Otis

I do think you're right, that living authentically can be the whole story. The problem is: there are two very distinct forces that pull us toward seemingly spontaneous action. For most of us (myself included), habit is the more powerful of the two. So, just "being myself" usually means: stop being aware, and just follow my habits, for better or worse. Of course, there's no freedom in that, at all. That's precisely the sleep-walking, we're trying to wake up from. Even if I manage to get the ego/habit out of the way (forgetting one's self, as someone said above), the whole self emerges, but only as an infant. My habit has been in control for so long, that the rest of the organism has atrophied. The whole self is joyful in its emergence, and its capacity far outstrips "mine" (i.e. my ego's), but it is not particularly skillful, because it has always been eclipsed by ego. Therefore, it's easy to despair, along this path, because surrender of ego brings freedom, but it also brings clumsiness and some chaos. Which is why practice is so important. It seems odd to need to practice "being myself", but it is necessary, because habit is like a gravitational force, that always wants to drag me back into it. And that practice also gives the whole self a chance to stretch its unused parts, warm up to being in charge, and grow.

Yes! And ... don't tell stories to yourself, about who you are, or what the world is. Allow every moment to be a mystery. And ... love life completely, without reservation. See no separation between self and life. Live in the first person. And ... always unfold, always change, always grow.

Of course, it does suggest a different kind of cultivation, than what we usually think of as self-improvement (outside-in). More and more practice of artificiality will not bring us to naturalness, after all. Rather than cultivate to become perfect, and then start being natural, we can look at "what's perfect" as "what is". So the cultivation can be merely the practice of being natural, allowing the moment to sweep us along perfectly with it.

I don't know what role ATP plays, but to me, Qi is more abstract than that. For example, my experience of efficient movement or of being in a balanced wobble or whirling spiral, are the same as my experience of Qi. Taken literally, it suggests that Qi is (the function of the body, including) the movement of the body. When I feel balance and ease/efficiency, I am feeling my body following the flow, i.e. moving more like an "energetic" body, than a physical one. The experience of the "energetic body" is identical to the experience of being effortless, and without intention. That is, authenticity = listening = flow = Qi. Qi is the metaphor for what I experience when I allow my body to be what it is itself, without "my" interference. In these cases, power is not derived so much from quick-burning muscle fuel, but by efficient use of the muscle; fibers working in harmony. It comes from listening to the body, and letting the body choose, and lead the action, rather than forcing intention on the body.

Maybe you're just joking, can't tell. Just to be clear, I was not saying that Qi is energy. I just said that it is a metaphor of the body, experienced as energy.

Dear all, For those of you interested in consciousness, and how it relates to the human brain, there's a great BBC radio documentary, that helps illustrate the connection between the two. http://www.thechangingworld.org/ Right now, the 2-part series is featured on the home page. You can download the shows as MP3s, and listen, whenever. Enjoy!

Excellent share, thanks! I just watched the "Happiness Machines" (1st hour) of the documentary, which was great. Note to others: part 6 has no audio (silenced by youtube for supposed copyright infringement), but there are other versions on youtube. The same documentarian (Adam Curtis) also directed "The Power of Nightmares", about the rise of the Islamist movement, and the way that western politicians have exploited that rise. I highly recommend it.

Hi Beoman, What you're describing is very familiar to me. IME of my body: when one muscle relaxes, then other muscles are revealed, as being too tense. They appear to be sore, but the truth is: they were already that sore, but I just didn't realize it. Sensation is experienced via change. If I put a shirt on, I only feel it for awhile, and then it fades, until I think about, or take it off again. Likewise, if my body is tighter than it needs to be (and I think most bodies are), then I only notice that tension, when something releases. On top of that, prior to the relaxation, my body had achieved its own dysfunctional tense internal balance. Too tense muscles need to be balanced by other too tense muscles, and still other muscles end up being atrophied, due to disuse. So, when a tense muscle relaxes, and I return to normal habitual physical activity, then the other tense muscles tend to freak out, to go into spasm, because they are no longer "balanced" by the earlier tension. The solution to this, is to carefully decompress from the relaxation, not go back into habitual action, but slowly, and with much listening, find the body's path of ease into movement. I've spent the last ten years, unwinding my body from over-tension, and the pattern that you described, I've felt over and over again (including the use of weed). My attention shifts, with the pain in my body, and follows whatever needs most to be released, right now. As I release one thing, then some other area calls my attention to it, and I move there with my awareness. And then that releases, and a new area calls me to it, and so on. Warning: if your body is anything like mine, then the process of releasing goes on and on. Once that Pandora's box (of putting attention into the body) is opened, then the path doesn't end quickly. It is amazing, how much tension and pain I was carrying around, without being aware of it. Releasing is joyful and (dare I say) spiritual work, but once I allowed myself to feel pain, then I am always aware of pain. I see that pain as my friend, as my road-map to unwinding, but there's no turning away from it, ever again, without going back into the unconscious tuned-out tension, that I had since childhood. Edit to add: but it's worth it! My body has changed radically in the last 10 years, in terms of ability, flexibility, endurance, strength, and lack of injury. All this from the dual practices of unwinding/stretch and finding "authentic" (ease) movement/dance.

