As the Stomach Turns

I don’t know folks. It’s probably just a quirk in my personality. I have noticed a pattern lately in the way I engage with the Integral Universe. I post every month or so with a thinly veiled cynical or critical attitude about something. There’s no real dialogue with Wilber; The audio/video clips on Integral Naked are becoming more and more like commercials; I hate the spiral dynamics lingo; blah blah blah. Now I read this on the Integral Naked forum:

“Once you’ve completed I-I Certification (coming soon), or completed the accredited courses in Integral Theory currently being offered by JFK or Fielding, or passed the (coming soon) sentence-completion tests based on Jane Loevinger’s work, or assessed by internal I-I folks as having your center of gravity at least 2nd tier, then welcome inside the Berlin Wall. This highly selective circle is the cream of the crop at I-I. Eventually, our ‘I-I 411 / Yellow Pages’ will enable you to be acknowledged by rank, your rank based on your level of integral education, your test results and the quantity of feedback you get from I-I peers ranking your altitude.”

I read this, and my stomach turned. I know, I know — I must be Green because Green hates ranking and hierarchy. This might be true, but I’ve gotta go with my gut (another Green thing, I suppose). Maybe I just need to step away from the Integral Scene for a while and see how things take shape. Maybe I’m just tired and cranky from too many hours working at the hospital.

I wonder how others feel about having their “altitude ranked?” My first reaction was to cancel my I-I membership and write the whole thing off as another failed experiment. Shadow stuff creeping up? Legitimate concerns about creepy aspects of this community? I don’t know. I’m going to sleep on it.

Brain Freeze

“Evidence for Universe Expansion Found
By MATT CRENSON, AP National Writer

Physicists announced Thursday that they now have the smoking gun that shows the universe went through extremely rapid expansion in the moments after the big bang, growing from the size of a marble to a volume larger than all of observable space in less than a trillion-trillionth of a second.”

I just don’t get this kind of stuff. Either I’m too stupid or else physicists think they’re a lot smarter than they really are. While it doesn’t amaze me that we can SAY anything about what transpired in the first trillionth of a second of the universe, it would amaze me if ANY of it were true or even close to it. I mean c’mon, scientists can’t agree on basic things, like what’s REALLY the healthiest diet and what REALLY causes disease. We can’t find Bin Laden but we know the universe was once the size of a marble? Maybe it just hurts my brain too much. I can’t picture a marble without picturing some space around it. So how can the marble be “the universe” and the space be something else? Asking “who made the universe?” just begs the question “who made the maker?”–and off we go. I can’t even get to the bottom of “who made the mess on the stove?”

Meditation

I’ve struggled for years trying to maintain a consistent zazen practice, and I’m not sure whether my resistance to it is a matter of laziness and ego assertion or simply that I really don’t buy it on some level. I mean, on the one hand, they all say “If you meditate in order to achieve something, then you’re not really meditating.” But then again, in Wilber’s system, meditation is THE thing to do if you want to evolve, be enlightened, transcend death, and save the freaking world. How the hell can you Wilberites be meditating without any intention to “do” something or “get somewhere,” given that kind of build up? I don’t know, these are just things I struggle with sometimes. Also, what IS meditation, really? If one is “not really meditating” when one is out to better oneself, then that cuts out about ninety percent of my practice right there. And if the heart of the meditative process is simply being present, then there’s a million and one activities that can bring about that experience, and it is pure arrogance to assume that people posturing in any particular way are really “doing it,” while someone else who say, goes to the gym every day, is “just working out.” The proof is in the pudding I guess, and only you can know for sure whether you’re growing or dying.

There is a way to live that opens me up and a way that shuts me down. For me, the whole process comes down to this: When I’m open (whether through luck, effort or grace), and I have the guts and faith needed to allow whatever form of self-expression that arises to unfold, then I open up more and feel more alive and connected. When I choose, consciously or unconsciously, to inhibit this movement in favor of a habitual, conditioned response, I feel more and more cut off, and I contract again back into an unfulfilling daze. I think there’s a fundamental attitude that is a prerequisite for spiritual growth. It’s simply maddening to try to cultivate such an attitude, since the desire to do so presupposes a contrary attitude. Deep down I know I can assume the appropriate attitude any time I want to, it’s just that I don’t always want it, because living from such a place leads me beyond the status quo, and I just don’t want to deal with that sometimes.

