Tired of the world as it is? A bit frightened? Even Angry? So, let’s say you are responsible for IT. IT? You know, the whole Universe, EVERYTHING. There you are at the beginning of it ALL. You decide that in the place of NOTHING, you’ll put SOMETHING. If you are a multi-dimensionalist, you’ll take a preexisting brane or universe and redo it. Fiat! NEW UNIVERSE. This new one is the one you want to create because you made some mistakes with earlier versions. This one will be perfect.

Tired of evil? Take it out of your new universe. No more war, crime, or murders. Want more beauty. Put it in. Everyone is beautiful. Everything is aesthetically pleasing. Want rationality? Include it, too. What about emotional stability? What about geologic and atmospheric stability? Earthquakes, tornadoes—Not in your universe. Can’t have flash floods, landslides, avalanches, hurricanes or their storm surges, sinkholes, heat waves or cold spells, and certainly not any volcanic eruptions—No destruction of Pompeii in this new universe.

Got some other things of concern in the world-as-it-is? Can’t have dangerous energy like UV radiation, gamma and X-rays. Going to have to change the sun. Even friction can be a problem. Oh! Almost forgot. Rust, that’s another mistake in the First Universe. No more chemical reactions between oxygen and iron or apples.

No sickness. No more aging. And no more death, right? You wanted to change those, too, didn’t you? Going to have to get rid of some critters in the New Universe. All those bacteria and fungi and virus and prions and—have we even noted all of them in the First Universe? Don’t want those things crawling around, in, and on you, do you? Of course, that means eliminating some of the now living things that share your universe. Spiders! Yuck. Scorpions, also. Poisonous creatures of any kind, even the platypus poses a danger.

Whew! There’s a bunch of stuff to eliminate to make a perfect universe, isn’t there?

And you just have to keep some of the other stuff, even though it might mean unanticipated problems. Some forces have to remain, it seems. Gravity isn’t so bad except during trips down the steps and plane crashes. Maybe it should be weaker in this new universe. But! Just realized it: Then things might get a bit “floaty.” Planets might not be able to form. Bodies might not be able to stay together. Well, you could strengthen some of the other forces, like electromagnetism and the nuclear forces. That strengthening might lead to some unexpected results, of course.

Gosh! Making a New Universe is a tough job. So much stuff to think about. Maybe eliminating thinking itself would help. There it is: A universe without consciousness!

When there’s no consciousness, there’s no concern. What does it matter what the universe is? That’s it. Settled. The NEW UNIVERSE will have no consciousness. Done. 

Pack stuff into a volume of any size. There it is: Density! It’s so much stuff in so much volume. A full jar of jelly makes for a lot of stuff in a given volume. The same jar filled with air makes for less stuff in the identical volume. Density: Stuff per volume.

Now look around. How much stuff lies within the volume of your enclosed boundaries? Let’s go beyond furniture and knickknacks here. Let’s look at the density of stuff in your mind.

I know. The mind is not a physical volume. It appears to have no limiting boundary like a jelly jar. Keep putting stuff in it, and it expands like a balloon with indefinite elasticity.

Why, then, do so many people act as though the stuff of the mind attains a density?

A jar is a place, but the mind? Truth is, we often treat the mind as place, or, if not treat, then appear at times to understand the mind as place. And places can be filled more or less.

Note that whenever people treat the mind as place, they associate it with tasks, self-imposed or other-imposed demands, or needs. “It’s all too much.” “I can’t handle anything else.” “One more thing and I’ll….” Critical density has been reached!

The next time the density of your life appears to reach critical mass, reconsider the volume of mind. You’re not going “to go crazy” because of “increasing density.” The mysterious volume of mind can expand to handle indefinite stuff. Yes, you might have to go into the mind-balloon to do some rearranging, but be assured, it’s all going to fit. 

Music, as you well know, creates in mind a guided flow. It starts sometimes with a rush; at other times, with a hush. And every song changes place; I see it written on your face. Where once you looked at something wild, the music makes it seem now mild. What you once felt the music changed; your attitude is rearranged.

By the tracks trains come and go with changing pitch from high to low. Near highways, too, we feel the sound as every truck vibrates the ground. And then beneath high vaulted ceiling, the church’s organ conveys the meaning that now we stand in a presence that drives a mind toward its own essence.

With music place begins to move in ways both rough and also smooth. With song a place that once seemed still, cascades, erodes perception’s hill. To feel effects in darkened rooms, just play the sound of mountain flumes. Four walls give way within the mind for sighted people and the blind. And suddenly outside is in, with water’s sound comes Nature’s din.

Now close your eyes and listen to the place you sit or now pass through. 

Do not think of a red balloon. Do not think of a string on a red balloon. Sit quietly. Breathe regularly. Do not think of a red balloon. Do not think of a string on a red balloon. I’ll give you some time…
…
Not thinking about something is difficult. Now try this with place. Think of no place.

In your meditation, do not include anything that belongs to place in general: boundaries, dimensions, what can be seen, felt, touched, heard, tasted. Think of any aspect of your life without place? What about “things” of the mind? Is the mind a place?

Wouldn’t it interesting to run a version of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave in which a person would never be exposed to place and deprived of the experience by desensitization? For the Allegory of No Place, nothing is available for the five senses to perceive. After years of living in a “placeless” place, what would happen upon exposure to place? Obviously, both Plato’s Allegory of the Cave and my analog of a “placeless place” are impossible in the real world of places. Plato makes one point. I make another. From womb to grave you can’t be an Earthling without place. It isn’t this last statement that is the point here.

Place always affects my nature. Sometimes, maybe often, I can affect the nature of a place. I might also “manufacture” place, and that is why one place can be different from occupant to occupant. Resorts that pride themselves on being restorative spas are relatively quiet places. Add some rowdy spring break students. Before they are evicted, they will at least temporarily change the spa.

In Paradise Lost John Milton has Satan say,

          The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven (Book I, 254,255)

So, does your mind configure “place”? Really and not really. Really: It appears to be true that we can affect place by what we do in it and to it—as spring breakers can alter a hotel. It also appears that we all find something different in place—someone uses a cliff for hang gliding; someone else uses it for meditation inspired by scenery and quiet; yet another uses the cliff for suicide. Yes, at least temporarily for individuals and groups minds can “make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.” We also have the very real ability to alter a place physically by, for example, diverting its water supply or damming its stream. Not really: Being in a prison on death row means being in lockdown. One can read, write, or paint to use the mind as an escape. As Emily Dickinson wrote, “There is no frigate like a book.” Such a mental journey to other places is, however, no more a real trip than scrolling through TripAdvisor reviews is a vacation. The reality of the cell remains unchanged physically. One can attempt to think of no cell, but like thinking of no red balloon, the cell will become a focus.

Here we are, not thinking of some place in our meditation and yet finding it in the forefront of thought after brief suppressions by wandering attention. Place is a red balloon, and we are the string attached to it. How are you doing with not thinking about that red balloon?