This is how I understand Qi, as the overall metaphor for the functions of the body, including those of the skeletal-muscular system. With our eyes, we see the body as a solid thing, but its functioning is not. Its functioning is patterns, waves, pulses, fluid motion, electricity. Those functions can only be felt by kinesthetic senses, some of which don't have names in Western culture. By learning to pay attention to these subtler senses, we can go deeper than the visual illusion of solidity, and experience the body directly as energy, as process.

The short answer to this is: "I don't know". The long answer is unfortunately very long, so I'll try to skim. Although I don't recognize any way of pin-pointing or confirming who or what I am, there are many forms of mirrors in the world, each which can help give me an imperfect view. Science is my favorite, because it's the least likely to be contaminated by wishful thinking and superstition. From a biological, materialist point of view, I am an animal, one of the great apes. Like other animals, I am an expression of DNA, via millennia of adaptation and most recently, the genetics specific to my parents. I am a body, which consists of structures of mobility, defense, and function. One such structure of function is my brain, which is primarily interested in 1. moderating the other organs, hormones and systems, and 2. enabling my senses and muscles, so that I can find food, eat, run, fight, etc. The brain also has more recent developments, which include abstract thought, problem-solving, language, and empathy, all of which make it easier for me to function, especially as part of a social species. One of those functions (a subset of a subset of a subset of the entire animal) is the sense of self, the feeling that I exist, and the self-reflection that comes from that perception. From a neurological point of view, this "self" that I call "me" is an illusion. There is no one consciousness in my brain, but rather many many functions, which overlap and feedback with each other, giving the overall impression of one emergence. Thoughts are no more "me" than emotions, perceptions, risk-assessment, motor commands, or even temperature or endocrine regulation. From a behaviorist point of view, I am a conditioned being. From birth, I have perceived rewards and punishments, both from "out there in the world" and from my own organism, which have shaped my perceptions, my responses, and even my thoughts. From a cognitive point of view, I am a habitual being. I have habits of perception, of thought, of emotion. These habits tend to work as "if then" algorithms. If I am in X mood, and experience Y perception, in Z context, then I will usually think and respond in relatively uniform, predictable ways. What makes me unpredictable is usually the complexity of the factors in each algorithm. From a phenomenological point of view: I am the center of my universe. Everywhere I go, there I am. There is nothing that comes in or goes out, that is not about me. When I sleep, the world disappears. When I reflect, I am looking at constructs that exist only in my head. When I "figure things out", I am moving mental constructs around. When I love or hate or fear, I am feeling the internal state of my body, in response to some combination of internal and external stimuli. When I justify my feelings or decisions, I am telling myself stories. From a philosophical point of view, "I" am exactly my life, no more and no less. "My life" and "I" occupy the exact same territory. Of course, part of "my life" includes my internal life, the function and feedback of my various organs, including my brain. But indeed, even the "external" world is never perceived directly, but is only assumed, based upon the models that my brain puts together. I am a mostly blind being, with certain small sensory capacities, that paint in certain relevant details, which my habits and heuristics expand into a working model of the world. From a social point of view, I am "some guy". Just another dude on the street, friends to a few, stranger to most. To most other people in the world, it makes little to no difference, whether I am there or not. As seen within an actual mirror, I am my appearance. I am the shame or pride in my image, plus the stories I tell myself about what it means to be me. From the viewpoint of self-reflection, I am a cluster of data, contaminated by my wishes and fears. I have a general sense of adjectives about myself, although they are often not the same adjectives that are reflected back at me, from the other mirrors in my life. I define myself by my associations, my firm beliefs, my closest friends and family, as well as a sense of my latent potential, that I have not yet explored. My self-description is often based upon what I am not, as I compare myself to my perception and stories about other people. There is also a spiritual mirror, but when I look at it, I do not see "me", only my hopes that I am something more than all of the above. Perhaps I do exist as spirit (and yes, I do have experiences that are inexplicable, by the models that I have mentioned above). But spirit feels like an unnecessary and utterly unknowable realm, not so much a mirror as a placebo, designed to make me feel better. I don't consider myself as spirit, not because I disbelieve, but because I don't yet see a reason to believe. So: "who am I?" These mirrors all point towards some truth, but none is utterly satisfying on its own. I don't want to believe in images of my self, just because they make me special or holy or whatever. In fact, I don't want to derive my value from the "who am I" question, at all. "Who am I" is useful only as a way of looking at how I have come about, what's at the basis of this organism (biology), and what strategies are worthwhile, in dealing with the internal and external.

