Tag Archives: internet

Jim Carrey Just Dropped Eternal Yogic Wisdom on the Most Unprepared People

“It’s a weird little semantic jump, and it’s not that far, but it’s a universe apart from where most people are.”

Jim Carrey, 2017

 

 

You are not earth, water, fire or air.

Nor are you empty space.

Liberation is to know yourself

as Awareness alone—

the Witness of these.

Ashtavakra Gita, 1.3

First & foremost, I don’t intend to validate “celebrity news” with this post. On the site where I most often encounter agglomerated news stories, the Celebrity section is laid out ahead of Finance. Since I’ve become old enough to want to read about commodity prices & shit Warren Buffet says, I have to scroll past thumbnail pictures of people who look so perfect I wonder if they even belong to my same species.

When I saw Jim Carrey’s uplifting smile in one of those thumbnails, I swooned. I clicked. I wanted to know whatever vacuous thing this celebrity columnist thought I needed to know about people I don’t really know.

It really helped that the headline said he gave an “emotionally heavy talk about ‘giving up hope’ during [a] rare public appearance”. As Robin Williams’ suicide reminded me, these slapstick comedians aren’t as one-dimensional as their typecasting made us think. (It also made their later films like One Hour Photo or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind so jarring that you could forget it was Aladdin’s Genie or Ace Ventura on the screen.)

The NY Daily News article went on to explain that Carrey spoke on a Broadway stage with Michael Moore. They got real. After quizzing Carrey about how he was coping with Donald Trumps’ presidency, Carrey went into his “emotionally heavy” stuff that apparently made people uncomfortable.

“Give up! Surrender to the idea that things are bad and yet still, from 3,000 feet up, we don’t matter,” Carrey continued. “Things are happening and we’re going to happen along with them whether we like it or not. But we don’t matter. … Once you lose yourself, you’re pretty okay. Just get you out of the way.”

Jim Carrey, 2017

wqoxq

That quote was the gem that made me realize Carrey was tapping into some classic wisdom that modern society has since tar-papered over as ‘nihilism’ and clinicalized as ‘depression’. Had he said this in an ashram, people would have swarmed the stage to touch his feet or place garlands around his neck. But he said it on Broadway, in a country where at least 1 in 6 people are on a psychiatric drug.

The emotional red flag was vindicated this week, when Carrey appeared at New York Fashion Week. This time, the reporter was baffled and defensive about Carrey’s attitude in the midst of the grand event celebrating fashion icons. Carrey never missed a beat, his delivery so perfectly casual:

“Celebrating icons? Oh boy, that is just the lowest aiming possibility that we could come up with. Icons. Do you believe in icons? I believe in personalities. I don’t believe that you exist but there is a wonderful fragrance in the air.”

Jim Carrey, 2017

That last line was a straight-up Zen koan dropped on this unsuspecting fashionista. How else could E! approach that, besides by dwelling on how ‘strange’ it was?

“Why is the monkey not dancing when I ask it to dance?” they wonder.

Because the monkey has found a way out of the cage. But the good zookeepers at E!,  Entertainment Tonight and TMZ like to come out with their cattle prods to make sure the monkey gets back behind its bars for our entertainment.

There is the classic yogic aphorism that when you are ready, your guru will appear. Basically, you have to be in a certain state of preparation in order to receive the grace of the guru. Carrey is not a guru per se, but I think the principle applies here loosely—if you’re not ready to be enlightened, you will never find the means to achieve enlightenment.

Carrey even went so far as to explain himself in a follow-up interview, quite clearly and coherently:

“As an actor you play characters, and then if you go deep enough into those characters, you realize that your own character is pretty thin to begin with,” he said. “You suddenly have this separation and go: ‘Who’s Jim Carrey? Oh, he doesn’t exist actually.’ There’s just a relative manifestation of consciousness appearing, and then somebody gave him a bunch of ideas — they gave him a name, and a religion, and a nationality, and he clustered those together into something that’s supposed to be a personality, and it doesn’t actually exist. None of that stuff, if you drill down, is real.”

Jim Carrey, 2017

Holy wow! Rich white people pay tens of thousands of dollars to sit with enrobed wisemen who tell them the same thing. We get the fucking thing for free and can’t even appreciate it.

Yoga is a great exploration of identity. In fact, the system of yoga as described by Patanjali is entirely based upon stilling the modifications of the mind and going beyond false identities. Right off the top of his Yoga Sutras, Patanjali states:

At other times, when one is not in Self-realization, the Seer appears to take on the form of the modifications of the mind field, taking on the identity of those thought patterns.