The Pickle

Friday afternoon and I’m spent from an extra-long jam session. Just me, sitting and strumming in this very chair in front of this very desk, but a jam session just the same. I’ll be making an unscheduled appearance at work this evening, taking over for Larry for a few hours while he watches his daughter perform in a dance recital. I couldn’t refuse such a request, although I did leave no stone unturned attempting to find some other sucker to do it. Whenever I have a thought like, “Shit I have to go back into work already” I get a sick feeling in my guts and I want to scream like all holy hell. The clock and the calendar are nothing but handcuffs and shackles to me. It’s a pickle I’ve never been able to wiggle out of. Reminds me of playing “run the bases” in the side lot as kid. I used to put myself in a “pickle” intentionally, just to make the game more interesting. I was usually the oldest one of the bunch and athletic to boot, and no matter how severely I handicapped myself I never could fully contain my drive to come out on top. I would always win at everything. Even in competition with others my own age, I was a natural winner. The fastest, the smartest, the best. The major exception being, of course, the one thing that mattered most to me–the realm of romance. I never held a hand, stole a kiss, much less got a handful until I was nineteen and in college. Even then I was an awkward, anxious sac of self-consciousness void of confidence. Only now, ten days shy of my thirty-fifth birthday, am I beginning to feel truly confident and comfortable with the opposite sex. Looking back at the course of my development, it strikes me as highly significant that I was continually frustrated in my efforts to attain that which I most yearned for. Moreover, I felt paralyzed really, to do anything about it. The more a prayed for the zits to go away, the more numerous and hideous they’d become. When my time finally came and Ann-Marie whispered in my ear “do you want to feel inside me?”–well, I was so overwhelmed with joy I’d do anything to stay inside. These days I’m discovering what seekers of all stripes stumble upon if they’re fortunate enough–that getting what you want does not extinguish the flames of discontent for long. I yearn as achingly as ever, only now I’m not sure exactly what for or how to go about getting it. Enlightenment? Peace of mind? I’m not even sure what these things mean.

[Addendum: I was involved in a car accident on my way to work on this night. Traffic stopped suddenly on Richmond Road. I was barely able to stop short of the car in front of me. I was slammed from the rear, which whip-lashed me pretty hard. Mary Alice’s car was totaled.]

The Dismantling of Brian Hall

Thank you Brian for sharing the gift of your music, this wonderful window into the creative process as it flows through you, raw and sacred, shared straight from the source without affectation or contrivance. I am full of gratitude and inspiration. Some special moments:

My eyes lit up like fireflies when you arrived; there was something sad but soothing about driving all alone; taking her time on a cigarette, riding into the perfect sunset; my heart it sings its sad lament in the middle of the day; hey you with the open heart I know you’re trying to teach me; I tried every way that I knew but I never could get in there; it’s nice to be a raindrop, the thirsty earth is waiting for you; desire wants to hang on to the time and wants to find a love but love is hard to find and time is not enough for us sometimes; as I was leaving I looked back; I’m still looking back; something seems to be calling her name and if she answers Caroline will never be the same; on the fourth of July with the sun in your room, you’ll lie there and smile and forget about June; I picked you up and brushed you off, but you preferred the ground; we talked about forever but forgot about tomorrow; I climbed in the car like the sucker I was, with one more chance not to act like an adult; you pulled out your camera, you snapped a shot, and I hope that it turned out and I hope that I’m not smiling too big or looking too sad or closing my eyes or the lighting was bad; her beauty is so glorious she cannot help it nor suppress it, she glows; even her shadow was kinda turning back to me, with a wink, as if to say “I get to go with her”; don’t the cameras make it seem like somebody in the room is guilty, and you just hope that it isn’t you; so many words the idiot could say, if the idiot had eyes he’d fall in love today; so many things the idiot could see, if the idiot could talk he’d fall upon he knees just to say the words floating through his mind; and I watched it all from somewhere in the middle; her eyes were like the night sky that had slowly lost its moon; I hear Maria got married and became a teacher then, the kids think she’s just some man’s good looking old lady but tonight she’s seventeen again, on the sidelines in a short skirt and a cold front moving in; you are the only home I seek; when it came time for him to leave his shell, he retracted like the subject of an experiment gone mad; and if there is a point to any and all of this, some people come already loaded; saved and sanctified, train-tracks damsel tied, who can save us now?

[The night is young but we are not
so sit beside me and give me every story you got
then I’ll give you mine and in case one of us dies
we’ll still be alive
we’ll still be alive]

Anxiety and Elephants, Part Four

I think the reason it’s so hard to discern the difference between biologically and environmentally caused diseases is partly because of the way we think about causality. What does it mean to acknowledge that “stress” can cause or contribute to heart disease? When a gang member has a bullet removed from his brain, what was the “cause” of his death? The bullet? Bad parenting? Social policy?

