Sunday, 21 September 2014

Death before, after, and during Life

It’s a point I’ve sneaked into conversations on a number of occasions, each time with no response whatsoever,  as if I hadn’t said anything. It’s very simple logic and I don’t know whether people don’t understand it or they think it’s silly.

Is life, our conscious experience, just the briefest of twinkles in a vast black chasm of nothingness? It would possibly not be black as nothingness implies no visual experience (though we do tend to think of “it”, the unexperiencable, as black, we could just as well picture it as white, which though just as meaningless is maybe a little more comforting) , and there would of course be no chasm, indeed, no volume of any size, nor any time.

We know that our physical bodies arose because of certain biological processes involving tiny amounts of DNA and those of a materialist persuasion would have us believe that the transfer and recombination of these few microscopic strands of nucleic acids was a prerequisite for the eventual emergence of our consciousnesses. However, from a subjective perspective, our consciousnesses appeared to emerge out of nothing, as we don’t remember anything prior to our conception, nor in most cases anything before we were a few years old.

Christians, Muslims, Jews, and atheists seem to agree that “we” (for want of a better word) were “created” at a point in space and time, and that “we” had never existed prior to this, not even in the infinity of time and space that some new theories on the multiverse seem to imply is a reality. They do, however, diverge somewhat as regards what happens to “us” when we die. As the monotheist would have it, one does not exist for infinity and then one suddenly appears and continues to exist for “the rest of infinity”, which seems somewhat asymmetric, though if they are happy with heaven existing outside time and space then that’s no problem.

Atheists, and more particularly materialists, though many of them are highly intelligent in a technical sense, sometimes seem rather linear and prosaic in their way of thinking. Consciousness emerges with the formation of the brain, so they say, and disappears when the brain ceases functioning. I agree with this up to a point and am willing to accept the possible veracity of their further claim that once consciousness has gone, that’s it, you will cease to exist and never exist again. But I am open to the possibility that this is not true and I also think that on a “philosophical” level it doesn’t actually make a lot of sense. Immediately after I die, consciousnesses will be emerging constantly throughout the universe for billions more years, or, if there indeed is a multiverse, maybe for infinity. Why can’t “I” be one of these new consciousnesses that the infinite “black chasm” is spewing out in vast never ending numbers. Was I so unique, so special that the “nothingness” that churned me out at least once, is unwilling or unable to ever do so again(?), because we are each of us “I” and the “I”s keep on coming. I think there’s a problem here with the use of words such as I, me, we, you, etc. Regarding ourselves as a unique individual or self has always been regarded in buddhism as illusory and this assertion has recently been supported by neurological research which indicates that there isn’t actually a self in the brain but that the myriad of sensory experiences, thoughts, and stream of consciousness mediated through memory merge and create the feeling that one is a “person” and this is then reinforced by human society in which one is regarded as and functions as a unique individual (actually I imagine the neurologists tried interfering with various parts of the brain in order to find an area where disruption might lead to a loss of personal identity, but I’m just speculating). The “ego” or “self” is in both the hardware and the software and being able to pluck it out and see it for the artifical construct that it really is is far from easy.



Hindus believe that the Atman (soul, inner self, true self) proceeds from one life to the next but Buddha did suggest that it was not possible to establish whether such an “individual higher self” existed and Buddhists speak in terms of the Buddha nature which is the essential nature within all things, the fundamental ground of reality. Notice that the Buddha nature is not split up into separate individual consciousnesses but is a state of mind in which the the subject and object are merged, there is no duality, no person set apart from everything else. So one might speculate that although this “essential nature” is manifesting in separate individuals, these individuals are experiencing the same state of mind, in which “they” no longer exist. And we’re not talking Borg here.

One might think that for “me” to be reincarnated there would need to be some form of mind continuation. But I can’t see any problem with a break in consciousness and a new consciousness not remembering anything previous. Not existing is by definition something that cannot be experienced. When I die, that will indeed be it, JohnK gone forever, but the consciousness that was the foundation of the JohnK illusion was not a special JohnK consciousness.

In fact materialists keep JohnK “alive” as a once conscious entity that is now banned for all of future infinity from ever experiencing consciousness again, not even that of a miniscule midge, amongst the billions of miniscule midges that swarm within every square mile of heathland around me, with brains no more than a few molecules in size, just as, before JohnK was born he was banned from experiencing consciousness for the infinity going backwards in time to the big bang and further into the multiverse. Yet if JohnK was doomed to not be conscious for infinity, why did that infinity come to an end, and JohnK consciousness arise.

