To thine own self be true

E. M. Forster’s “Only connect” is probably the truest two-word statement ever uttered. And one can connect on many levels: between oneself and others, between one and nature, and between one and any work of art, be it film, book, painting, or piece of music.

Connection is a state that starts as early as a baby returning a parent’s gaze. We also feel connection to family, others, and our various environments before we begin attending school. Connection usually means that one consciousness recognizes the existence, presence, and consciousness of others. In that sense, there is an inner connection, not just the exterior connection or superficial glancing off ‘the other’ like a couple of billiard balls on the table of life. One of the challenges of living is the extent to which we can connect with the consciousness of ‘the other’, whether in the form of person, situation, object or surroundings.

Our minds and egos typically predispose us to living mostly in terms of self; as expressed by songwriter Paul Simon–“I am a rock. I am an island.” Most of us live inside ourselves and see and relate to the ‘outer world’ in terms of our selves. The challenge often is to recognize the common humanity of other people or our similarity to other species such as animals struggling to survive possible ecological disaster or planetary crisis. There is, then, a large central bedrock of consciousness that connects everything on Earth, and it is that basic field of consciousness recognition that holds the possibility of significant individual growth and positive personal learning.

For instance, when you read a book and are moved by the experiences and ideas of real people or fictional characters, you and your awareness or consciousness are changed by that process. You may end up feeling as if the characters or people are you and feel an indefinable or inexplicable close connection to them. Likewise, if you are on a team that wins a championship, there is a bond between the team members that connects them in a lasting, significant way. Much the same thing happens when people go to a school reunion and remember and relive those old days, roles, and events. There is a sharing of consciousness that accompanies the reconnection.

Hence, consciousness is potentially the important aspect of connection. Just consider the perceptions, awarenesses, recognitions, knowledge, understandings, insights, impressions, and appreciations that occur in such key, moving, and memorable moments.

“Making mental connections is our most crucial learning tool, the essence of human intelligence to forge links; to go beyond the given; to see patterns, relationship, context.”
(Marilyn Ferguson)

And, too–returning to Forster’s quote about relationships–the best of what happens between any two people is often simply the agreements and connected consciousness—the shared experiences and mutual learning that occur in those very close ties. It is the connected consciousness that is the greatest value of whatever significant connections.

************************************************************************************

It is difficult to talk about connection without mentioning consciousness. When we seek to connect, we seek to know more about who or what we are connecting with. We seek an awareness that is a vital part of connection. And to a large extent, our connections won’t happen or be significant unless they presuppose imaginative empathy or sympathy, other forms of knowing, other forms of consciousness.

Ideally, some of the best connections with other people will arise from talk and ‘comparing notes’. In those exchanges of feelings and ideas, we may potentially experience similarities of feelings, thinking, and experiences that create the bridges of connection and, in turn, connected consciousness.

Over the days and years, our consciousness alters and, hopefully, grows. We learn more about others, ourselves, human nature, nature, society, and the world. As Ferguson suggests, learning occurs through our ability to make connections whether studying a person, a mathematical theory, a period of history, and so forth. Those connections become a part of us as much as we may, as Paul of Tarsus said, become a part of someone, something else, a process–of who and what we know.

Above all, shared consciousness and the seeking of common ground remain basic to one’s fulfillment as a person and as an individual.

“‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.”–Tennyson, “Ulysses”

He had come to New England in the third quarter of his life, had come to where the October highway forked and he could see now that the road he was on curved left and was, in fact, the main thoroughfare through the valley. Although he had driven much of Massachussetts this long weekend, he was ready to try a side road.

In his mirror, he saw an approaching right road that disappeared into a grove of golden trees. When he was able to, he pulled the rented car over and watched the long line of cars behind him safely pass his. And when he turned off, he knew instantly that he had taken the right road after all.

He pulled over past the first stretch of trees where leaves thickly covered the road.
There was no sound of traffic although he could look back and see the highway ever busy with vehicles shining in the afternoon sun. Past the ditch on the other side across from him was a sleepy farm with mending wall. He wondered who chose to live here, wondered what this place might mean to the people who lived here with a proud red-flag mailbox at the end of their driveway. His buried life seemed far away now, quite irrelevant like a stack of accumulating, unmarked essays. The sky back in Alberta had been grey-white when he left it, half-expecting snow.

He drew in now and looked up for the Sunday sun moving without effort through the tall trees, or was it just leaf-heaven that sighed and moved this moment ever so slightly like his uncertain soul over a once-black road? He could not see more than fifty yards ahead from where he stood, but it hardly mattered. He wondered if the sidetrack could get any better. Hopeful, he got back in the car and drove farther along. The road continued rising gently, going up and up in a gradual succession of knolls and denser bush.

