Archiv für November 2011

This blog is dead.

But don‘t worry, here’s a new and vastly improved one:

nilsanders.blogsport.de

When I say see I mean sense.

I trust you to find beauty in your own ways.

Maybe you remember the blog posts I wrote about Dobby’s and Dumbledore’s deaths in Harry Potter. I meant to write another one about Sirius‘ death, but found it impossible to do so as long as I tried to explain what was wrong about it and didn‘t look at what was beautiful. I don‘t have to explain it to you, because I trust you to find beauty in your own ways. I can‘t show you, I can just tell you it’s there for me.

I don‘t worry about spoiling the books for you for exactly the same reasons. If I know who dies and I think that is wrong, I won‘t want to read the books. If I read the books in order to find beauty or clarity or joy or truth, I am confident that I will find it.

That’s why there are no bad books for me now. I can read and enjoy any book in the world on my terms, and I don‘t try to do it on the authors‘ or my literature professors‘ terms any more. Not because I am smarter, just because I am me. I can open a book in a language I have never heard before, full of symbols I have never seen before, and I will find beauty in it.

I live in a world of abundance. My life is so beautiful this way that I don‘t worry about death. Even if other ways would lengthen my life, loosing my sense of wonder isn‘t worth it.

I follow joy into clarity

I used to think of sense as truth, and I suspected that there was one truth for this universe. That made me stress, because I thought I had to find this one whole undividable universal truth in order to make sense of my life. It was as if my happiness depended on my ability to solve an unimaginably huge puzzle that I could never hope to have all the pieces for.

I discovered that I value my joy more than truth, and this became my sense instead. Since I can tell just by paying attention to myself whether or not I enjoy something, joy is easy for me to pursue. Now I no longer view information as pieces of a puzzle that fit together in exactly and only one way and that have a predefined picture on it. I view them as mosaic tiles, and I can arrange them in ways that I enjoy.

Even as I thought I was trying to solve a puzzle of universal proportions, I did it by arranging the pieces of information I had. I recieve information from the world through my senses, and I receive information from my senses through the sense of thought. That’s why I feel my brain to be in perfect harmony with my heart. If my brain is my main organ of interpreting information, and if my heart is my main organ of distributing energy, then it makes sense for them to work together so the brain can guide my heart to pump life-blood into my toes as well as my eyebrows, and my heart can tell my brain how to guide the toes and eyebrows to letting the blood flow through in wonderful, life creating ways.

I don‘t need to know exactly how my brain and heart and toes and eyebrows manage to create life and wonder and beauty and joy in order to feel it when I pay attention to myself.

I enjoy life when I feel safe, that is confident that I can meet my needs now and in the future. I know myself to be part of this world, and to me it is a world of abundance, full of energy in different and everchanging forms — sunlight, cherries, dung beetles, rivers, clay, polecats, birch trees, and a billion other things. I view all matter as a form of energy, and I feel energy constantly transforming into new and beautiful forms, constantly composing new life.

I figured this out by paying attention to cherries. I love eating them, and I want to make sure that I can eat them in the future. I have found that the easiest way for me to do so is to not cast my shit in a steel container. That would make it hard for dung beetles to find. There are a myriad of forms of life that thrive on the forms of energy I cannot thrive on, and they ingest and transform and release it in ways that all feed on and into this wonderful complex awe-inspiring web of cycles that I call the universe. All I have to do is release the energy I can no longer use, my breath and my other excrements, and trees and dung beetles and other beautiful lives will transform it until it reaches the cherry tree. I know that it will sooner or later reach the cherries because I am not trying to change the cycles that are right now creating perfectly tasty and healthy food for me. I don‘t try to control life because I can‘t solve the puzzle, so me meddling in what the dung beetles and trees know how to do would probably not result in cherries. It may result in something even better, but that is difficult for me to concieve right now, and the chances of it going badly wrong are too high. I may end up in a world were I have to eat parsley.

I can‘t concieve of anything existentially destructive happening, Cause there’s no power in the ‚verse can stop it.
I‘m rearranging my mosaic tiles as I type. I now think that there is a bundle of energy that I call the universe, and I don‘t know how big it really is, but it is all energy in different forms. Just like I view the cells of my body as myself in tangible forms, so I view myself as the universe in a tangible form. I feel as connected with all other forms of the universe as my cells feel connected to each other. It’s difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends, because my skin is permeable and soft. To me, that is the beauty of life.

I have heard similar views of the world from a lot of very different sources, like higher physics and the bible and Asian philosophies, but as long as I thought of worldviews as puzzles rather than mosaics, I constantly worried that I was missing some vital pieces. Or that in the end, I wouldn‘t like the picture the puzzle forms or my place in it. Now I can arrange the tiles in ways that show me beauty and make me feel joy about my place in the world.

Clarity is what guides us. I follow joy, because I know what it is for me. But as long as you know what you are following is to you, it will lead you to clarity. So I‘m not saying all of these things because I know what truth or justice or goodness or holiness is, but because this is where my joy led me. That to me is clarity.

I realise now that I could have followed my truth or my justice or my goodness or my holiness instead and it would have led me to the same world I am in right now. Just like I couldn‘t have solved the universal puzzle of joy, so I could have created a beautiful mosaic of my truth. When I say my holiness, I am saying holiness as I relate to it.