But, of course, JohnK is only a transient illusion of personhood consciousness, shaped by biology and society and seeing itself as a person through its memory, stringing together all those beads of “experiences in the present moment” to construct a necklace, a me, an I, a person. The memory is the string that holds the beads together, but if one was able to look closely at the necklace, one would see that it was not a continuous bead but separate discrete beads, and buddhism would have it that between each bead there lies the dark void, death. In some buddhist philosophies at least, consciousness is likened to the action of the “dot” on the screen of a cathode ray tube which appears, disappears, reappears in a different location, disappears, and so on, but doing this so quickly that, given the relatively slow data processing of the human brain, it appears as a picture to the human mind, or like a movie, with separate frames appearing and disappearing so rapidly that the mind thinks it’s seeing a moving picture.




I don’t want to mix metaphors here as the necklace represents the person that we see ourselves to be, whereas the CRT and the movie represent the basic nature of consciousness as we experience it, though they both seem to reflect a similar thing, namely the quantization of “reality”. The ordinary mind is unable to perceive these separate quantae of consciousness (which perhaps last for just millseconds) and the voids that separate them, but supposedly in deep meditative states time may fade away and the real reality may arise; particles of consciousness rapidly emerging from and dying back into the pregnant void, death, just as, it is thought by some scientists, subatomic particles, the building block of the physical universe, are created and annihilated  ……..   created and annihilated elsewhere and elsewhen  …….      …….., discrete packages of “physical reality”, manifesting the framework of space and time.

Saturday, 30 August 2014

Recurring Dream Themes - Frustration

I imagine the term recurring dreams refers not to a particular dream that recurs in a Groundhog Day manner but rather to themes that appear over and over again, often in rather different contexts but in most cases retrospectively recognizable.

One of the most interesting ones I have experienced over recent decades appears to be Frustration. Sometimes there seems to be an obvious link with something that has happened in one's life, while other times the explanation is unclear.

I've played for St. Helens Rugby League club (at Knowsley Road) on three or four occasions in recent years, in my dreams (literally). Although I had an occasional touch of the ball, I didn't do anything useful, which was perhaps reminiscent of my time playing rugby union at school. Playing football in my dreams has been a nightmare. The loose ball always bounces just out of reach, hardly anyone ever passes it to me, and on the rare occasions when they do, I make a complete hash of it. Now, that was more or less my real-life experience of playing football, where I liked to think I was a reasonable player, as we all do, but in truth I was rubbish.

I was marginally better at snooker but this got the same treatment from the dream makers, though the approach was a little more creative. Instead of the table accommodating balls it was full of assorted objects, such as pyramids and cubes, teddy bears, cardboard boxes, etc. Even had any pocket been clear, there was no way I could have persuaded one of these things to enter it. I don't know whether this was the dream makers expressing their opinion of my potting ability or a reflection of the frustration with having to wait for an indefinite period before the table was free or a deep seated pessimism about life itself.

Catching a bus in dreams is really difficult, if not entirely impossible. They are almost always full, never stop when you stick your hand out, leave the stop just before you get there, or if you do ever manage to get on a bus it's either broken down or the driver is a maniac who drives down cliff-like roads at hideous speeds. Actually, that doesn't happen to me much anymore, mainly because I can no longer find the bus stop. In fact I'm always getting lost in the dream streets nowadays, which I'm hoping isn't an early sign of dementia.

I used to drive a Renault 21 Turbo which, though not in the Porsche class, was quite a powerful machine, even in its unmodified state. It had terrific torque in third gear but one day when attempting to overtake, the turbo cut out when I floored the accelerator. This was slightly alarming and when over time it continued to happen, I learned to go easy on the accelerator but the car's performance was thereby significantly restricted, which was very frustrating. The dream makers must have been positively salivating. My dream car began to morph into dream mopeds, Datsun Cherries, and eventually I was riding one of those leg-powered kids' scooters. But the coup de grace came when I was driving up the motorway on the inside lane, feeling frustrated with my car's very poor performance on a slight incline, and I then saw, coming up and passing me on the hard shoulder, an elderly lady on foot who had her white hair in a bun, was wearing a voluminous pink chequered gingham dress, and carried a huge pale green cabbage on her head.