When I face the question of vulnerability, I have to ask myself: what's at risk? And one of the most important factors in assessing risk, is weeding out the false positives. Real risk is losing my life, my health, or my relationship to a loved one. Partial risk includes losing money or wasting my time. But if I am emotionally vulnerable in front of another, what risk do I usually really have? Embarrassment? Being insulted? Are these really risks, or just my ego, freaking out? Of course I am my ego, so I do feel pain when another dismisses my opinion, sleights my abilities, or acts as if I don't matter. But this pain is utterly within my control: if I accept it, then the pain vanishes. If I reject the pain, then I suffer. And if I spend my life trying to avoid that pain, then I remain in the captivity of my fear.

Hi awake, I think you're asking excellent questions. The question of "what should I do?" is the big cosmic one. Why this religion vs. that, this authority vs. that one? Who do you listen to, if not your self? Of course, if you trust your own inner guidance, then woe betide! All the warnings you ignored, all the chances you had to follow someone else's path, that could have led you past the troubles that you got yourself into. Or would they? You can never know the ultimate outcome of the choice you didn't make, and so here's the chance to torment yourself over "woulda, coulda, shouldas". Until you choose not to torment yourself anymore. Ultimately, I don't see that any of us have the choice, other than to follow our own inner guidance. We may act as if we are doing the right thing by following the right religion, but it's still the choice we make. Every choice belongs to me, so if I don't want to just pinball my way around from guru to guru, I'd better start practicing following my own instincts, listen to what my own guidance tells me. Which means, of course, that I have to be willing to accept failure. But I may as well do that, anyway, because I'm going to fail along the way, no matter which path I take. And I need to learn to surrender regret, but just accept that the decision has been made. If evidence arises that shows me that I made a mistake, then I need to accept responsibility for it, and learn to clean up my mistakes. And learn. But without going through the practice of trusting my inner compass, without surrendering worry, regret, and fear of failure, then I will never learn to be free, because I will always be living a photocopy of someone else's path; and I will always be dependent on being "right", which is nothing but a delusion, anyway.

This is excellent! I, too, have a hard time letting myself be vulnerable. I am too good at creating boundaries. They are too easy for me. The practice that calls me to it, right now, is to allow myself to be vulnerable, without flinching, flailing or fleeing. I'm not thrilled about facing the practice, honestly, but the call is clear.

Thanks! I'll check it out.

Also, I wanted to reiterate an earlier post, with links to the many episodes of "Radiolab" (an NPR series) that have to do with consciousness, choice, self, and the brain. Who am I? http://www.radiolab.org/2007/may/07/ Choice http://www.radiolab.org/2008/nov/17/ Memory and Forgetting http://www.radiolab.org/2007/jun/07/ Brain/body connection http://www.radiolab.org/2006/may/05/ Emergence http://www.radiolab.org/2007/aug/14/ Randomness http://www.radiolab.org/2009/jun/15/

That's a great point, Barb. The most "natural" method for me, may not be the most natural for you.

Hi Mewtwo. IME, Qi manipulation can also include the ability to shift from being very heavy, to being very light. This isn't changing physics necessarily, as it is changing balance. If I'm unbalanced, then I step down with considerable unnecessary force. The more balanced I am, the easier it is to control where my weight goes, and thus to step lightly. This is one of the great benefits that I've received from the practice of barefoot hiking. In Contact Improv, a partner dance form that includes a lot of lifting, my practice cultivating balance, awareness, and ease, has led others to experience me as lighter, although I haven't lost weight. So the "levitating" may be an exaggeration of someone who has learned to step so lightly, that they seem to almost be floating.

It made a lot of sense to me.

