On the nature of integrity of the Self
12 Jun 2010 3 Comments
by Tiffany A. Turbin Santos in Social Theory, Spirituality Tags: ผู้หญิงรักผู้หญิง, อนตตา, Buddhism, khandha, no Self, reincarnation, Self as performance, suchness, Taoism, thesis
Many things can happen in two and a half years, yet life has a curious way of rolling along. Despite the quantity, I should never be too surprised by the peculiar quality.
In December of 2007, I started to write my undergraduate thesis. The full title of my project should give you an idea of how immersed I was in feminist and queer theory: ผู้หญิงรักผู้หญิง Women Who Love Women: Towards a new Paradigm of Cross-Cultural Gender Theory. I wrote my own philosophy, I defined new metatheories, and both coined and re-coined words.
One section in particular has always been my favorite, second only to perhaps the Bill Clinton “is” quote I used as a chapter epigraph or my evocation of the much missed Mary Daly—my section on Butler and the Buddha. Here is an excerpt:
“According to Buddhist belief, The Three Characteristics of Existence describe the truth about all life: anicca (impermanence – อนิจจํ), dukka (frustration/suffering – ทุกข์), and anatta (no-self – อนตตา). What humans think of as self is actually the five aggregates or khandha (ขันธ): material form or the body (rup – รูป), sensation or feeling (wethana – เวทนา), perception (sanya – สัญญา), awareness (winyan – วิญญาณ), and volition or will (sangkhan – สังขาร). These khandha (ขันธ) are in constant flux, always changing in a state of impermanence or anicca (อนิจจํ)…For Butler, the illusionary notion of a concrete, stable, real psychic self is produced through performance: “the performance constitutes the appearance of a ‘subject’ as its effect” (Butler, Imitation 24). I take this production to be enacted within the realm of the khandha (ขันธ). In other words, the assumption of a concrete, discreet self/gender (biological or social) is produced as an effect of the performance of the khandha (ขันธ), or the different aspects of human existence. These aspects of human existence are identified and described analytically as five separate but interconnected realms of human form. I also believe each of these realms is socially constructed, and through the analytical description of the human form as the five khandha (ขันธ), the reality of the self (body/sensation/perception/awareness/volition) is created. The changefulness of the khandha (ขันธ)—their impermanence (anicca - อนตตา)—highlights the constructedness of social and biological gender [and self] concepts and the fluidity with which these expressions can be performed (22).
Basically, this all boils down to the idea that there is no self or soul. Not all Buddhists necessarily believe this; Buddhism, like all religions, covers a diverse array of beliefs and practices. I studied Buddhism for a while, and this idea in particular made so much sense to me. We are not exactly the same person now that we were at four. Our bodies change, growing and shedding cells. Our wethana or disposition changes as we interact with our surroundings and our internal mental/emotional state fluctuates. Our public and private perceptions of things also vary over the course of a lifetime. Our awareness of the rest of existence also becomes altered as can the lens through which we see it. So if everything is always changing, what exactly would be left to move on, depending on your personal belief, to heaven, resurrection, or rebirth? Since I believe in reincarnation (carbon cycle, water cycle, everything is recycled, why not humans?) and studied this topic, that is the question I considered.
One of my teachers explained rebirth through an analogy of a candle. Imagine a candle burning, casting its own unique shadow. As that candle, taper or tea light, burns low, you can use it to light another, completely different candle. No matter how different the candle—color, size, type—the flame is the same. The spark. Not the soul or the inner-entirety of the person moves on, no the wax of soul or Self melts and changes, becomes not-a-candle at all but mere matter to be further acted upon by chance or decay. It is the spark that moves on, lighting another context, sparking another performance of simulacra.
So within my current, complex performance, while the flame burns my life to its unknown end, the spark is there, ready to move house when the roof caves in and the plumbing goes (which I hope is in one quick crash many, many years from now). Again borrowing terms from Buddhism, this time from Zen, I think this spark could be referred to as my suchness: “Suchness, or thusness, is used in Zen literature to suggest the ineffable: a truth, reality, or experience that is impossible to express in words. It refers to the ‘that,’ ‘what,’ ‘or ‘it’ that is self-evident and does not need explanation. It is essentially being as it is, the all-inclusive reality that is manifested as a sense of presence”(Loori 141). According to Zen Master Yuanwu, we are all persons of suchness, and this does not come from external sources but “it is being itself. It is in living life itself. It is the ‘isness’ of a thing, indeed, the isness of existence itself,” translated as tatha (Loori 142).
So without an existentialistic Self to cling to and an absence of duality, which so often leads to oppression and false hierarchies, what does that leave me? This is where the writing gets tricky because expression through words only separates me from the reality of Be-ing. And, of course, I can’t express anything but my own moment of perception of my thusness.