Wednesday, 16 July 2014

The Magic Television

In 1990 I moved house in Nottingham from Carlton to Mapperley and four years later I decided to move my television to a place in the southern corner, with a plain wall on the left and a bay window on the right, looking south west across Porchester.




One night I was watching the telly when ......... 


 ...... I suddenly realized that it was in virtually the same place in the room as in my previous house (apart from a fireplace on the left wall), with an open view across Carlton Valley on the right. Well, it didn't quite occur to me like that, but rather I felt I was in the old house. Outside of the room was not my Mapperley residence but the one-time Carlton home, with its little L-shaped hallway leading off to two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, and front door. The lay-out of my present house was totally different, but hard as I tried to remember what it was, I couldn't, and my mind seemed to be locked inside the old house. It was as if moving the TV into that position had triggered an old memory circuit in my brain. After several minutes the Mapperley house returned.


Many years later I moved house again, to the Isle of Skye, and after the passage of two winters, in a room looking 36 miles across to the Outer Hebrides,  ......




 ...... I once again shifted the TV into a corner, this time with the wall to the left having a fireplace, as in the old Carlton house, but the wall to the right of the TV being just a plain wall. As I was watching, the wall to the right dissolved, for tiny flakes of time, revealing a huge landscape, like lightning flashes in the mind illuminating a long forgotten world still existing somewhere deep in a memory, hidden in a tiny cupboard of proteins and lipids.










Friday, 20 June 2014

Human cannonballs - painting the sun

Not everyone seems to be aware of the fact that, if you live in the northern hemisphere at around the latitude of Europe, as you look southwards the ground under your feet is moving at around 700-900 mph (1125-1450 kph) towards the left or east (at the equator the speed is 1036 mph). One might ask why, if one jumps 6 inches, the ground doesn't suddenly go tearing by at hundreds of mph, enabling one to travel huge distances in a second, though not entirely without risk of collision. I guess it must be because it takes a while for one's own 700-900 mph momentum to be dissipated by the friction of the atmosphere. Perhaps the only way to view the ground moving at 700-900 mph  towards the east would be to travel at 700-900 miles towards the west (in a very fast aeroplane). One would then effectively be stationary with respect to a line between you and the centre of the Earth, but not geostationary. Disregarding the normal thermally generated winds, the atmosphere must also be dragged around with the rotating earth, otherwise we would be facing quite a stiff easterly breeze.

So, what would happen if, say, a huge meteor was to strike the Earth a glancing blow with such as force, at such an angle, and in such a direction as to stop the planet spinning without actually destroying it? There would of course be a fair bit of damage and stuff but, ignoring all these side issues, I wonder what would happen to me if I was standing outside my house when the meteor struck. My weight would immediately increase by 0.3% as the gravity-countering effect of centrifugal force disappeared, but most noticeably I would be propelled at an initial speed of 700-900 mph in an easterly direction. Obviously the overall weather conditions and the wind direction would have some influence, but I assume there would be some vertical dimension to my trajectory which might save me from colliding with any earth-bound obstacles (though many of these might also have taken to the air) and perhaps I would survive if I landed in the Narrows of Raasay rather on than the island of Raasay itself, which is about 8 miles away; or would I proceed a further 8 miles to the mainland of Scotland? It's the sort of question that appears on school applied maths papers. Another such question might be "Would it be possible for people to lose weight if millions of them at the same time were to run in a westerly direction in order to speed up the easterly spin of the Earth, thus increasing the centrifugal force, thereby countering the effect of gravity? If so, derive the relationship between the depth of tread on the runners' shoes and their weight loss".

Hoping to miss the "passing place" sign and the island of Raasay, 8 miles away in the distance.

One thing that surprises me is that when people travel to the southern hemisphere, they don't return saying "You won't believe this; when you look at the sun it doesn't move from left to right but from right to left". I would find that quite mind blowing, but no one seems bothered.

