Category: Meditation
The inadequate identity of Sailor (or of any other…)

The inadequate identity of Sailor (or of any other…)

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I always suffered of identity problems.

It seems self explanatory that identity is the sum of the qualities, mostly beliefs, that define a person’s image. The role this person has in society also feed the sense of identity. It is a common human perception to feel we are individual, unique beings, and we look for evidence to support this perception.

I am walking a very perilous philosophical path here, a walk that I will abandon for now while I keep pondering on it. The identity example serves me to bring you the latest news about life in the boatyard, although in a very elaborate way. This blog used to be about sailing but this deviation toward self questioning and rumination has been evident for quite a while now. Thanks for your patience. Sailing will resume as soon as possible.

Why all this fuss about identity?

I’ll answer saying that is a conceptual element that always puzzled me. I never bought the assumption that we have a true identity that define us and that we have to discover, or better assume.

Take first names. They are the first element of identity, clearly stamped on an ID card. You didn’t even pick it yourself, somebody gave it to you even before they could know anything about you. How much a Fabio am I in the end? This is a silly example that shows how identities are imposed by family and society, they depend on the fortuitous place you happened to be born in and often times they all clash with whom you really are. I can continue bringing more evidence. Are you defined by your job title? Your nationality? The color of your skin? Your gender? Your bank account balance?

Of course the answer is yes and no, and that’s why I find this fascinating. Because who we really are is way more vast than our identities, and it is our job to find out. Or not.

Deviation from the route #2

My tiny sailboat Tranquility is going through some serious transformations and I obey as her temporary keeper. Sometimes I believe the fantasy that boats find their servants by mean of seduction. Once they hooked their victim firmly they start to extract resources in form of time, dedication, labor and most of all money. The servant is usually unaware of the asymmetry of power at work and think they are the one in charge of the situation. They are not. However this relationship of convenience is one to be trusted, as usually boats give back love and dedication in time of need.

Likewise this physical transformation of the watercraft I inhabit reflects an inner transformation. I sense that from weak signals I receive from my surroundings. The fun thing about transformation is that we cannot foresee the outcome, or you would not go that way. Once you have the future it is already the past. It is like playing chess, when you know what is going to happen the game is finished and you have to start a new one.

I met a sadhu high in the Himalayan mountains long ago. He was summoned by a guesthouse mate who was very into spirituality and had met the fella on a bus station earlier that week. The guy was thrilled about the meeting and I was hanging around curious about what a mendicant dressed in orange had to say.

The sadhu looked at me in the eyes for five second at most, then uttered these words: “you are about to jump on the next level” or “this life is taking you to the next level” or something like that. The other guy received the response that he was a fresh soul, coming to earth for the first time and he missed to be with god very much. That explained why he was so spiritual at least in my mind. He was trapped in an unfamiliar reality and wanted so badly to be one with god. Then we asked the sadhu what was his duty in this life: he was here to learn how to convey the “grace” (the best word I can recall) not by words as he just did to us but by staring at people in silence.

The colorful scene happening in a cafe of a barren Himalayan village could be just a travel annedocte from long ago. It took me ten years to realize that the transformation he was talking about had happened not even one year after that “prophecy”.

One day of 11 years ago after a conversation with a friend during Easter holiday I quickly took the decision to leave my career, family and friends to move to a Venezuelan archipelago and run a sailboat charter business. We can ponder a lot about if all this is coincidence, self-fulfilling prophecy, magic, destiny and such without getting a spider from the hole (transl. of an idiomatic Italian phrase). What is evident is that the before and the after look quite different from each other, they are two completely separate identities. So which one is the right identity? Both? None?

I’ll borrow an image that Alan Watts borrowed form Buckminster Fuller (feel free to borrow it as well):

“ suppose we have a rope, and one section of this rope is made of manila hemp, the next section is cotton, the next section is silk, the next section is nylon, and so on. Now we tie a knot in this rope—just an ordinary one-over knot—and you find, by putting your finger in the knot, you can move it all the way down the rope. Now as this knot travels, it’s first of all made of manila hemp, it’s then made of cotton, it’s then made of silk, it’s then made of nylon, and so on. But the knot keeps going on. That’s the integrity of pattern; the continuing pattern, which is what you are. Because you might, you know, be—for several years—you might be a vegetarian, and you might be a meat-eater, and so on. And, you know, your constitution changes all the time, but your friends still recognize you because you’re still putting on the same show. It’s the same pattern that is the recognizable individual.”

