Marc's Reflection on Aikido & True Play

March 15, 2017 · No Comments

Hate

v. Hating.

n. Hatred.

Unacceptable, historically.

To get to hatred.

Not beyond.

Not sublimated.

Eased in through overwhelming sadness–just a warm up.

Barriers down.

Hate, taste it, get the visceral(1) feel of it.

How can I claim moral superiority over something I refuse to feel?

No victory here, only safety through avoidance and ignorance.

Going beyond thinking.

Going beyond righteousness this time.

 

Assignment: “500-word footnote on a single word”

foot·note

ˈfo͝otˌnōt/

noun: an ancillary piece of information printed at the bottom of a page.

synonyms: note, marginal note, annotation, comment, gloss; Aside, incidental remark, digression (informative footnotes”

 

1.Visceral

Yeah visceral. Meat and bones. Organs. Of course, the publicly acclaimed heart and brain but also the liver, spleen, tongue, pancreas, brain, lungs and the gut. Sausage covering.

Viscera don’t get their due: Uncontrollable. Life giving. Capable of sudden surprises, always bad surprises. Unconscious. Hidden. Unpresentable. Back shelf at the butchers. Cooks and mothers know the secret. Butchers too of course.

Visceral: Fear, of course, the embodiment of fear, but the quieter side of things too. Digestion, rest, growth; all out-of-sight, all un-proclaimed. All dominated on the surface by a talking mind that claims dominion. A lie of course, but who can complain. We don’t have the language that is claimed to be the “highest function”. We are held together, ironically supporting that wording thing farthest from the ground, by slow nerves and slower hormones transported by rivers and streams, unfit for the internet–the fast chatty and truly crazy making neural network. Of course, the viscera do their work in silence, but the loud one, the meta-systemic brain, can scare the viscera to death, truly and literally. The loud one has a job, but it does not know what it is. It has lost its way, in the noise, in the cacophony of voices talking over one another, selling something or the other.

That loud one had a job. It was supposed to be making peace and food and keeping us safe. We can do a lot working together, but if the loud one only hears himself, believes only in his made-up stories, from purloined comic books and proffered bibles, well things can get too difficult for us viscera. We the embodied self, lose our identity, our self-assurance. Our immunity, your immunity, becomes auto immunity, self-destruction. Vascular disease: strokes and heart attacks and gangrene. Cancers of just about everything and miraculously even more—truly creative. Skin becomes porous. The cats are out of the bag then. It’s just a matter of time. Whose time? You thought there was a contract with a guarantee; in the fine print, you never read. Well the viscera do have voices, do have a language and you can hear, feel, sense it but it is on the other side of the brain, a world and more away; ignored by the taking jelly across the divide. Shut the fuck up, will you. Be very, very still. Very quiet. For a really long time. You will not recognize it at first. It is not what you think you are looking for.  Words about it are not helpful. Just shut the fuck up. Please for your sake, and the sake of your viscera who are the bigger, quieter part of you; pound for pound almost all of you. A near infinity of chemistry and physiology never missing a beat, never confused, never showing up late, totally balancing every moment without, no despite, “you” –if “you” are that talking jelly thing that only recognizes words—tragically, mostly loud words aimed directly at your bank account.

Viscera: Meditation is not about enlightenment. It is about shutting the fuck up and letting the viscera have a moment, without the fucking words always abstracting the signal down to some few bits and bytes on the narrowest of calculated channels, devoid of Brownian motion, devoid of receptors making love with transmitters, devoid of Epigenetics managing the monstrous otherwise psychotic snake. She is keeping that multibillion dollar, deified snake in check; reading from it only what the viscera, and the even more wordless environment, need in each moment. Confuse that librarian and shit happens. Call the doctors. They will sell you hope and stuff until the viscera can no longer cope. They’ll sell you the best modern technology can offer, but no silence–until the big silence.

Shut up, up there.

Give it a rest.

629-word footnote

Categories:
Tagged:



0 responses so far ↓

  • There are no comments yet...Kick things off by filling out the form below..

Leave a Comment

Time limit is exhausted. Please reload CAPTCHA.