Back in the northern hemisphere, as we look southwards towards the sun, we are not only spinning to the left at 700-900 mph, but we are also moving around the right side of the sun at 67,000 mph (or the left side when viewed from the southern hemisphere). Tomorrow, 21st June, will be the summer solstice, when the northern end of the Earth's tilting axis is lined up with and pointing towards the sun. I've often thought it would be nice to see something different on the sun in the different seasons so we would know where we were in space. We could be, for example, be looking at a yellow segment during the summer, a russet-coloured one in autumn, blue in winter, and white in spring. But if it was theoretically possible to paint these colours on the quarters of the sun it would be no use as the sun rotates on it own axis at 4400 mph (6875 kph) (counterclockwise, i.e., left to right, when viewed from our northern hemisphere), so we'd just see the colours going round and eventually mixing because the sun rotates faster at its equator than at its poles. Besides, with a sun photosphere (visible surface) temperature of 5500degC and a coronal temperature of 2 million degC, there would be significant health and safety issues, the need for technological advances in the areas of heat-resistant paint and paint brushes, and the problem of how to manoeuvre paint brushes that are nearly 93 million miles (150 million km) long. Although the brushes wouldn't weigh anything they would have quite a lot of inertia to overcome.

I think the best solution would be to construct around the sun a massive lantern, made from four segments of heat-resistant coloured glass. We would then get different wavelengths of light from the sun at different times of the year, which would be brilliant, especially if this meant different sky colours; blue is cool but tangerine or lilac could be nice for a change. It might, however, be slightly more practical to build a lantern around the Earth and this concept could prove useful in around 1. 8 billion years time when, some currently estimate, the Earth might begin to become uninhabitable, certainly for humans, as the sun, growing steadily in luminosity, starts to strip away water and atmosphere from the planet. It is, of course, speculated that the human race will be extinct well before this, so no worries.

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Who wears short pants?

According to the Oxford Dictionary of English the word "pants" means "underpants" in England, but where I come from, south west Lancashire, it has, or at least had, the North American meaning, namely "trousers". We also had the concept of "short pants" which most young lads wore and which reached down to about knee level. Nowadays however, "short pants" seem to have disappeared and most kids apparently wear "trousers".

It was something which took place at around year three in the boys' grammar school in the 1960s, when it became apparent that more and more of one's class mates were coming into school wearing long pants, stretching all the way to the feet, which were apparently called trousers. One felt under significant social and psychological pressure to go along with this trend, as short pants were now labeling one as childish and a bit daft. I remember feeling quite reluctant to undergo this transformation, viewing long pants as somehow a conformist affectation, not to mention cissy looking. So I felt a right twerp and extraordinarily conspicuous when one day I travelled in on the no. 96 bus and traipsed into school, wearing long pants.

Of course, one soon acclimatized to this new way of being and the thought of wearing short pants became utterly ludicrous. It shows how malleable the human mind is and how conformity within one's own particular niche is such an all powerful aspect of our psychology.

The traumatic short-to-long-pants transition seems in retrospect to have been a right of passage, a symbolic acknowledgement of leaving behind childhood and shuffling on uncertainly into the dismal and scary world of adults.

Thursday, 20 March 2014

Sneaky Sunset

In the mid-summer of 2013 at Uigshader, near Portree, which is at the same latitude as the southern suburbs of Gothenburg, I watched the sun setting over the Outer Hebrides, leaving a pink glow as I went to bed about midnight. For some unknown reason I got up and looked out through the window at about 2 a.m. and noticed that the pink glow hadn't disappeared below the horizon but was still there, only it had moved so that it was silhouetting the Trotternish Hills to the north. The sunset hadn't set; it was journeying eastwards, via the north. It seemed as if the sunset was hiding behind the hills and sneeking towards the east where it intended to ambush and disable the sunrise before it rose, and to take its place, fulfilling a lifelong ambition of becoming a rising star and monopolizing the entire sun setting-rising market.

Wednesday, 19 March 2014

Dream Talking

I'd always assumed that the characters in one's dreams talk as in normal life but I recently discovered that this isn't actually so, at least not in my dreams. One needs some degree of lucidity in dreams in order to have any objective awareness of what is actually going on at that moment in time and last year it did slowly come to my notice that the "dream characters" didn't really seem to be saying anything. And I remember that on one occasion I went so far as to confront one of these characters with a direct question and awaited a response. He or she seemed to make a significant effort to speak but all that came out was mumbles, grunts, and a few distorted words in no meaningful order. What I concluded was that the brain isn't capable of giving independent speech to dream characters and that any sort of "speech" that one appears to encounter in dreams, probably including one's own utterances, is just made up of thoughts, in the same way as thoughts in the form of mental verbalizations seem to accompany most of our waking hours.

I can, of course, only speak for my own brain and I've since come across the idea that Wernicke's area in the brain may not be functioning in dreams. Damage to this part of the brain can produce the speech disorder Wernicke's aphasia.