There are people for whom the physiological and neuromuscular stress responses have become so repeatedly triggered and habituated that their lives are on the line. How best to treat these diseases of stress? The question is no different for heart disease than for depression. We take meds and have surgeries only to return back to the same stressful job. The paravertebral muscles in the back can be so chronically tensed that discs bulge. One person is shown the x-ray and encouraged to have surgery to correct the problem. This helps a lot with the pain. But there’s no insight, no improved awareness, so right back to the same stressful situation and more back surgery five years later. Another person is taught how to regain control of the paravertebral muscles. As a result of this learning process, the person can now relax these muscles; the spine is no longer bent; the disk no longer bulges; no more pain. Improved self-awareness, improved functioning, improved insight. Person gets a new job.

How we understand the cause of a problem will determine what we decide to do about it. If your eye doctor tells you your nearsightedness is caused by a refractive, structural problem in your eye, you will probably get eye-glasses. If you listen to Aldous Huxley or Dr. William Bates, you might be persuaded that your myopia is primarily a matter of poor seeing habits, and that you might regain perfect vision by replacing these habits with better ones. The bottom line is this: Glasses are fine. They help you see better immediately, and with no effort on your part. The Bates Method is a lot like meditation. It takes time, effort, and commitment. Glasses are an UR intervention that masks symptoms, and people’s vision continues to get worse and worse (anyone’s prescriptions going the other way?) Back surgery will help your back feel better; but it doesn’t address the problem integrally (no engagement of awareness). It’s the same for psychiatric problems, in my opinion. Awareness heals. But we don’t want to hear it! It may be true that the status quo, by its very nature, suppresses the integral truth of health and disease. But WE ARE THE STATUS QUO! We would rather wear glasses, have back surgery, take the heart meds and the psych meds. We want to be enlightened, but not if it might mean quitting that job of ours. Without the job we’d have no way to afford the glasses, Prozac, and back surgeries! Insanity!

Anxiety and Elephants, Part Three

Tomorrow I head off the hospital once more, and it is my job to come up with and facilitate four group therapy/education sessions throughout the day. People are there for ECT treatment, suicidal depression, self mutilation, fork swallowing, shooting themselves in the head and gut, scratching their eyes to the point of blindness, drug addiction, drinking antifreeze, and on and on. By the time I clock in tomorrow, there will undoubtedly be a few newly admitted patients with their own unique stories and struggles. So what topics or activities should I do in my groups tomorrow? Tetra-emergence? Have ’em all sketch out the four quadrants?

Lately I’ve been meditating a lot more, and my groups seem to be going well, no matter what I choose to do. Hmmm…

Anxiety and Elephants, Part Two

I’ve worked with many, many people with psychological problems in the extreme, and it’s impossible not to think that some of these folks are primarily the victims of some kind of brain disorder. I don’t deny that genetics can be a factor, and that some people can inherit a dysfunctional brain or a tendency to have certain problems. Anyone who’s ever worked with developmentally disabled people or people whose brains have been affected by injury or disease can attest to the reality and effects of brain dysfunction. There are also some very interesting twin studies on schizophrenia that must be taken into account in any integral approach to understanding these issues. In my experience, however, these kinds of conditions are exceedingly rare, and certainly do not account for the “one of every four” phenomenon that we see in our society today. So, to be clear, I do think problems in functioning can be due primarily to structural problems in the brain, inherited or not.

My main point is that it is dangerous and flat-out wrong to think of “psychological” problems or subjective experience in general as being “caused by” objective or upper right quadrant realities. My examples of the tiger and elephant were a little over the top, I admit, but in general I do see people being seduced (by The Man as well as by their own understandable desire for relief) into making the upper right primary when, in fact, an emphasis on other quadrants is in order. In some cases, such as grief over the death of a loved one, or the psychological abuse of a child, we can see how simplistic and reductionistic it is to think in terms of “causes.” Someone in a prolonged state of grief or a child exposed to the stress of continued confusion and terror will change on a physiological level in ways that can be measured. But to say their subjective feelings are caused by the physiological changes is no more or less true than saying their feelings are caused by the death of the loved one or by the abuse. The way we respond to death is partly a matter of how death is viewed in our culture, and the child abuse might partly be influenced by cultural and economic factors. Human health has to looked at integrally, in my opinion, to effectively deal with problems. Even the language here makes things difficult. Calling something a psychological problem sounds like a denial of the upper right quadrant, while calling it a medical problem denies the other quadrants. “Problems of living” are always a four quadrant affair, although when it comes down to helping a real person having a problem, the main concern is “what works.” Even if the problems of a schizophrenic man stem from some sort of child abuse or whatever, still the most helpful thing to do for him may be to prescribe him some risperdal. A health care professional cannot fix all the problems in society, culture, and in the mind of the patient in three days. But they can prescribe risperdal, and that does help ease the suffering of many, many patients.