The pattern stays the same even when conditions change.

If I looked at myself before the event horizon of my departure for Venezuela all I was good in making with my hands was rolling cigarettes and playing basketball. I was a discrete cook, a good basketball player and I smoked way too many cigarettes. In every other department my hands were clumsy, slow and uneffective.

In my childhood I used to play with my father’s tool. In the courtyard of the apartment building where I grew up I would shape scrap pieces of baseboard into medieval swords and play with other kids, or cobble up a rubber band slingshot out of wood, nails and clothes pins. It excited me but I quickly lost interest in working with my hands. I substituted it with daydreaming.

Wasn’t it much better to imagine to be a mechanical engineer and design and build car engines in the comforts of my mind rather going through the troubles of doing it for real? I had landed with both feet in the world of abstraction and I was very happy in it.

What kept me solidly anchored in the world of abstraction was another element. I was fascinated with the study of language. I took pride of reading books when I was a little kid and I would devour many good and not so good novels and stories and when I earned the title of kid who read the most I went to the trouble of lying about reading a long not so exciting novel about a prehistoric saber tooth cat to keep said title. The teacher gave me a pass on that but I remember from a look in her eyes that the jig was up.

Writing was a direct consequence of it. I of course dreamed about being a writer, and particularly a famous novelist. Not a best seller writer but a novelist whom both critics and public praise for depth of thought, irony and for creating marvelous worlds that stretch our sense of reality. Maturity and input from society values quickly made me understand that investing in such a path would be risky in its outcomes and very likely lead to being poor (something tells me that it was my destiny anyway…). I resorted to other occupations, deciding that being a psychologist was a good way to use language for something socially useful and make a living with it.

Life decided otherwise and this process of transformation brought me back to use my hands in conjunction with my mind to transform reality. The smooth surface of my palms began to show sign of hard spots. Knuckles quickly developed wounds one after the other, with open ones taking the place of old scars. My nails became in need of serious cleaning all the time. The perfectly comfortable dreams of designing custom made objects and structures faced the obvious lack of experience, training and skills. I learned that sailing is hard on your hands, and hard on your mind.

This transformation for sure affected the reality of my identity in a deep way and it was not foreseeable when the sadhu spoke to me. If I knew what was going to happen I would have started to ask myself questions, make judgements and ultimately give up the entire idea thinking that I could do better taking a different path. I am happy I did not, because ultimately I am at best marginal if not naive when it comes to making judgement on what’s good or bad for me.

Putting it all together

The liquid consistency of contemporary life finely expressed in language by Zygmunt Bauman certainly affects identity, it stretches boundaries and allows degrees of freedom that were unthinkable in the past. At surface this whole identity business is still chaotic in my mind as I reject definitions of nationality, age and such as important individual traits. However I recently realized that the knot that slides through the imaginary rope, the never changing pattern, the ultimate identity that works no matter what changes I go through in life is the identity of Writer. Writing has always accompanied me and it will, both as an urge and as a pleasure.

The fact that I am without any doubt a Writer is corroborated by at least four other people. One is a talented world creator who weaves poetic images and hallucinatory quests in the realm of fantasy. Another is a published science writer who likes to express his talent in fictional adventures. There is also a professional designer who uses words to draw humorous and moving pieces. Finally, a student and teacher of language in a rogue mission to shock and awe you through a mix of erotism and wit. They are the Rebel Writers, and I am a proud member. The proof that I am a writer is that I belong to this group of writers, because only writers, and a very special kind, are allowed.

Whatever the next level, whatever transformation is happening I will keep writing about it.
Meditations 2020 [English Version]

Meditations 2020 [English Version]

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“The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely”

Carl Gustav Jung

On a flight to Hong Kong / January 5, 2020

A song called 2020 plays in my teenage memories and collides with this chapter full of unexpected desires and new territories to explore.

The fears gradually fade away but still take hold of those black parts that many people are sure to carry inside, emotional baggage that hinders the need for visions, the agitation under the skin, an explosive love that does not seem true, the return to the beauty and difficult reality of Hong Kong.

Among the notes of almost forgotten songs there are images. The tell as story of the years of education, theoretical knowledge that wants new space, forgotten truths in search of an update, experiences that make their way in the galactic swirls, the dust of stars that obstruct my kidneys, internal bacterial wars that leave me different every time, a river in the making, a drop in that ocean on which fate continues to make me sail. My soul would prefer to seek the peace of rocky peaks, or the embrace of a dense forest that grows undisturbed. Instead I continue to remain at zero above sea leval, who knows for how long. I become. teleological concerns disappear as I abandon myself to this reality.