(Yoga Sutras, 1.4)

The Self’s confused identification leads to suffering in its many forms. Modern day mystic Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev expands on this sutra in his discussion about identity and prejudice:

“The moment you are identified with something that you are not, your intelligence is freaked. It will go in cycles around that. Whatever you are identified with your intelligence functions only around that. […] A prejudiced mind cannot see; a prejudiced mind cannot reveal the reality of life, that’s all it is. When I say prejudiced, it’s on many different levels. ‘No, no, I am very broad minded, I am not prejudiced.’ Well, you have a broad prejudice, you know. Your mind is functioning with a certain identity. Once there is an identity it is prejudiced.”

Sadhguru

Sadhguru oftens speaks about finding the separation between the seer and the seen. Patanjali reminds us that confusing the two is the essence of egoism and a major stumbling block to achieving self-realization.

Finding that space is not easy. Carrey explained his method for overcoming his suffering: “The fact is, going down the river of sorrow and suffering is the way to freedom.” Likewise, Sadhguru argues that darkness is a far greater possibility than light. Even more fundamentally, zero is the only infinite possibility:

The science of yoga is the technology to make ourselves into a zero because zero is not a simple thing. Zero is infinite, it is the very beginning of everything.

Sadhguru

Although I don’t think dipping into the river of sorrow & suffering is a viable method for many people, we have to acknowledge that there are many paths to the same place. Reducing Carrey’s method to depression or some other mental illness is infuriating. If Katy Perry can try to find her heaven in a mind-eraser Friday night, why can’t Jim Carrey find his heaven by facing his suffering in an honest and vulnerable way?

I don’t know the man, so I can’t say for sure if he’s coming from a place of self-harm or self-help. But on the face of it, in my unqualified opinion, between Carrey and the people reporting on him, there is zero doubt in my mind who truly deserves the ‘mentally ill’ stamp.

I leave you with one last quote from Jim Carrey. It ends happily, or at least peacefully. I compliment it with another Patanjali sutra to chew over.

While the activities of the emergent mind fields may be diverse, the one mind is the director of the many.

(Yoga Sutras, 4.5)

 

“Know that no matter what happens, this is not who you are,” Carrey said, according to People. “You choose the part you want to play in this life. I want to be a good guy. I want to do good things. I want to make people happy and I want to help out when I can. So you do what you need to do.”

Jim Carrey, 2017

 

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Presence

I have been absent. This blog hasn’t had much of an update in some time, and I have no illusions that this is a bad thing.

Then again, I consider myself a writer—or at least I aspire to be a writer—and a substantial part of being an active, contributing artist in our modern society means having a presence.

Of course, that primarily means an internet presence. The flashy artists, the ones who show up in trendy magazines or are renowned in the lit scene, they live in big cities and can attend live events, buy drinks for fellow poets, or have a one night stand with that cute up-and-coming singer/songwriter. More than anything else they do, they show up.

More than anything else I do, I don’t show up.

I have a measly internet presence. Years ago, a woman wearing too much make-up laughed at me. How the fuck could I even be human if I didn’t have Facebook? It was a naïvely idealist view, at the time. Something I could roll my eyes at and dismiss. But since then, it has become more and more true.

Not that I feel any less human. In fact, in the past year of neglecting the internet—after too many years trying to coyly join in on the party—I feel more alive than I ever have. But then again, as the Millenials say (and let’s face it, Millenials will become the dominant force as Baby Boomers vegetate & die): if you did it but didn’t record it, did it happen at all?

None of it happened. Because life never happened. It is happening, or it is not. Anything besides what is currently happening is either memory or imagination. Life itself is an existential experience, a matter of the present—of being present—of presence—and there we are again, with that goddamn pejorative.

What really gets me about presence is Definition 1.1 in the Oxford Dictionary: “A person or thing that exists or is present in a place but is not seen.” That is essentially internet presence, although of course, with the narcissistic twist that the internet produces, this usage gets confused with 1.3: “The impressive manner or appearance of a person.”

The first definition speaks to something beyond the self, something beyond the senses. The second speaks to ego, the self, the senses. The way we interact with the internet is that: it’s beyond the senses, beyond the self, beyond the ego—and yet it engages the senses, the self, and the ego. It’s an empty egg, and we’re subsisting on an imagined yolk.

I prefer the first definition. I even take it to heart and let it expand: “A person or thing that exists or is present in a place but is not seen, heard, felt, smelled, or tasted.”

Then what is it?

I don’t know. Maybe that is what I am endeavoring to find out.

In an Age of Ice, An Auger is a God

Just trying to break the ice.

