “Cogito, ergo sum,” (I think, therefore I am) but how was I to know if anyone else was actually thinking or if they were just a projection of my own mind?
I said as much to my nephew in the car the other day. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I said, “How do you know I’m real? I could just be a figment of your imagination.”
He quickly said, “Yeah, that’s true. Hope you’re real though, since you’re driving.”
I suppose between the MineCraft and Fortnight he must have found time to reflect on the nature of reality because he seemed to have a pretty good grip on the concept.
Lately, I’ve been meditating—trying to quiet all the noise and make sense of the seemingly random thoughts that get stuck in my head. I’ve learned to not focus on anything too intensely right before bed. If I have a problem or a task in the front of my head before I fall asleep, I’ll get stuck in dreams about that thing. My brain has to be as empty as possible or else it’s going to be a long night.
While meditating, I’ve noticed a real distinction between the random current of images and concepts that pop up and the part of me that wants to analyze them. On top of those two layers, there’s the observer, commenting into the void about it all. Given enough time, things settle down. That’s usually when I fall asleep. Meditation often turns into an unintentional nap.
One of these days, I’m going to take a break from electricity. I just need to figure out how to pump enough water efficiently. The horses can go through forty gallons a day, and my well is so far down that it would take a lot of effort to get that much water to the surface. If I can come up with a way to pump all that water by hand, I think it would be fun to disconnect everything and really gain some perspective. I could still distract myself with books and writing, but it seems like the world would slow down to a pace where everything could be observed, if only for a moment.