These and other dreams visit me as I fly over an unknown ocean. Flight attendants push their products for sale, but my need to put everything on the page keeps me focused on keeping this portal open, that creative imagination which is the greatest power, together with the opposable thumb and standing position, which is perhaps a consequence of those.

I want to capture the notes of the rhythm that runs through every moment, but I feel deaf and blind, apart from those rare moments when I stand with a net at the edge of the stream. Careful step after another, crystal clear waters lap the knees. Visions appear below the surface, surround the feet, seem to bite me. I proceed uncertainly for fear of slipping, of making a fool of myself, I lack in firmness and trust.

I finally perceive who I am, in the fusion between sky and water and stones, in the reflection of light on the clear water, on the border between Me and the World, that place that I occupy in every second, even sitting on a slightly narrow seat of a flight of line, or darting on a road attached to the rigid platform of a two-wheeled tractor, or in the waiting room of a hospital that is too empty.

Sitting or standing, moving or in quiet, this network of relationships, threads of light that converge in a point in constant movement, plots of a solid and ephemeral reality, remain active and in constante change, captured only by breath and attention.

As I meditate on the threads that pass through me, I am still surprised by the course of events and increasingly convinced that what is happening to me, beyond the useless categories of positive and negative, is much richer, more intense and generous than I can possibly expect, plan or wish.

Everyday gifts exceed my wildest desires, those one-dimensional cravings linked to frivolous attachments, fixations that limit me more than increase me: greed, gluttony, pride, lust. Spices that give flavor to the days or cravings that bring perennial unhappiness?

Is opening oneself to the gifts of the present an act of freedom from the myopic yoke of the ego?

I always believed I was going with the handbrake pulled during adolescence, along the university years, up to the first steps into the world of adults. I repeated it to myself and to others. Interpersonal relationships, creative skills have been sacrificed to worries, insecurities, while inside an engine of infinite strength pushes tirelessly.

Little by little, in the presence of more or less pleasant crossroads in life, the handbrake lever starts to fall, speed increases, resistance decreases. Events strike, unexpected surprises hidden behind every curve. Sometimes there are jumps, holes, clouds of choking dust and winds that make me shiver.

Yet the wheel brings what I need, unexpectedly at the right time, and I try to make myself comfortable, lying between imaginary sacks of rice and quacking chickens, the blind and deaf driver sings an unknown litany.

It is not about fatalism, determinism or resignation. Everyday actions count, not acting and getting carried away like a leaf is simply impossible. Time spent mulling over action, the constant calculation to try to predict everything do not add value, only layers of meaning that weigh down, killing spontaneity.

2020 comes at a breakneck pace. A progressive number dictated by the need for regularity, a cyclical phenomenon that will soon be exiledto the past by the action of becoming to make room for the new cycle.

Since the handbrake lever started to drop, I have avoided formulating goals, plans, projects, resolutions, preferring to be surprised by what comes next.

Many speak of the importance of setting realistic goals, especially at the beginning of the year, an arbitrary event that influences the common imagination. I have always fought against these intentions, feeling incapable of following through, and for once I am happy that I suck at this.

Any thought surrenders in the face of growth, which happens incessantly, from seed to embryo, from fetus to little man. The illusion of controlling this spontaneous and irreversible phenomenon is a block that clip the wings. Progress, the encounter with old and new obstacles, learning from experience are what interests me most.

I follow the belief that there is nothing wrong with me, nothing to correct, improve, that the fundamental fault that we carry inside is a social construction, and as such is subject to external and internal manipulation. I am improving even if I don’t feel like it, and I am increasingly aware that by “doing” and “trying” or worse by “striving” I create more obstacles than I eliminate.

This is the reason why I prefer to formulate kind directives, guidelines, good practices, which I sometimes find useful if I stop and reflect, when the wind goes down and the sea is flat and you can’t go anywhere. I think about small lessons learned, a vademecum, when life allows it. Mending, cleaning, organizing.

In particular, I focus on some meditations that could help me create good practices:

– Stop dusing categories like nationality, occupation, gender, age, physical appearance, to stop deining myself and others. Stop worrying about beautiful / ugly, intelligent / stupid, healthy / sick, limitations in the field of action. They don’t help.