Anxiety and Elephants

“Do you suffer from sleeplessness, anxious feelings, obsessive worrying about the future that makes it hard to function? If you find yourself saying Yes, than you may be suffering from generalized anxiety disorder and a chemical imbalance may be to blame.” — Paxil commercial

I mean no disrespect to any of you who have or are suffering from anxiety, depression, or any other mental health problem, but the notion that the so-called mental illnesses we see all around (and within) us are predominantly upper-right quadrant pathologies (i.e. brain disorders) is, to my mind, a striking example of ignorance and non-integral thinking. I say this with genuine compassion, having spent the last ten years of my life working with people diagnosed with mental illnesses.

Drug companies drive much of the current research in psychiatry these days, and the medical establishment (i.e. the people that prescribe Paxil) has produced an abundance of evidence to support their viewpoint: the brain scans, the analysis of neurotransmitter levels, etc. That the entire culture is unbalanced chemically is not the issue–this is, in fact, an obvious state of affairs, which the “evidence” nicely illustrates. What really frosts my balls is the cleverly marketed misunderstanding that an imbalance in our chemical structure necessarily indicates a chemical intervention, and furthermore, is a state of affairs which relieves us of the responsibility for our own state of being. If we took a brain scan and did a chemical analysis of a person who just stuck his head in an elephant’s asshole, we would surely note, when we compare the results to a scan and analysis of the same person a week later (head still in ass), many differences. The long term exposure to the elevated temperature of the elephant’s bunghole, along with the lack of breathable air, would undoubtedly have profound physiological effects. The Paxil pushers of the world would like us to believe that our subject’s chemical imbalance should be “treated” by giving him some pill (it would have to come in suppository form of course, as our subject’s head, and therefore mouth, is unavailable as a medication route) that will directly act on his physiological structure in a way that facilitates a change toward the closest possible approximation of his initial state of relative chemical balance. Well, that’s one approach I guess. The common sense alternative of simply having the subject remove his head from the elephant’s ass would seem a little simpler, and would undoubtedly achieve more satisfactory results. Clearly, pulling head from ass is the more appropriate response in this situation, but imagine if every time we tried to point this out we were encouraged to ignore the fact that the guy’s head was in the elephant’s ass, that every time we even glanced in the direction of the elephant’s ass, our attention was redirected to the brain scan and physiological data. Well, you get the point. Anything can be considered in terms of its chemical properties and physical structure, and any change in subjective experience has a correlative change on an objective, observable level. It simply does not follow that depression, anxiety, or any other mental illness is “caused by” a chemical imbalance, or should necessarily be treated by a chemical intervention. If a tiger were to walk onto my front porch, my physiology would change measurably, but I would consider it insane for someone to suggest that my resultant anxiety was “caused by” the physiological changes or that I should swallow some paxil. I am thankful that many of the folks I work with, such as those tormented by voices in their head or those depressed to the point of attempted suicide, find relief in medication. In fact, I’m all for the use of chemicals for any and all psychological problems, even having a few beers after a tough day at work. Anything that helps is good, so long as you understand (as much as possible) what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. The person who takes the paxil and stays on the front porch with the tiger might get eaten alive. The problems we face in life are complicated beasts, and they cannot be understood or effectively addressed with anything less than an integral approach.

But the paxil pushers of the world are only telling us what we want to hear. We want to keep our gaze fixed on those brainscans and hormone level print outs; we’re more than willing to spend however much it costs for those little pink pills.

It’s such a small price to pay for the warmth and security of that big, pillowy ass. It’s as cozy as mama’s womb, by golly, and once you get used to the smell, you don’t even realize where your head’s buried.

Miller, Wilber and shit

Henry Miller always brings me back to my senses. Dead for twenty-five years now, his words much older than that, yet somehow by merely letting my eyes scan over some black zigs and zags, I am resuscitated, ushered into a realm of greater clarity and sanity. In contrast, Wilber’s words often pull me away, drag me into a maze wherein I find myself lost and confused; disconnected in some way. After reading Wilber’s latest diatribe this morning, I found myself in the bathroom staring down at a big, steaming turd that I had no recollection of parting with. I could only assume that the reason I was standing there with my pants around my ankles was, in fact, that I had just taken a dump. After reading Miller, taking a shit can be a religious experience.