© 2012
________
A BRIEF INTRODUCTION
Perhaps I
should 'pitch' this to readers . . . you know, put a big
hook at the start (and imply that the bait is impossible
to resist). Well, I don't think so. There is an assumption
amongst modern writers that the pool of perspective
readers is shrinking, and that they must give readers what
readers want: either a very compact body of useful
information, or an entertaining escape from the mundane
(in the form of entertainment). What I present here is not
tailored to the tastes and interests of a shrinking
reading public: I am not interested in entertaining my
readers, and neither do I seek to educate or to seduce
them. Here, I am attempting to share something . . .
something that is not diminished as a function of sharing,
parceling out, or giving away (as one might share a
moment, or give an embrace without cost). As for the value
of this that is shared in this composition, or in a
comprehensive hug, that is for the reader to assess. Fear
is a function of apprehension and conviction . . . it is
as the effect of grasping or arresting, and trying that
which is held in judgement. Comprehension has nothing to
do with the trying of cases, or the weighing of evidence:
to comprehend is to surround as with an embrace with twin
arms. As with a composition, our capacity to comprehend
enables us to avoid apprehension, fear, and bipolar
extremes without the loss of our references or bearings,
and depends upon our capacity to think in the twin modes
of all dynamics: dynamic thought is cognitive and musical.
Cognitive thought is general and generic, since the
creative dynamic that is seen and felt is that of gender
(and by this I do not
mean sex).
I am not offering 'insider' information here: what is offered is a means by which to comprehend (that is, to see and feel the in-depth soundings of insiders, as well as the external and exclusive judgements and trials of outsiders). This is not complicated (repeatedly folded over), however it does depend upon a capacity to appreciate the insular core, and depreciate the definitive periphery (or vice versa). . . however, never to exclude either of the twins of perspective, perspiration and generative accretion. In brief: the potential to cognate as a person. It should also be said that I am not at all sure (even at this juncture) that I might ever manage to share this that I have been attempting to reasonably clarify and put into words (for almost three decades now) . . . this 'bewareness,' as I have called it.
Honestly, I may very well be a fool for putting so much time and effort into attempting to share this that I both stumbled upon and thought out: I don't know, and I have no desire to know. What I felt was that (while the odds of success were extremely thin) it was within the range of my potential, and that it was not inappropriate for me to make the attempt. I was sufficiently beware to address my practical needs and obligations, and also to recognize that (if honest with myself) how I lived my life was at least as important as what I would have to say about life . . . and being. Also by way of introduction, I should say something about how this 'bewareness' settled upon me.
Whilst sailing solo in the 'Roaring Forties' of the Southern Ocean I had ample time for thinking. During the first half of a ten week passage from Wellington, New Zealand to Valparaiso, Chile I found that I did most of my thinking above decks (under the sun, moon, and stars). During the second half of that passage I did most of it below decks. When on deck my 'world' was lighter and far larger, whilst my thinking was more reasoned and more visually based: when below decks my 'world' shrunk and confined me in a space that offered little visual change, was usually quite dark or dimly lighted, however my senses of sound and smell were greatly increased (and, I should add, motion was no longer fixed against a reference with the horizon). I called these twin modes 'above deck' and 'below deck.' Those last five weeks were spent thinking mostly in the latter mode (although I found that I could move between modes as easily as passing through the companionway). The two were not opposed, and I found that the one served to complement the alternate.
Such thinking became my principle entertainment, however I had not as yet been confronted by the convergence -- the transcendence -- or with what I came to call 'bewareness.' We all have a sense of what it is to be aware, and what it is to beware. Much of this, and most of what we call phenomenological, has much to do with vision and reasonable phenomena. When we sense danger, we see signs of danger (and our conditioned response is to 'lookout,' and sharpen our awareness). Even when these signs are felt, smelt, or heard, our responses are largely visual. To beware is to use at least two of our senses: as there are two 'callers' aboard ship: the lookout (who scans visually, and 'keeps an eye out'), and the leadsman (who sounds the depths). When at sea, awareness is insufficient. Somewhat latter, but on the same voyage, I was in the inter-tropical convergence zone (the doldrums) and desperately trying to find my way safely into the Gulf of Panama; it was here that I experienced the most memorable night of my life (and heard the sound that all sailors dread most at night . . . the sound of breaking water). This was the night of my bewareness.
