Writing is a form of meditation. First, what is meditation? For me, it is embodying a calm mindset. This becomes possible when, seated in a comfortable posture with eyes closed, I focus all my attention on the breath. Or when I do yoga and observe the sensations emerging in my body as I move from one asana into another. I notice the same calming effect when writing about my own mind.
A quest for personal truth, which is often elusive. I’d be much better at decorticating someone else’s mind for sure, but when it comes to me, oh, it gets nasty because I don’t want to be exposed. It’s as if my mind hides the truth as a way to protect itself. Still, I am persevering and gradually starting to see how my beliefs and desires threaded along with a set of memories accrete into a character of sorts, which is, and it is not who I am. The dynamic of self appears to be embedded in language, so, using language, I should be able to deconstruct it. We call this — Metacognition. It is a mystery to me how consciousness emerges from this apparent mess called mind. However, without consciousness, there’d be no metacognition — the capacity to self-reflect and self-analyse.
A 3D map of the mind would look super interesting. Layers of beliefs stacked one on top of another correlated with axioms — fundamental, irrefutable truths. You get a glimpse of how the whole structure is built when you start shaking it a bit, be it with psychedelic drugs or when it’s threatened by dear life.