That’s the problem with taking too much time, whether it’s away or closer or wherever else we go when we are not present.

I’ve been away. Need to get back into it. But the blank page is a haunted house–the blinking word processor’s line is a reminder that bringing form into formlessness isn’t that hard…it’s only tricky if you want something more than a line.

The line never says enough. That’s where we pick up from.

And that’s where I need to pick up from. That last line, so long ago.

Don’t get me wrong. Been writing as much as ever. Just much more focused, less distracted by this social posturing.

But here I am. Getting back into it all–for posterity, for popularity, for the possibilities we are promised by extroverted polemics.

As simple as taking a solid stem auger to lake ice. Hold steady and let the drill’s teeth do the work.

At least until I break the ice.

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Ala Buzreba & Your Social Media History’s Impact on Our Political Future

To My Future Political Slanderers: Fuck You

Oh boy. I am so psyched right now. I want to share my excitement with you.

Someday, maybe a couple decades out, I will beckon to the call of public life, and may run as a politician (…you know, once my syphilis kicks in, my brain lesions, and I start to lose my mind). It is a noble job, and as participants in a democracy, we all owe each other the thankless job of helping to keep our public systems functioning.

But that job may already be out of my reach. It’s not that in my current perspective politicians appear to be the most disingenuous variety of people on the planet, and I want nothing to do with their circus right now. Nope. It’s because, like millions of Millenials, and the forthcoming millions of post-Millenials, I have an internet history.

Not my browser history, which is kept clean like a serial killer’s murder scene would be. I mean a social media history, that thread of unreal reality which increasingly captures so much of our lives.

The story has already played out—a young political candidate starts making waves because of a historic social media message, and then has to apologize profusely, like they never meant to say it or didn’t know better. In Canada, we have had it happen at least twice in recent elections. Most recently it has involved Ala Buzreba, a candidate in Calgary.

Is what she posted offensive? Mildly to some, severely to others. That is not something I care to debate—the subjectivity of morality is too often overlooked, and for the sake of mainstream political correctness, it is easier just to concede with the whiniest.

What I find most absurd of Buzreba’s ordeal, and many similar ones, is the expectation that is insinuated whenever there is “public outrage” about a political figure’s past. It is absurd to expect our public representatives to be squeaky-clean automatons that say all the right things and have always said all the right things.

It begs the question—is that person even human? Is that person even ready to represent a nebulous, heterogeneous population? Can we really expect a plain white square of tile to represent the multi-coloured, fragmented mosaic that so proudly symbolizes Canada?

While I was thinking about this, I started thinking about my caving experience. It is not extensive. I have been inside one limestone cave in the Rockies one time. I spent a couple hours within, with a guide. I dressed the part, did the deed, and although I will not call myself a cave-diver, I have topically observed it.

So am I ready to lead you on a caving expedition? Would you trust me to safely guide you through each squeeze, around every drop, and to the coolest depths carved by unpredictable natural forces?

You would be a risk-taking adrenalin junkie to agree to that. Caving is dangerous. The people who do it well have hundreds of hours of experience, and have taken huge risks themselves. There are pioneers of various cave systems around the world, who push to the furthest reaches of unexplored caves, know them intimately, and know where the average person without training or experience can go.

The guides I had while caving were experienced like that. My direct guide was from Kentucky, and had risked broken bones and suffocation to understand the threshold between safe and dangerous, sanity and insanity, naivety and caution.

In a similar way, can we really trust a public representative who has not explored humanity’s liminal experiences?

The mainstream says yes.

I say, fuck that.

Humans learn via play. A lot of the time, that includes experimenting. You know, throw a towel around your neck and be a superhero, or set some blocks up then smash them down.

But wait—Jesus, does that child expect to be a politician some day? Did you see the way he knocked down those building blocks?? And that gaudy superhero voice he was using, didn’t it sound a bit like he was making fun of [insert your ethnicity here]? And the way he yelled to his sister that he was going to save her, like the misogynist mansplainer he is and will forever be??

That is an obviously absurd example. To me, it is just as absurd to look back to a teenager’s messages on message boards, news sites, or social media sites. Sometimes, a kid has to say ‘screw the Jews’ to really understand that they do not feel that way at all. And sometimes, a kid will use a commonly-used cliché, however brash, to get their point across (e.g. “Your  mother should have used a coat hanger”).

We expect less from saints—I mean, how many pages of the Christian Bible is taken up by archaic blog posts of a guy who tortured and killed Christians? [That’s the Pauline epistles, for those unfamiliar with Christianity.]