It was about this time he realized he was literally in another world, an obscure hamlet with a faded white nineteenth-century church. There were no stores, no modern encroachments anywhere, just houses tucked here and there like attitudes. No people.

He began to feel the limits of his small car as it struggled up a long hill. The road gave way to mountain grade as his ears popped. Around him the trees retained their gold, now mixed with ferns and moss. On one side, he caught sight of a stream running down, joining the ditch on his right. In all his adult life, he had never seen such deep, significant colors. So lost and absorbed was he, that he had almost no time at all to react to the spooked deer–a doe–dart across in front of the startled car.

He pulled over at once, more aware of his breathing. He got out and leaned against the car, strangely dizzy from the suddeness of life springing momentously into his post-lunch consciousness.

Completely covered by leaves, the road itself could no longer be said to exist in any tangible way at this elevation. This many miles from the Interstate, it would take an act of imagination or faith to bring it back to life.

Acorns bounced ridiculously off the rental hood. He smoked now, slowly, and realized for the second time how distant everything was that had manacled his yearning fall soul like dead history. He thought again of the doe and wondered why it had chanced a death-dodge with a stranger. He stood now looking about as far as he could into the undergrowth where the green mixed freely with gold. His mind said `Wither?`and he gave the word voice. His feet felt too tired to walk now and he wasn`t sure if movement would make any difference.

This then was the stillest, most perfect moment he had ever known. Like the moment after love, a shared solitude more real than the imagined cares of deadlines, airports, or other lives to lead. More real perhaps than the memory of lost youth or failed loves.

He felt the muses everywhere about him like the leaves that continued their neverending randomly-scripted departures to earth. But there really was no point in trying to write any of this down, to take the time to think of words. He reached, instead, through the open car window and pulled out a camera. One picture, he thought. One moment before moving on. The shutter clicked. The only sound.

Leaning back against the car to get his bearings, he drew breath, shivered, and zipped up his jacket. He felt the forest`s call now deep in his heart, knew in some strange way that he was no longer alone or would ever be lost again no matter which road he travelled. And some part of him would remain here forever by the side of a nameless road, a small part of a mapless journey, in the wisdom of this great unexpected tranquility.

************************************************************************************

A true moment of being and increased consciousness. In My Dinner with Andre, Wally points out to Andre that one does not have to travel to far away places in order to have whatever vision, the vision could occur at home down the street. Well, that may be true in “September”, but there may be times in people’s lives where they need to go a long way in order to find what it is they’re searching for, whatever peace and vision that can address the restlessness of soul.

For me, three decades ago, this was definitely a turning point and climax. Taking some extra days off from work, I flew to New England on the Canadian Thanksgiving/American Columbus Day weekend, rented a car and drove through all those states. My itinerary was very organized; I visited the main haunts associated with all that area’s best-known and revered writers–Frost (c.f. the title, several other allusions), Hawthorne, Dickinson, Melville, Millay, Alcott, Thoreau, Twain. Just an incredible overdose of literary history and culture combined with “the colors” as they are called by local denizens.

I realize these many years later that my soul sought a heightened consciousness that was only going to be possible at that time in those places. I still remember co-workers saying “Why are you going now during the school year?” and “That’s the trip I’m going to take when I retire.” Well, as I’ve noted in the introduction of this blog “The readiness is all”, and I was most ready for an adventure and escape which I have never forgotten or regretted. The last sentence still resonates today. I am there right now in my imagination and memory. Ah, the awesome power of consciousness, eh?

In the fall we drift along
the tree-lined streets
of unfamiliar places.
Leaves cover everything:
sleepy cars and houses
sidewalks and our coats.

My son drags his foot
beside the curb
like a street-cleaner
but even he admits
we could never hope
to hide these dead
in all the sewer grates.

Joggers and young girls
with dogs pass by
and look at us as if to say
‘you don’t fit our decor.’
The leaves, uncaring,
fall in slow time
wordless to the earth.

I used to think
that streets like these
were only meant for lovers
and their lonely ways,
but how wrong can one be
about yellow, red, and green?

In the fall they drift along
the tree-lined streets.
The man is crunching memories
as he watches his son
run on ahead
laughing with the wind
and leaves.

*****************************************************

Perspective, indeed. Written two decades ago when my son was about 6 or 7 as we partook of a special annual ritual begun years before with his older sister–what we called “leafing”. Nature again presenting the context for a moment of being and unfolding process and consciousness. Hard to pick a favorite personal stanza, but I think the fourth is what I personally learned about perspective and being “wrong” about something. There is definitely more than one perspective here, but in end I have always preferred to empathize and identify with my son in the final image. He and nature have and had the last say in this memory.

