The Editorial By Scot Rhoads Moving North
(via tectonics, if nothing else) Long ago, I announced that we were planning to sell our shop and move to the Pacific Northwest. We are still here. We are still planning this! But (thanks mostly to the economy and our unwillingness to settle for an unreasonably low price), it hasn't happened yet. So, we've decided to work a little harder to get the word out. That's why you will regularly see this notice: Getting a Charge Out of IONS The Noetic Sciences Review, from the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS) is one of my favorite publications. Every issue has at least one article that thoroughly turns me on. In a respectable and scientific (or at least not unscientific) way they explore questions that go beyond our society's limiting paradigms (without throwing away the good stuff). Since it was dissatisfaction with Western paradigms that inspired my quest that lead to the Craft, this is also a key religious concern for me. Since our present paradigms are threatening the earth, it is also a key issue for everyone. The following is a lengthy passage is from Laura Franklin's Currents of Belief: Listening to Storied Across Cultures in the Winter 1993 Noetic Sciences Review. It is one of several articles in that issue which I particularly enjoyed. The subject is healing, but the Laura's points are generally applicable. I, of course, find them germane to the Craft for reasons which are, I hope, clear. I discovered that many Indian people were comfortable with the coexistence of several different medical systems: unani, homeopathy, ayurveda and allopathy. They knew which system to use for different types of conditions. Allopathy was often the medicine of choice for a really acute problem, or for people with a strong constitution. But if you wanted long-term effects that would benefit your whole being, then some other form would likely be chosen. They seemed to have intuited the basic essence of a variety of systems, and were able to decide, or to seek counsel, on the most appropriate approach. If the etiology of a given disorder was basically a spiritual crisis, one approach might be prescribed; in another instance, for a disorder with a similar manifestation, it might be considered to be due to a poor diet or old age, and so a different form of treatment would be tried. Certain diseases, regardless of etiology, responded best to medicines derived from particular ways of thought. In India, the pluralism of healing modalities reflected a willingness to explain illness and health through a variety of different stories. There wasn't the sense of competition or insecurity with pluralism that I had experienced in graduate school. In the West, our approach to medical diagnoses or treatments arising from perspectives outside our own is generally to subsume them by adding more chapters to our textbooks, or by offering seminars. We just keep consuming. We open, to contain more, as long as we remain the unquestioned authority. Our girth broadens but our minds do not. Other systems, not based on our ideas of rational or scientific logic, are rarely considered legitimate by Western medical sciences. Stories Carry Power Among the many things I've enjoyed about studying indigenous medical systems is their tolerance for diversity and change. For the most part, they are not so addicted to rationality, and are therefore freer to accommodate tremendous amounts of information, which become stories that tell us so much about the interplay of nature and life. These stories are intended to help us remember, and to see patterns which convey information. This flexibility allows for two qualities that seem to be inherent in the human mind. One is the quest to find out why. The second is our creative urge, underlying our love-hate relationship with limitations. We really don't deal with expansion very comfortably—indeed, we seem to crave limitation. It's a paradox that generates momentum. As soon as we create limitation we want to know why it is there, and we act as though we want to dismantle it. We build in our own challenges. We confine ourselves, and then challenge our confinements; we set up boundaries and then we resent them. We get caught in this cycle where we want to control the mystery or feel threatened by it, rather than allowing mystery to exist, and accepting the awe—simply accepting the awe. Acceptance can be healing in and of itself. There's a lot to be said for not knowing and for the experience of awe. I am now studying Chinese medicine. The Chinese, too, have many stories that are increasingly referred to as theories these days. We talk about the five element theory or the yin/yang theory. In traditional Chinese medicine, no single theory is invariably applied to a specific problem. The same apparent illness may be interpreted differently, depending on a wider context of influences. To the Western-trained student this can be confusing. For example, according to theory A, a particular course of treatment may not be appropriate, yet according to theory B it would be a good approach. In the West, we want to know which is right. But the issue isn't which one is right; it's which one works. After a while, the patient student begins to get a feel—not an explanation—for why certain stories are used in certain contexts rather than in others. It is unfortunate and ironic that as Western science shows a greater interest in traditional Chinese medicine, the