I‘ve heard it said that genious is taking already existing ideas and combining them in beautiful ways. That’s all I‘m doing.

I view the world as endless opportunities to create my own mosaics rather than challenges to solve universal puzzles.

I didn‘t realise it at the time, but I started this blog in order to increase clarity and joy. It worked for me, and I posted it in order to share with you. I want to concentrate on the offline world that is full of sunlight and cherries, but as long as the internet exists and I have access to it, I will probably come back from time to time and share more. The internet is part of the offline world, after all.

So even if you don‘t read what I write, we are part of the same bundle of energy, and we can nourish each other.

You can share any of this.

My writing is suddenly full of joy. So is my life.

To me, geeks are people who pursue our own joys and passions more than universal truth, and that’s why I love being a geek and being around geeks so much.

I planned to write a novel of at least 50.000 words during November, and prepared myself the best way I knew how. I was confident that I could write this novel quite easily until November the first hit. When I sat down, I found that I didn‘t enjoy writing because I expected me to be able to write either way better or way faster. I felt that I was wasting my energy agonising instead of being able to enjoy myself.

I took a step back and asked myself why I want to write. Like everything else in my life, I want to create a story because I hope that it will bring me joy. And I want to write it down so I can share it whith others in the hopes that they will enjoy it too. (That’s my take on the one reader response: I‘d rather have exactly one reader getting joy out of my book than whole generations being bored to tears by it in school.)

I tell stories to inspire joy. There are other great reasons, like inspiring laughter, tears, terror. I‘m not usually going for the terror, but that’s just my preference.
So if I want to inspire laughter, I have to first find out what will make people laugh. My approach would be to pay attention to and think about what makes me laugh, and then write to that, because that way I get to laugh while writing. If I‘m trying to write to what makes other people laugh, whether or not I laugh at those things too, I can no longer rely on my knowledge about what makes me laugh. I have to find out what makes other people laugh, and the wider I want my audience to be, the more difficult it gets. For example, I have spent almost my entire life with my twin, and still I won‘t know what will make her laugh until after I have told the joke. I always tell them to laugh myself, too, so that’s okay. I don‘t feel like I wasted my valuable time trying to make her laugh and then she didn‘t, I just feel like I enjoyed myself and maybe look a bit like a giggling idiot to her. I can live with her thinking that, and I can live with her being right about it, because I know that at least I enjoy what I‘m doing.

I just realised that my definition of sense and meaning is joy. If I am enjoying myself, life makes sense to me. If not, it doesn‘t. Universal truth doesn‘t figure into this.

Anyway, back to writing.
So in order to inspire laughter, I need to know who I want to inspire and want may make them laugh. If I can‘t even figure out a reliable joke for the one person I have been closest to for twenty five years, how am I supposed to figure out how to make a thousand random strangers in a thousand random bookshops laugh?
I‘m not even trying. I find it much easier to just write to my own sense of funny. I will laugh about surprising things if they seem harmless (If they seem threatening, they inspire terror in me). I also laugh in moments where I truly enjoy life. I think the two are related: If something unexpected happens and I see that it doesn‘t threaten me, that reinforces the idea that life is good, that I don‘t need to shield myself from the unexpected. (Neither my laughter nor my terror rely on surprise; that’s why I enjoy Terry Pratchett and Edgar Allan Poe so much. It’s the inevitability with which they arrive at their conclusions that makes sense to me.)

Another reason why I‘m not trying to be funny for others is that I don‘t feel comfortable around people who try that. If you tell me a joke and I think you‘re not enjoying it, I wonder why you bothered, and I may come to the conclusion that you were trying to manipulate me. This is why I can enjoy all forms of humour that feel sincere and harmless to me. The same is true about other forms of art and human expression. I think any form of human expression is art to me if I view it as a sincere atttempt at joy.

Now that I know that, writing comedy is suddenly easy: I can just create a world in which I would feel comfortable, and make harmless things happen that I wouldn‘t expect.
Easy as pie. Even if I don‘t always know exactly what would make me comfortable or what I wouldn‘t expect, I can usually tell what I find uncomfortable or expectable just by paying attention.

When I started writing this book on the seventh November of 2010, I just wanted something nonsensical and funny. Then I realised that I need a certain level of sense, or maybe that I find nonsense only funny if I can find a deeper sense behind it.
Now I was suddenly trying to write a book that made sense. It became a lot more daunting. Had I just gone for nonsensical without funny, you would probably now be reading a meaningless string of 50.000 words.

At first, I tried to defer to other people’s ideas of meaning, but eventually found it as hard as trying to write to others‘ ideas of humour. Then I made sense of my life, and now I can write a book that makes me happy. I feel that it drastically improves my prose, because I feel unhappy with my writing if it doesn‘t convey my sense, and I see beauty in it when it does. So if it doesn‘t strike me as beautiful, I know that I need to fiddle. But since I now what I am striving for, it’s easy to go in the right direction. Beautiful words, clear sentences and striking imagery now seem like the easiest thing in the world to me. They just have to be joyful to me.

Now that I know what I value and enjoy in writing, I also know what I value and enjoy in life. I enjoy it fully now. Everything seems a lot simpler and more enjoyable than it did just a few days ago. I used to try to find truth and share it with others, which I find a lot harder and more frustrating than trying to find and share joy. Since I know what joy is to me, clarity just finds me.