You cannot go from home to anywhere without running into closures on your route. What is open is so Third World quality that it is obvious that the open roads have been abandoned to Nature. More and more each day, you encounter detours and closures in what is fast becoming The Waste Land City of Alberta and Canada. Edmonton is no longer open for business, school, work, or tourists. A major transportation disgrace.

Another fantastic show of songs from the ’70s meticulously covered by Jim Croce-voiced Witter.

Set 1:
“Time in a Bottle”-10/10
“You Don’t Mess with Jim”-10/10
“Operator”-10/10
“I Got a Name”-10/10
“Cats in the Cradle”-10/10
“Taxi” (also by Harry Chapin)–an impromptu excerpt 10/10
“Leavin’ on a Jet Plane”-10/10
“Carefree Highway”-10/10
“If You Could Read My Mind”-9/10 for countryfying “I just don’t git it”
“Forever Young”–sung by his excellent bass player, backup singer, and symphony arrangement writer–the arrangements were uniformly excellent and tasteful–9/10
“Four Strong Winds”-9/10 for Neil Younging the extended D chord

Set 2:
“Moonshadow” 10/10
“Wild World” 10/10
“Father Son”–8/10 for vocals
“Peace Train”-10/10–Witter does Croce doing Stevens
“How Sweet It Is”-9/10
“Sweet Baby James” 9/10
“You’ve Got a Friend”–mediocre audience singalong 6/10
“Long May You Run”–9/10
“The Weight”-8/10
“American Pie”-vocals weaker 8/10

Basically, overall, a strong 9/10.

Witter played good piano, some guitar. He also had a guitarist who played a solo in “How Sweet It Is” which demanded an ESO sax solo, and a laid-back, low-key drummer.
The ESO was in good form; they had better arrangements to play than usual.

I almost used” Operator” in one of my textbooks; easily my favorite song last evening.

Back on Sunday for the “1812” finale ringing bells my wife gave me for Christmas in our first year.

The leaf that is
contemplating
its turn
to fall.

*******************************************************************************

And what also of plant, tree, flower consciousness? C.f. Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird’s classic book The Secret Life of Plants, sections like the one on plants and music. Yes, instances of indifferent or hostile nature aside, what of the possibility that consciousness simply informs much of the Earth and much of Nature.

“The boughs of no two trees ever have the same arrangement./Nature always produces individuals.”–Lydia Maria Child, Letters from New York–second series (1845)

‘Connection’ is a desirable aspect potentially achievable with the dead and living, and via the real, fictional, and online–but it is best, of course, realized through close connection to friends, a ‘significant other’, family, one’s children and (great) grandchildren.

However, the fact remains that we are all of us individuals and regardless of how connected with and empathetic we are with others, our main consciousness and experience is largely ‘separate’, separated, unique, and individual. We are each of us defined and, to some extent, limited by those two things. We, each of us, have individual characters, personas, values, beliefs, styles, voices, senses of humor, and so forth which identify us and which are uniquely us.

Much of our days are spent ‘inside’, largely isolated from others. Our inner life and personal experience are how we, to some extent too, measure many, if not most, of our interactions with others, places, and events. Often, we are comparing and measuring our relative contentment, satisfaction, happiness, status, and success during our contacts with others.

The fact is, as any depressed person or psychologist would likely tell you, we have to live with ourselves, accepting who we are, our limits and limitations. Oftentimes, our dreams may frustrate us by the simple fact they cannot be achieved or don’t match up significantly with those of others we wish to be with or, perhaps, love.

“To have one’s individuality completely ignored is like being pushed quite out of life
Like being blown out as one blows out a light.”–Evelyn Scott, “Escapade”

Hamlet’s “To thine own self be true” has long offered a wisdom and perspective about these conflictful matters. The honest person and the most self-accepting person is the one who is and remains true to his/her own personal nature and potentialities, with all the limits and limitations that that thought implies.

Ironically, it is on the basis of self-acceptance and self-knowledge that one can proceed to have a good, happy, fulfilled life. Obviously, freedom has a lot to do with this possibility once adulthood has been achieved. The lucky persons who are free are able to construct his/her own day, make of it as they choose, even without worrying how much something may cost. The true individual moves through the day without worrying what others will think of his/her dress, appearance, behavior, and choices. He or she makes his/her own day or own life.