We are electing most politicians to create and review legislation. It is mind-boggling boring shit most of the time. A lot of the fun stuff comes in the interpretation, which technically should not be the job of a legislator. That is the job of the regulatory bodies and the courts, which are not elected in Canada.

How a law can be interpreted is part of the review process, and that is one of the reasons why a legislator needs to have the wildest mind—to anticipate how things can go awry. Consider why Dexter was so good at evading detection…and alternately, why Dexter was so good at blood splatter analysis. The cliché says something like ‘the best policemen were the best criminals’ (Frank Abagnale is a great example).

A poet needs access to as many words as possible to do their job well. Even the ones that make your grandmother’s lungs crackle when she gasps. A politician needs access to as many experiences as possible to do their job well. How can any understanding be formed when an experience is completely foreign to a politician? It takes a politician born out of our weird white-bread expectations to create a law like NO ABORTIONS PERIOD. It takes a more experienced, multi-grain-bread kind of politician that understands the complexities and says, well, it’s not as simple as that…

I guess I am disarming, because I hear all kinds of people say all kinds of shit I am sure they wouldn’t want on ‘public record’. Even sitting politicians. You also probably know one person in a profession that has these upright expectations of personal conduct, who has a really harsh racist joke or eye-fucks waitresses or maybe lost their temper in their adolescence and said something they didn’t really mean.

Again, another question is begged: does it matter if it’s public or if it’s in private? Would Buzreba really be that much different of a person if, instead of typing the words into social media, she said them to her friend who was sitting beside her?

As more of our communication becomes digitized and trackable, that is a question that will become more important to debate.

Anyway, for Ala Buzreba, she has already crumbled to the outrage. It is unfortunate, because she had already become so endeared to me…regardless of my thoughts on her party’s platform. Imagine that, a politician who is actually similar to me and the people I know. What a fucking novelty.

The Nietzschean in me is disappointed, yet again. Stand up and own your words, whatever they may be.

Whether you like my thoughts on the matter or not, you will have to hear a lot more about it than what I am quickly typing down right now. Eventually, there will be a time when every single candidate will have been a teenager during the social media era (plus whatever comes next). Great! Another distraction from the actual issues—maybe future debates will be simply quoting re-tweets and tallying the number of views on questionable YouTube videos.

It will take a candidate who owns their past, understands and defends it as a youthful learning, and moves forward (not drop out or bend to false outrage), that will break the static mannequin image of a politician we currently have.

So that is why I am excited. Because maybe that candidate will be me—it will have to be one of us, sooner or later. And I am saving some detractor hours of work digging through my past with this one blog post. Please thank me when you begin your line of questioning or write that editorial.

Reach Out

He’s reaching out as far as his virtual arms will go. Every social media platform, dock, station and page, every identity that personifies the man, the complex organ that touches a glass screen and makes huge worlds inside his own head. He is far from home, he is far from himself, he is distant from friends. There is no easy way out.

 

But he looks

For every nook

Every tranny moment

Goes both ways

Sucks and spits

Bursts into a torrent

A drenching storm

And electrocutes him

With little winces

In the glass screen glow.

 

The music cuts in The music cuts out

The speakers are broke

The piggy bank’s broke

The banks are broke

The government is broke—

 

The landscape is too flat It stretches away from him—

It makes him nervous—

That he might—

Fall off the curve of the earth and disappear into space—

For now

there is enough space.

There are enough kilometres

to build three european countries

with their own crooked economies

and their country songs

and nationalist dreams

and jobs and money.

 

For now he is here for the income,

here for the step away from the city cesspools, where his soul shimmered in murky back alley puddles,

and held its breath in tunnels, rode the rails with nowhere to go, overpaying for a coffee for the sheer novelty of sitting amongst brokers whose butchered latte machiato crème supreme will ruin the stockmarket for another day.

 

Commodities will fall, the crops will be worthless,

farmers will eat their hats and fill newspapers, and the crisis will see

paranoid herds selling out their local grocery store in fear.

 

Everything becomes processed, everything mechanized,

every last morsel is sanitized.

Bleached so it strips our intestine and burns our blood

and we too become sanitized from the face of Gaia.

Gone so Gaia’s face can heal

and meet the middle of the sun

with a bare stone.

So that no life suffers through

atomic annihilation.

 

All of this comes into his head, sitting on a quiet wood deck, the giant prairie cloud panorama wrapping around his head, playing out evaporated and condensed epics. Giants in the sky. Giants in the mind. They’re tiny on the glass screen, but they are all there.

 

He can reach out and touch them. There. There. There.