Chinese are trying to make their science fit our criteria. They seek our approval because we insist on it. Yet these stories contain deep wisdom amassed over thousands of years based on empirical evidence and observation. We stand to lose a great deal if we persist in trying to turn such stories into our form of theory. It's a great disservice to the whole tradition of medicine to impose our will upon practices that have inherent wisdom and an efficacy of their own. Our insistence on control, our preoccupation with explanations, our tendency to seek mystery only to push it far beyond our reach, or to diminish it by calling it primitive, magic or superstition is, I think, ultimately betraying that which cultivates and nourishes our spirit. Mystery may not provide answers or explanations; but it creates momentum and inspiration—enchantments of life. In the long run, developing the willingness to not know may actually increase our capacity for understanding. If we listen openly to the stories, we may find that the puzzle just keeps unfolding, and that pieces eventually fit together—as they have all along. About the Institute of Noetic Sciences The following information comes from IONS: Apollo 14 Astronaut Edgar Mitchell founded the Institute of Noetic Sciences in 1973 to expand knowledge of the nature and potentials of the mind and spirit, and apply that knowledge to advance health and well being for humankind and our planet. He chose the word Noetic—from the Greek nous meaning mind, intelligence and understanding. To us, the noetic sciences are those that encompasses diverse ways of knowing: the reasoning processes of the intellect, the perceptions of our physical senses, and the intuitive, spiritual or inner ways of knowing. Our goal is to contribute to our understanding of human nature. What does the Institute do? We provide seed grants for scientific and scholarly research on: Mind-body relationships in health and healing; Exceptional human abilities, including altruism; Emerging worldviews in science, business and society. We bring top-level scientists and scholars together to share their methods, perspectives, and knowledge. We serve the general public—and especially our members—as a credible source of published information about this important research and the people and ideas associated with it. We cordially invite you to become a member of the Institute of Noetic Sciences. As a member you will: Support this excellent research. Receive the quarterly journal, the Noetic Sciences Review, which offers serious discussion of emerging concepts in consciousness research, the mind-body connection and healing, and the changing worldview in science and society. Receive the quarterly Noetic Sciences Bulletin, which offers reports on continuing Institute projects, member activities, and upcoming conferences and lectures of interest to members. Receive An Intelligent Guide, the Institute catalog, a comprehensive resource guide to the many books, audiotapes, and videotapes in this field—available to members at a discount. Have the opportunity to travel to other cultures with like-minded companions in our unique travel program. Link with nearly 25,000 like-minded individuals who share your noetic interests. Enjoy opportunities to join study groups in your area, participate in member research projects, and attend regional, national, and international conferences. Institute of Noetic Sciences
PO Box 909
Sausalito, CA 94966 I hope my shameless plug for the IONS Review will inspire some of you to fork over the $35 for a basic membership (they will accept more, if you're feeling especially magnanimous). I have very much enjoyed every issue. Learning to Play Nice I respect our society's veneration of the individual, but anything can be carried to extremes—and there are always contexts in which any view is extreme. As population increases, the interconnections between individuals become more painfully clear. Pollution, secondhand smoke and drunk driving are some of the most obvious examples of individuals' personal pursuits impinging upon others. Such problems are lessons about our interconnectedness. Another lesson is compromise. I remember the posters in my High School's wrestling room. They were exhortations to struggle without considering giving up; and that those who did give up were failures. Never settle. Never compromise. This may be fine within the context of wrestling, but I think there's no doubt that these values are supposed to guide our lives. I find this offensive. A couple of recent news items illustrate why: The `Anti-Choice' crowd is lamenting that the evil US government is violating their right to free speech by legislating against physical intimidation. And the Anti-Gun Control activists are mortified that they failed to prevent legislation against assault rifles—a type of weapon that (in civilian application) seems to be even less necessary than it is threatening. Both seem to see ultimate success as their sacred duty, and they seem unable to even imagine compromise. These groups, in trying so hard to be true to their sacred tasks, have done worse than merely fail—they have become their own enemy. They don't know how to work with other people. This is not a surprising behavior—democracy is still very young (on an evolutionary scale) and totalitarianism is dangerously tempting. Though most are aware of the threat totalitarianism poses on a governmental scale, it's still easy to