– Trust the internal world: without imposing it on others, but taking care to share it in the easiest and most fun ways. The discrepancy with the images that come from outside are not a curse, but signs of uniqueness.

– Answering calls: a special soul has taught me to resist the temptation to say no to the calls of life and to do everything possible to answer Yes, or at least Maybe, without closing the doors to emerging possibilities.

– Write as much as possible, to help memory, to record the vibrations of the present rather than for utilitarian purposes: this advice was given to me by Oliviero, a great artist, painter and exceptional creator, who I had the privilege of meeting thanks to an unexpected encounter. A gift that my narrow desires could not even formulate.

– Finish what you start: a very important area of ​​improvement that allows to eliminate excess weights.

– Abandon unnecessary objects, situations and people: eliminate properties that do not have a function and collect them only because ONE DAY they will be useful.

– Ask what you need: visualize in detail needs and desires, and wait for them to manifest, knowing that not all desires will be satisfied, but also that “whoever seeks finds” works like a spell.

– Creating with your own hands: despite the difficulties, the internal and external judgment, it is important to create objects, play with the material, to remember that modifying the material is a sacred activity, understanding that what we do has an impact.

And finally:

– Continue to lower the handbrake lever, allowing the senses and attention to get used to the increase in speed, to respond to the omnipresent chaotic perturbations and to follow the music of the cosmos that resonates at all times.

This is the formula to get rid of the illusion of control and participate in the cosmic dance in which, we want it or not, we are an essential part.
Meditazioni 2020 [Versione Italiana]

Meditazioni 2020 [Versione Italiana]

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“La cosa più terrificante è accettare se stessi completamente”

Carl Gustav Jung

Su un volo per Hong Kong/ 5 Gennaio 2020

Una canzone dal titolo 2020 suona nei mie ricordi adolescenziali che si scontrano con il presente capitolo pieno di desideri inaspettati e nuovi territori da esplorare.

Le paure gradualmente svaniscono ma fanno ancora presa su quelle parti nere che molte persone sono sicure di portare dentro, bagagli emotivi che ostacolano il bisogno di visioni, l’agitazione sotto la pelle, un amore esplosivo che non sembra vero, il ritorno alla bella e difficile realtà di Hong Kong.

Tra le note di canzoni quasi dimenticate si inseriscono immagini, echi degli anni della formazione personale, conoscenze teoriche che vogliono nuovo spazio, verità dimenticate in cerca di un aggiornamento da scaricare e nuove informazioni, esperienze che si fanno strada nei turbinii galattici, la polvere di stelle che mi ostruisce le reni, guerre batteriche interne che mi lasciano ogni volta diverso, un fiume in divenire, una goccia dell’oceano sul quale gli scherzi del destino continuano a farmi navigare. La mia anima preferirebbe cercare la pace e l’energia tra cime rocciose, o nell’abbraccio di una fitta foresta che cresce indisturbata, ma continuo a rimanere ad altitudine 0 s.l.m., chissà per quanto tempo. Divengo e abbandonandomi a ciò, svaniscono le preoccupazioni teleologiche.

Questi e altri sogni mi visitano mentre sorvolo un oceano sconosciuto. Gli assistenti di volo spingono i loro prodotti in vendita, ma il mio bisogno di mettere tutto sulla pagina mi tiene concentrato sul tenere aperto questo portale, quell’immaginazione creativa che è il più grande potere, insieme al pollice opponibile e alla posizione eretta, o che forse è un conseguenza di questi.

Desidero catturare le note del ritmo che attraversa ogni momento, ma mi sento sordo e cieco, a parte in quei rari momenti in cui mi metto con una rete ai bordi del torrente. Entro a passo lento, acque cristalline lambiscono le ginocchia. Visioni appaiono sotto la superficie, circondano i piedi, sembrano mordermi. Procedo incerto per paura di scivolare, di fare una figuraccia, mi mancano fermezza e fiducia. Percepisco finalmente chi sono, nella fusione tra cielo e acqua e pietre, nei rimbalzi di luce sull’acqua limpida, al confine tra Me e il Mondo, quel posto che occupo in ogni secondo, anche seduto in un sedile leggermente stretto di un volo di linea, o sfrecciando su una strada attaccato alla piattaforma rigida di un trattore a due ruote, o nella sala d’attesa di un ospedale troppo vuoto.

