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?
…
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?
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