Although my hands may have gripped the tiller and combing somewhat more tightly, I swear I was not afraid (I recall thinking, 'Well, here it comes'). I have written of this elsewhere (See http://manofcolours.com/BobHoernel/Tisket%20Tasket.html). There is no desire to imply some sort of revelation, as nothing was revealed; that I might have been transported to a landfall that was my destination by riding a tidal wave upon an otherwise still and flat sea would have to be highly unlikely . . . but not impossible. That ride (and all that both transpired and perspired that memorable night is unforgettable. The successful completion of my voyage from Melbourne to New York was at least as much a function of my good luck as it was of my skills as a navigator . . . and (I can tell you), luck is a lady.
And so you (the reader) have been inducted (or, perhaps you prefer, 'introduced). This composition is generous and general: it speaks as much to superstition as it does to reasoned knowledge or understanding. Over and under (inside and out), there is no suggestion of a competition, trial or judgement between pensive or serious thought (or thinking the understanding) and what we might think of as superstitious insight (as seen from a station above): the trick, as in a trick at the wheel, has to do with getting the 'teeth' of one cog to fit with the spaces between the teeth of that which either drives, or is driven by, its mate. That, my friend, is cognition (or cognitive thought).
I am not offering 'insider' information here: what is offered is a means by which to comprehend (that is, to see and feel the in-depth soundings of insiders, as well as the external and exclusive judgements and trials of outsiders). This is not complicated (repeatedly folded over), however it does depend upon a capacity to appreciate the insular core, and depreciate the definitive periphery (or vice versa). . . however, never to exclude either of the twins of perspective, perspiration and generative accretion. In brief: the potential to cognate as a person. It should also be said that I am not at all sure (even at this juncture) that I might ever manage to share this that I have been attempting to reasonably clarify and put into words (for almost three decades now) . . . this 'bewareness,' as I have called it.
Honestly, I may very well be a fool for putting so much time and effort into attempting to share this that I both stumbled upon and thought out: I don't know, and I have no desire to know. What I felt was that (while the odds of success were extremely thin) it was within the range of my potential, and that it was not inappropriate for me to make the attempt. I was sufficiently beware to address my practical needs and obligations, and also to recognize that (if honest with myself) how I lived my life was at least as important as what I would have to say about life . . . and being. Also by way of introduction, I should say something about how this 'bewareness' settled upon me.
Whilst sailing solo in the 'Roaring Forties' of the Southern Ocean I had ample time for thinking. During the first half of a ten week passage from Wellington, New Zealand to Valparaiso, Chile I found that I did most of my thinking above decks (under the sun, moon, and stars). During the second half of that passage I did most of it below decks. When on deck my 'world' was lighter and far larger, whilst my thinking was more reasoned and more visually based: when below decks my 'world' shrunk and confined me in a space that offered little visual change, was usually quite dark or dimly lighted, however my senses of sound and smell were greatly increased (and, I should add, motion was no longer fixed against a reference with the horizon). I called these twin modes 'above deck' and 'below deck.' Those last five weeks were spent thinking mostly in the latter mode (although I found that I could move between modes as easily as passing through the companionway). The two were not opposed, and I found that the one served to complement the alternate.
Such thinking became my principle entertainment, however I had not as yet been confronted by the convergence -- the transcendence -- or with what I came to call 'bewareness.' We all have a sense of what it is to be aware, and what it is to beware. Much of this, and most of what we call phenomenological, has much to do with vision and reasonable phenomena. When we sense danger, we see signs of danger (and our conditioned response is to 'lookout,' and sharpen our awareness). Even when these signs are felt, smelt, or heard, our responses are largely visual. To beware is to use at least two of our senses: as there are two 'callers' aboard ship: the lookout (who scans visually, and 'keeps an eye out'), and the leadsman (who sounds the depths). When at sea, awareness is insufficient. Somewhat latter, but on the same voyage, I was in the inter-tropical convergence zone (the doldrums) and desperately trying to find my way safely into the Gulf of Panama; it was here that I experienced the most memorable night of my life (and heard the sound that all sailors dread most at night . . . the sound of breaking water). This was the night of my bewareness.
