The dynamic concept of the Figure of Eight was introduced in my Blog ‘Somatic Markers’ dated 16th November.
The bottom half of the Figure of Eight represents the ground of our being—core self—that which we can become more aware of in meditative exercises of one kind or another: the rush of blood in the ears, the crackling of knee joints, the tingling in the right big toe (notice it now…), the sense of suspension in the limbs when you imagine that all motion has been stopped, the place we go to when listening to the slow movement of a Mozart Piano Concerto—α-wave intelligence.
The ascent into the top half of the Figure of Eight takes us into β-wave intelligence which is needed to sustain everyday living during which there’s a tendency to forget that everything depends on the natural functioning of the Core Self where the laws of one’s own being operate.
And the cross-over point? What happens there at the momentary point of fertile stasis, poised between organism and object—organism and anything in the outside world with special reference to those things which we choose to let distract us from the Core Self. What is like to be just there in total silence—at the Euclidean non-existent point of cross-over? How to describe it? Has anybody been there?
There was an artist in the city of Kouroo who was disposed to strive after perfection. One day it came into his mind to make a staff. Having considered that, in an imperfect work, time is an ingredient, but into a perfect work time does not enter, he said to himself, it shall be perfect in all respects, though I should do nothing else in my life. He proceeded instantly to the forest for wood, being resolved that it should not be made of unsuitable material; and as he searched for and rejected stick after stick, his friends gradually deserted him, for they grew old in their works and died, but he grew not older by a moment. High singleness of purpose and resolution, and his elevated piety, endowed him, without his knowledge, with perennial youth. As he made no compromise with Time, Time kept out of his way, and only sighed at a distance because he could not overcome him. Before he had found a stick in all respects suitable, the city of Kouroo was a hoary ruin, and he sat on one of its mounds to peel the stick. Before he had given it the proper shape the dynasty of the Candahars was at an end, and with the point of the stick he wrote the name of the last of that race in the sand, and then resumed his work. By the time he had smoothed and polished the staff Kalpa was no longer the pole-star; and ere he had put on the ferrule and the head adorned with precious stones, Brahma had awoke and slumbered many times. But why do I stay to mention these things? When the finishing stroke was put to his work, it suddenly expanded before the eyes of the astonished artist into the fairest of all the creations of Brahma. He had made a new system in making a staff, a world with full and fair proportions, in which, though the old cities and dynasties had passed away, fairer and more glorious ones had taken their places. And now he saw by the heap of shavings still fresh at his feet, that, for him and his work, the former lapse of time had been an illusion, and that no more time had elapsed than is required for a single scintillation from the brain of Brahma to fall on and inflame the tinder of a mortal brain. The material was pure, and his art was pure; how could the result be other than wonderful?
Thoreau’s little story (quoted by Herbert Read in The Redemption of the Robot) illustrates what the cross-over point might be like. What are the elements that might serve as pointers to us in the so-called ‘ordinary world’?
● Focus on Things—what Gurdjieff calls getting the Food of Pure Impressions before left-brain thinking takes over in the top half of the Figure of Eight.
● Timelessness—which includes but is far more than separation from clock-time; a total dedication to the task in hand that brings about a feeling that there is no such thing as time.
● Singleness of Purpose—unsullied by temporal distractions of any kind.
● Remembering Oneself—the 4th Way idea of the moment when ‘the tinder of a mortal brain’ is suddenly inflamed by ‘presence’… There are plenty of examples of the way self-remembering works in Gurdjieff & Ouspensky and their followers.
Above all, not to serve machinery but to go with one’s sense of flow in fidelity to the laws of one’s being to the extent that one’s artefacts constantly expand into meaning and renewal of purpose.
How does all this work out for an artist, a composer, poet, dreamer, thinker, craftsperson, What light can such as they shed on how focus on things, the experience of timelessness, singleness of purpose and Being in the present relate to their processes?
And how might such things apply even to a person who has with singleness of purpose dedicated their life to some daily avocation? What benefit would they get from such a change of focus?
Herbert Read’s ‘drift’ is to wonder how the ‘emotional satisfactions’ of the craftsperson’s work can be introduced into the ‘average life’ beset by ‘divided purposes’—the life of the robot. ‘We have never ventured to say that the machine shall go thus far and no further; the machine shall do this, but not that; the machine shall be put here, but not there…’
In our society, the two halves of the Figure of Eight have become radically separated off from each other: the top half has been hi-jacked by and for the efficient functioning of the machine; education drifts more and more towards the hidden wreck of vocational training, preparation for what they call ‘work’ (what might be construed as ‘slavery’—the life of the robot); the bottom half of the Figure of Eight has been forgotten except when it starts malfunctioning when it is simply offered drugs by the health machine.
I ask again: how does all this work out for an artist, a composer, poet, dreamer, thinker, craftsperson? What light can such as they shed on how focus on things, the experience of timelessness and singleness of purpose relate to their processes? What would an ordinary ‘worker’ gain?
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
After reading your post I remembered a family farm. My mother use to take me out there on Sundays, and I was free to explore the farm, as my mother and her friend sat in the kitchen talking. It was a world I didn’t understand. How did they make money? How did they know if the crops would get enough rain? My mother’s friend was a big powerful woman. Her husband was always working on something, fixing a fence, or the old tractor.
In William’s poem the lens offers us a moment that crosses over between the core self, and the upper end of the figure-eight. The poet has reduced all of life’s conflicts into a pure impression. In doing this he has given to all of us the permission to do the same. He has granted us a wish, the idea of something pure.
My impression of that farm I once walked around has not taken any form yet, but it is there – eternal motion.
The machine that hustles and bustles, seeks more and more. Its purpose is to drain energy.
So for me the questions you raised can either be addressed with a certain quality of energy, or discarded. Discarded because “I” don’t have time, or “I” will get to it later. The machine is calling, and the hustle and bustle of all those “Is” want control. The farmer knows he or she is not in control. So much depends on things outside their control. That in itself creates a humble existence, and an understanding of how small we are.. When I wake up in the morning and go outside, I feel the cool air on my skin, a solitary leaf rustles past, and just two hours later this connection gets lost in the haze of disconcerted “Is” Nervous, irritable, internally moving in haphazard way. So much depends on STOP! Even now I can feel the machine call. Its bond is as strong as my illusions. The false sense of a permanent “I” Either or thinking. Meta I pulls back and the illusion vanishes. Just a bit of a shift, up one notch and mechanical thinking is shattered.
The power-brokers, the politicians, the entertainment business, are all counting on us to stay put.
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Reblogged this on INTO THE BARDO and commented:
Colin never disappoints. I think you will enjoy this thought provoking piece with which we restart “Into the Bardo.” For the foreseable future, this site will be a simple digest of some of the finest work to be found online and which I think you will enjoy. It’s a slow start, but I hope a good one. Jamie Dedes
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Colin, you got a sweet comment on your poem on my blog. “There Was a Time” … I quite agree with her.
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