I think this is only a problem, if we insist on knowing where we're going, or having some solid landmark. "Natural" is not defined by "what seems to lead us down a certain road". "Natural" is not a thing to be known at all. It is something only to be felt. So we cannot "know" natural, but we can follow it. If I listen to the path that makes the most sense for me, the one without internal struggle, the one that seems to lead me into joy, then I will find the most "natural" path, for me, at that moment. That doesn't mean that I can't find something more natural, with time and practice; of course I can. But the practice is always about what's available, right now, rather than some ideal. As long as it's an ideal, it's not natural. Get rid of the need for yardsticks, ideals, and landmarks, and "natural" becomes a very easy thing to recognize.

One of the earliest technologies was language. And it was so powerful that it totally changed the human brain. Language gave rise to dualism. Suddenly, we were seeing the world in concepts, and extremes. That's the tricky thing about technology: it may control us, in ways that we don't even notice. Hand-writing increased handedness, which may have increased hemispheric specialization. Shoes have made our feet soft and insensate. Clothes made us prudish. Society made us dependent. Vehicles and elevators made us lazy. Computers made us sedentary and disembodied. Farming advances have led to overpopulation. Medical discoveries are leading to bankrupting our pension and health care plans. Cell phones have become leashes. Porn has jaded us. Instant communication and virtual entertainment have led us to pay less attention to where we are, right now. Internet Taoism discussion boards can be an addiction. All of these technologies were improvements, no doubt. But they also carried costs. I think we have to consider both. This may sound trite, but I think one of the most influential technologies that is yet to come, is full-immersion virtual reality sex. Once technology removes the need to have an actual partner, then the very social order of our world may change. Many men may lose the desire to be with a real woman (who needs the trouble of trying to maintain a relationship?), and seek to get their emotional fulfillment from friends (or even from machines). We may end up with a polarized and gender-segregated society, or perhaps one in which the genders are no longer seen as distinct. We may all end up very fat. And then, of course, there's the upcoming singularity: when computers get smarter than we are. Who knows what that will lead to, and how much the technology may truly end up shaping us, to fit it?

Well, this certainly seems relevant to an internet discussion group. When I do find myself trying to convince someone of something, I am soon reminded of the futility of it (at least for me, right now). I recognize very little influence that I have in others lives, at least via my ideas. Most of my attempts at explaining my ideas to others, have led nowhere, or backfired. Here, at least, I have the rationale that posting is a practice of making sure that I am clear, honest, and not taking short-cuts. So, even if I can't convince anyone, I can at least practice doing my best, at communicating what I believe. Anyone want to speculate on what it means to "lose myself in the common humanity"?

That sounds great! I love the beach, and usually make it to Santa Monica beach, twice a week or so. We sword fight there, and I do all of my contact staff there, as well. Every Sunday, there's a great congregation of balance and movement people: stuntmen, capoeira-istas, gymnasts, hand balancers and acro balance practitioners. What a great influence! Something wonderful about being near the ocean. I love seeing the sun set over the bay, the water growing silvery, and then fiery orange. I like playing at the surf, being chased by incoming waves, and then following them out again, ready to turn tail and get chased. I love running in wet sand.

I'm kind of a primitivist, actually. When I think of the concept of my original face, I think of human evolution, prior to technology. This is what we were evolved to do: run, climb, chase, swim, fight, etc., and so I think I owe it to my body to give it a chance to do those things. Just like it is cruel not to allow a dog to run, on a regular basis, I think it is cruel to my body, to keep it sedentary.

The friends of mine who have gotten GPS, are now dependent upon them. People who used to have as good or better senses of direction as me, are now helpless, without their box. Of course, when we all got cell phones, we seem to have lost the ability to memorize ten-digit numbers. But maybe that's no big deal; do we really need to know ten digit numbers? My sense of direction, on the other hand, is a faculty that I definitely don't want to give up.

That's a very good question, Strawdog, whether we're "better off today, because of technology". I don't know if there's any way to ascertain that, beyond personal preference, and unreliable memory. My whole life, I've heard people say that the world is going "to hell in a handbasket". But when I look at documentaries about WWI and WWII, it seems pretty clear that we're living in a much kinder era, than we were during the first half of the last century. I grew up with the certainty of nuclear war; it was only a matter of when. Now I rarely think about that possibility. Etc. Personally, I am all in favor of ridding ourselves of taboos, particularly those of giving power to words. The traditions that say: "these things are proper, these things are not", strike me as artificial and unnecessary. In "the good old days", people still had all the vices that they do today. They were just more secretive about them. I'd rather live in an honest society, than an artificially polite one.