forget about it when it comes to a favorite issue. It is easy to fall into the trap of demanding that others conform to our desperate desires, to the point that we won't even tolerate improvements, only total victory. If we can see ourselves as part of something (a country, a species, a planet), if we can see ourselves a contributor—like everyone else—to something larger than ourselves (in more than the physical sense), then we needn't demand that the whole country or planet conform to our will. We can be an aspect of a group mind beyond our ken, beyond the scale of our mind and life span. On that scale, even a contradictory view can be a contribution—lifetimes ago, many of our now cherished majority views were radical minority views. We can strive for expression of our viewpoints, and strive for whatever compromise the group will accept without feeling that we've failed or are untrue to our cause. And I think the above special interest groups have shown how being too true to a cause can bring failure. In considering compromise, and working to influence rather than dictate the direction of the group, one has to think beyond the scale of one's single self. In our culture, this brings a fear of death—a loss of separateness, identity. This is not merely an illusion, one's separateness does die; but it is a real death of an illusory thing, for the separateness is an illusion. We are a part of the group, our efforts always contribute and never dictate (our contribution to society is never 0% or 100%). Ironically, giving up the illusion of separateness can help us maximize our individual contribution through compromise. A large part of society may take up a part of our idea, and give that piece strength far beyond what a dedicated fringe group can give the pure idea. And those who demand allegiance only to the pure idea, put all aspects of that idea in the same annoying packaging, thus driving off any potential support for any part of it. The Wiccan idea of our being a part of the Goddess and God, and Their being a part of us can find practical application here. When we can be at peace with the idea of being a part of Them and participating in Their existence, we can learn to overcome our cultural fear of losing our individuality. Then we need not desperately cling to every manifestation of our individuality. We are more free to compromise and to tolerate. And though a tiny bit of the illusion of our individuality will die, that will lessen the fear of that death (I'm not really as separate as I thought I was? but I'm still here.); and losing that fear will enhance our real (not illusory) freedom and individuality. Consider: the special interest groups had the freedom to pursue their goal however they wished. In refusing to sacrifice any of that which separated their goal from other people's desires (i.e., refusal to compromise) they lost their goal and some of their freedom. If the `Anti-Choicers' had worked for change in the long term and by degrees, I believe they still would have failed in their stated goal; but they might have made a positive contribution to the future, such as encouraging much more pre-conception family planning. If the Anti-Gun Controllers had put their considerable efforts into finding legislation that would make people feel safer without controlling guns, they might have achieved much more than the laws that they fear can be expected to achieve. A contribution is life. When our actions survive our body (in our culture or planet or anywhere), that is us living beyond our physical death. And, ironically, to achieve that kind of life, we more and more have to be willing to accept the death of another kind of life—our individuality. We have to see our contribution as part of everyone's contribution and maximize it by tailoring it to fit this context. We will all die—not only our bodies, but our ideas and actions—but death is a transformation. We can be unbending and leave the nature of that transformation to others, or we can see our mortality and prepare for it consciously by transforming ourselves through compromise. Nixon's the One! Now that Nixon is dead, people seem to remember a surprising number of wonderful things about him. The flags are flying at half-mast—but I think they would be better flown at three-quarters mast. I think of Nixon as a good example of the Norse Hero (as I understand it): a person whose flaws makes possible great achievements and also necessitates his destruction. Nixon isn't the kind of hero one aspires to emulate (I hope!), but we should be thankful for his contribution. I don't mean just the things he did right, but also for failures like Watergate, which went far in helping to cure an unhealthy trust in government. (The kind of trust that allowed Kennedy, for instance, to get away with things that Nixon could not.) We don't have to thank Nixon for that, since getting caught was hardly a conscious choice; but we should recognize and be thankful to the Gods that he helped us take another step away from corruption (even if we have many more steps to go). Nixon's death also offered us an immediate opportunity for self-transformation. (It is a little late now, but you may want to take note for the future.) Our society is embarrassingly short on meaningful rituals—particularly those marking transformations. Weddings and graduations are respectable, but next on the list are things like getting a driver's license—from there it gets really