I like to think that I am left with the task of simply Be-ing, of gaining awareness, and practicing do or Tao—the way. “But what is my way,” my inner clinging nature wants to shout, “let’s analysis and categorize and define and label it.” “Well,” my spark replies, “that depends on what the meaning of ‘is’ is.” Because “is” means present tense. A way defined becomes past tense, a “was.” To connect to the reality of Be-ing and practicing the Way in my here and now means to be present and therefore undefinable.
All of which may sound lovely on the page but is harder than all levels of hell to do. Of course, baby steps along the path are totally fine in my book. So for now, I am trying to relax in my skin and enjoy what I am. I am possible.
*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license. If you want real citations or further reading, please leave a comment. The author would also like to note that the crisis of identity above was made possible by generous donations from the You’re Turning Thirty Fund and the You Don’t Dress Like You Did In College Foundation. Support (and sound boarding) was provided in part by Barbara, Dale, Jean, Cindy, and Jody. Many thanks for your support.
Coping with Multiple Writer Personality Disorder (MWPD)
08 May 2010 Leave a Comment
by Tiffany A. Turbin Santos in Work, Writing Tags: car, creativity, David Bowie, deadlines, extended metaphor, Friedrich Schiller, labyrinth, muppet, sister, stress management, Taoism, teaching
Usually, my Thursdays this semester have been spent in a hodgepodge sort of way with errands and student appointments. I try to keep myself on the clock as much as possible or, at least, make the most of my time, but, invariably, the day ends with me having earned little in the way of money and accrued much in the way of frazzled nerves and stress.
This past Thursday started out rather typically. After an extremely short night of restless sleep (at one point I was standing on my precariously narrow bed, convinced a large rat was in my room. Sorry Ashley), I was off to campus for an 8:30 am appointment. To fill in the gaps in my schedule, I had stuffed my backpack with things needing my immediate attention. Finishing one appointment early, I decided I should go sit in the sun. Vitamin D is so important.
I sat for an hour, busily involved in returning phone calls, making future appointments, outlining my latest freelancing gig, making lists, and trying my damnedest to resist the green mountainside view on the lower part of campus. It’s hard to say what was louder—the buzzing of insects or the buzzing in my head. I had taken a perfectly good opportunity to relax and turned it into a detached moment of forced productivity. Friedrich Schiller would be so disappointed.
Finally, my thoughts (or I should say, my To Do List) turned to this week’s blog, yet I find the single-clutched shift from business writing and course prep to creative writing nearly impossible. While my ability to punctuate a sentence and creatively approach problems lay in a common pool, my business-self and expressive-self, more often than not, exist in two different oceans separated by continents-worth of subtly shifting moods. It is only after my subconscious tide has quietly ebbed in one direction or the other that I can truly work, producing pieces (or syllabi or spreadsheets) I am proud of in an almost Marxist sense.
So basically, that all boils down to “I’m screwed when working on deadline.”
By branching out into private tutoring and editing as well as freelance writing, not to mention six classes this summer and four this fall, deadlines have become a constant fixture in my life. In a word: Gulp!
To survive, I somehow need a way to double-clutch: shift out of one gear into a neutral space to allow easy shifting into an entirely different gear. Otherwise, I was going to burnout my clutch, er, nerves (maybe I should drop the extended metaphor here). In any case, Thursday afternoon, I was searching.
I found a labyrinth.
Several years ago, a labyrinth was built in a small glade near the ACM athletic fields. The design is not even remotely Bowie-inspired (not a Muppet in sight), merely pea gravel and sand-colored stones.
Walking in, the buzzing continued. Lines for this blog, since forgotten, tasks left undone, jokes and questions crowded my mind, flapping to get my attention. Forcing the thoughts away is like negative reinforcement: by focusing on the thoughts as thoughts you are only encouraging more thoughts.
Instead, I listened.
Eventually, my inner buzzing subsided. The rumble of the commercial lawnmower, the metallic clack of the baseball bats, the hum of traffic: the layers of sound were so complex and rich.
Finally, after saluting the four corners at the center and meandering back out, the layers of sound peeled away, and I was with my breath. In and Out. Sacred and Mundane.
I found my neutral gear.
I would not say the experience made me more productive or made me work harder. Besides that was not really the point in the end. I felt happier and clearer headed. And more aware. States that are valuable in and of themselves, which may also lead to better work. I do feel more relaxed and confident, but I also gave myself the evening off (Friday evening, too). I remembered to value the empty bowl. Do you?
*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license. The author would like to apologize for the overly extended car metaphor (she can’t even drive a manual), but she is more than a little excited that the best little sister in the world gave her a car.