Although my hands may have gripped the tiller and combing somewhat more tightly, I swear I was not afraid (I recall thinking, 'Well, here it comes'). I have written of this elsewhere (See http://manofcolours.com/BobHoernel/Tisket%20Tasket.html). There is no desire to imply some sort of revelation, as nothing was revealed; that I might have been transported to a landfall that was my destination by riding a tidal wave upon an otherwise still and flat sea would have to be highly unlikely . . . but not impossible. That ride (and all that both transpired and perspired that memorable night is unforgettable. The successful completion of my voyage from Melbourne to New York was at least as much a function of my good luck as it was of my skills as a navigator . . . and (I can tell you), luck is a lady.
And so you (the reader) have been inducted (or, perhaps you prefer, 'introduced). This composition is generous and general: it speaks as much to superstition as it does to reasoned knowledge or understanding. Over and under (inside and out), there is no suggestion of a competition, trial or judgement between pensive or serious thought (or thinking the understanding) and what we might think of as superstitious insight (as seen from a station above): the trick, as in a trick at the wheel, has to do with getting the 'teeth' of one cog to fit with the spaces between the teeth of that which either drives, or is driven by, its mate. That, my friend, is cognition (or cognitive thought).
I
find it curious that boxing matches are divided into
rounds (and the square upon which boxers fight is
called a ring). With regard to the image above, each
square and each circle doubles (of halves) in
area as you move 'outward' (or as you penetrate more
deeply): one tends to get drawn into these concentric
squares and circles. When we say we understand,
it is not our point of view (or one's stance) that is
located within: when we think the understanding, we
think in instant and distant points of reference . . .
these points are found underground. A body that
possesses a stance is as the outermost square, whereas
the central square may be thought of as the substance
that is relative to that body. Were we to continue
(and think more deeply), we would reduce the stance of
any body to a mere point. The universal point of view
(that of rationalism, which can be seen by nobody) is
located at the center of the Earth (or of any sphere,
polyhedron or cube).
In the Mayan creation story Mother Earth had two sons (two children, apparently twins). Their father had been taken away to the underworld, by the gods thereof. As they grew into adulthood, they were compelled to journey into the underworld also, so as to learn from their descent and then to return. The sons, after having named all of the gods of that domain, were permitted to return (much to their mother's relief). The twins loved to play ball, and that could only be done upon the surface, however they also felt obliged to have a vocation: they decided to become farmers. Each time they attempted to sow seed, however, upon returning to their field, they found that some small animals had uprooted all they had planted. They waited beside their milpa until the critters arrived, and questioned them as to why they uproot all that they plant; the answer was that their place was to plant seeds and nuts . . . their role (that of the twins) was but to play ball. With time, however, their progeny did plant milpas (as well as great cities). Although the gods of the underworld claimed many sons as civilization grew and spread, the people (civil persons) never lost their love of ball games. The gods of the underworld were indeed powerful and persuasive . . . however they could not play ball (as they had nowhere to bounce them).
In the Mayan creation story Mother Earth had two sons (two children, apparently twins). Their father had been taken away to the underworld, by the gods thereof. As they grew into adulthood, they were compelled to journey into the underworld also, so as to learn from their descent and then to return. The sons, after having named all of the gods of that domain, were permitted to return (much to their mother's relief). The twins loved to play ball, and that could only be done upon the surface, however they also felt obliged to have a vocation: they decided to become farmers. Each time they attempted to sow seed, however, upon returning to their field, they found that some small animals had uprooted all they had planted. They waited beside their milpa until the critters arrived, and questioned them as to why they uproot all that they plant; the answer was that their place was to plant seeds and nuts . . . their role (that of the twins) was but to play ball. With time, however, their progeny did plant milpas (as well as great cities). Although the gods of the underworld claimed many sons as civilization grew and spread, the people (civil persons) never lost their love of ball games. The gods of the underworld were indeed powerful and persuasive . . . however they could not play ball (as they had nowhere to bounce them).