The true individual kowtows to no external, extraneous, bogus authority who prescribes how others should live. The free-est individual is able to think and create freely, expressing whatever he or she thinks. It is from such a position of self-possession and conscious will that individuals can and ought to live freely with as much social interaction and connection as they choose or require.

The simple fact, too, is that we are who and what we are. For that, we need may make no apologies if we do not conform to the many wishes, limits and limitations imposed on us by others. It is for others to figure out their own responses and to construct their own meanings within their own lives and worlds. Although we can offer our best opinions, advice, and help, it is up to others to make their own meanings and purposes as individuals within their own lives and experiences. In that, the free-est and best sense of what it means to be an individual and to account for the unique individuality of each of our basically autonomous lives.

“I’ll walk where my own nature would be leading: It vexes me to choose another guide.”–Emily Bronte, “Stanzas”

************************************************************************************

Comments:

Connection to self is as important, if not moreso, than connection to others, as noted in the previous entry.

Although we each may have limits and limitations, it would be a far worse thing to be living life mostly on others’ terms. It is important to know or find out who we are and to be what we are and find our own best meanings and life purposes. Socrates’ “Know thyself.” Pretty basic.

To really know, accept, understand, and appreciate any other person, we may have to accept their limits, flaws, weaknesses, and foibles as well as their positives, strengths and talents; in short, to know, accept, understand, and appreciate them as they totally are, as unique individuals. In Citizen Kane‘s climax, “Rosebud” turned out to be a key missing piece, though only one of the numerous jigsaw pieces that made up Kane, reflected in turn by the many episodes and eyewitnesses of his life story.

One, those about baby or toddler deaths.
Two, about attacks on pets or violence against animals.
I have my limits.

Life being largely about the impact of the world on an individual.

Beginning with the flow of images, sounds, language, feelings, thoughts–various information via lived experience.

Received, filtered, organized, processed by the individual’s senses, body, mind, feelings via imagination, intelligence, and empathy.

Thereby generating important meanings, understandings, epiphanies including pattern recognition, meaning-making, personal understandings, and expression/sharing of same.

What might also be called the potential development of a sensibility with resulting integrity, values, and style.

In short, what comprises a fully-realized, autonomous individual.

The more developed and multitudinous the sensibility, the more interesting the person, the broader and richer the quality of experience and capacity for empathy, connectedness, expressiveness and creativity.

What is important, then, to any individual is obtaining and knowing the information that satisfies curiosity, that is wanted, needed, necessary, missing, missed in order to maintain ‘life-flow’, to ‘move forward’, to develop, and to grow.

Life’s information cannot be understood or expressed without language, thought, and feeling, and sometimes whatever missing experience.

Ultimately, throughout a day and life, whether one realizes it or not, one searches for the very information that is necessary to live more fully, freely, connectedly, and purposefully.

************************************************************************************

Comments:

An inspiration: The Information, a book by James Gleick.

“Sensibility” is one of those good old ‘lost, forgotten’ nineteenth century words, as in Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility.

We all seem to be ‘looking for something’ at a given moment or at various stages of our lives. In the case of the latter, the missing pieces usually complete some understanding of self, others, or something we previously lacked. Often, we are just plain impelled or driven ‘blindly’ toward whatever unknown missing information or experiences that enable the potential to complete ourselves or to fulfill our destinies (and which we don’t know till we ‘get there’).

Something in all of this individual process that seeks freedom (of self or via something or someone else) and personally satisfying and fulfilling connection. In any case, it is the flow, the process, or ‘the journey’ as the old quote goes, that matters and reveals most.

And reflecting many of the entries that follow–it is in the knowing or consciousness of same that lies the meaning and purpose. Facilitated by words, thoughts, and feelings understood within and expressed to/shared with others. In that, finally, meaningful communication and the possibility of significant connection and relationships as well as whatever resultant positive personal and social actions and behaviors.

(the first blog entry of Tothineownselfbetrue.ca a mere 6 years ago. What a ride it hath been, expressing the passing feelings, thoughts, positions, ideas, visuals, and flotsam and jetsam of the passing daze–illuminations that might have otherwise dissolved and been forgotten. Montaigne’s essays inspired this continuing opus which has helped make myself known to myself and any others out there in cyberspace. I still enjoy writing, and this blog has remained as a largely prose and visual complement to my poetry.)

ps/ for anyone interested in the most basic life views stemming out of this philosophical entry, they continued to sprinkle in chronologically as the blog unfolded, especially in the first two years.

could you be a German tourist minding your own business driving on a highway who then gets shot in the head by a 16-year-old reserve native kid with nothing better to do with a firearm.