pathetic. One way to fill the need is to privately appropriate the few significant ceremonies around us. I noted the ritual surrounding Nixon's death and thought it a shame that so much high powered, high budget national ceremony went into so little. I'm ambivalent about Nixon's record and as a person he meant little to me, so I can't bring myself to care much that he's dead. But you don't have to care about Nixon to use him as a symbol for something meaningful. Though funerals are of unknown utility for the dead, we do know they help the living. It is an opportunity to say goodbye and reflect on life and death and all that jazz. Also, on a deeper level, just as we associate symbolic death with real transformation, we can associate a real death with a symbolic transformation. I'm sure we do this unconsciously, but I think we have an opportunity to take better advantage of this (or any) ritual by using it consciously. For example: When I think of Nixon, I think of Watergate, protests and Vietnam. I associate these things with anger, paranoia and self-destructiveness (attributes which few on this planet have entirely risen above). So, as part of my effort to get rid of these blocks, I can use Nixon's death to symbolize their death. Most would think the transformation of blocks as a cause to rejoice, but I remember the Chinese admonition to celebrate every victory like a funeral. This is not only a warning against hubris, but an observance of the destruction that brought victory (as noted in Mark Twain's War Prayer). You have cause to mourn the loss of a block because blocks are parts of your Self that adapted to address a need. When we don't get enough love at some point, or are abused, etc., we develop ways of keeping so much pain at arms length. Eventually, the adaptations become a problem (like obsessive-compulsive disorders), but they give us the time to get out of the damaging situation and develop the strength to handle the pain that we stored away. When we are ready (whether we know it or not) we can face the traumatic emotions and finally deal with them (or, rarely, they do finally destroy us—but at least this way we stand a chance). These adaptive parts of your personality are just as much a part of you as the parts you like. Though we like to differentiate between a me and problems inside my head, we are a composite of both the me parts and the other parts. Each of us is a community of personae. In extreme cases, such as multiple personality disorder (often confused with schizophrenia) and split brain experiments, we recognize different personae because they are so independent. Otherwise, many of us don't notice; but they come out whenever one is at war with oneself. We see it in the Id/Ego/SuperEgo, the Superconscious, the conscious/unconscious, Left/Right Brain, Parent/Adult/Child, and endless/mindless pop psychology (like this). I noticed it when cartooning and writing. I found myself drawing on my own sub-personalities to create and work with the personalities of main characters (I don't think I could completely avoid this if I wanted to). I felt some independence among them, and I felt that together they contributed to my outward personality. Their births, deaths and evolution showed a surprising degree of independence, and their contributions to my total personality changed over the years and from moment to moment. It is as if I am a family of little me's. Recognizing independent aspects of one's personality is a bit scary (like thinking of mitochondria or intestinal flora as independent). We start desperately looking for the me, and stripping away components. We compartmentalize different pieces of our Self until there's nothing left but a pitiful fragment of shivering cerebral cortex, sitting alone amid a thousand black boxes, telling the fingers to type empty nihilistic prose for obscure, depressing quasi-psychological journals. But just as our society is learning that we must see ourselves as part of a larger community, we each have to learn to see our Self as a community. Just as physically there are semi-independent parts of us (inside and out, from subcellular to almost macroscopic), so too we have our semi-independent mental aspects. I switch to semi-independent because independence can be misleading. Our culture so venerates independence and reductionism that we forget or dismiss interdependence and wholism. Just as things can be reduced to quarks, we can also look at their connectedness all the way up to the whole universe. We need both views; and in recognizing that one is a composite creature in a composite world, one can reunite one's consciousness by abandoning the desire to separate out a me from the aggregate that comprises one's being. As things are now, we see problems like blocks as outside our Self, an enemy, odious, controlling us yet beyond our control. When we see that blocks are part of our Self, we recognize consciously (and can better address) what we are forced to deal with unconsciously: these bits of us did important tasks and, even if they have become burdensome, part of us mourns their loss. One of the best ways of dealing with this loss, recovering and moving on to better things is through ceremony. A national ceremony, with its big budget and many participants (even though they don't share one's private purpose) offers a powerful symbol for dealing with loss. And Nixon offers a great symbol of negativity that we would like to shed. Blessed Be | 