Seduto o in piedi, in movimento o in pace, il reticolo di relazioni, fili di luce che convergono in un punto in costante movimento, trame di una realtà solida ed effimera, rimangono attivi e in mutamento, catturati dal respiro e dall’attenzione.

Mentre medito sui fili che mi attraversano, sono ancora sorpreso dal corso degli eventi e sempre più convinto che ciò che mi sta accadendo, al di là delle inutili categorie di positivo e negativo, sia molto più ricco, più intenso, generoso di quello che posso aspettarmi , pianificare o desiderare. Che i doni di tutti i giorni superano i miei desideri più sfrenati, voglie unidimensionali legate ad attaccamenti frivoli, fissazioni che mi limitano più che accrescermi: avidità, gola, orgoglio, lussuria, elementi che danno sapore ai giorni o voglie che portano infelicità perenne?

Aprirsi ai doni del presente è liberarsi dal giogo miope dell’ego?

Ho sempre creduto di avere il freno a mano tirato durante l’adolescenza, durante gli anni dell’università, fino ai primi passi nel mondo degli adulti. Lo ripetevo a me stesso e agli altri. Relazioni interpersonali, abilità creative sono state sacrificate a preoccupazioni, insicurezze, mentre all’interno un motore di infinita forza spinge instancabilmente.

Poco a poco, di fronte ai crocevia più o meno piacevoli della vita, la leva inizia a cadere, guadagno velocità, diminuisce la resistenza. Gli eventi mi colpiscono, sorprese inaspettate nascoste dietro ogni curva. A volte ci sono salti, buche, nuvole di polvere che vorrebbero soffocarmi e venti che mi fanno rabbrividire. Eppure la ruota porta quello di cui ho bisogno, al momento giusto, e io cerco di mettermi comodo, tra immaginari sacchi di riso e polli che starnazzano, il cocchiere cieco e sordo canta una litania sconosciuta.

Non si tratta di fatalismo, determinismo o rassegnazione. Le azioni di ogni giorno contano, non agire e lasciarsi trasportare come una foglia è semplicemente impossibile. E’ il tempo passato a rimuginare sopra l’agire, il calcolo costante per cercare di prevedere tutto, che non aggiungono valore, solo strati di significato che appesantiscono.

Il 2020 arriva a rotta di collo. Un numero progressivo dettato dalla necessità di regolarità, un fenomeno ciclico che presto verrà consegnato al passato dall’azione del divenire per fare spazio al nuovo ciclo.

Da quando la leva del freno a mano ha iniziato a scendere, ho evitato di formulare obiettivi, piani, progetti, risoluzioni preferendo farmi stupire da ciò che viene.

 Molti parlano dell’importanza di stabilire obiettivi realistici, soprattutto all’inizio dell’anno, evento arbitrario che influenza l’immaginazione comune. Ho sempre lottato contro questi propositi, e per una volta sono felice che in questo faccia schifo.

Qualsivoglia pensiero formulato si arrende al cospetto della crescita, che succede incessante, da seme a embrione, da feto a piccolo uomo. L’illusione di controllare questo fenomeno spontaneo e irreversibile è un blocco che tarpa le ali. Il progresso, l’incontro con vecchi e nuovi ostacoli, l’apprendimento dall’esperienza sono ciò che più mi interessa.

Seguo la convinzione che non ci sia nulla di sbagliato in me, niente da correggere, migliorare, che la colpa fondamentale che portiamo è una costruzione sociale, e come tale è soggetta a manipolazione esterna ed interna. Sto migliorando anche se non mi va, e son sempre più consapevole che “facendo” e “provando” o peggio “sforzandomi” creo più ostacoli di quanti ne elimini.

Questo è il motivo per cui preferisco formulare direttive gentili, linee guida, buone pratiche, che a volte trovo utili se mi fermo e rifletto, quando il vento scende e il mare è piatto e non puoi andare da nessuna parte. Formulo piccole lezioni apprese, un vademecum. Rammendo, pulisco, organizzo.

In particolare mi concentro su alcune meditazioni che potrebbero aiutarmi a creare delle buone pratiche:

– Smettere di definirmi e usare categorie come nazionalità, occupazione, genere, età. Smettere di preoccuparmi se sia o meno bello / brutto, intelligente / stupido, sano / malato, limitazioni nel campo d’azione. Non aiutano.

– Fidarsi del mondo interno: senza imporlo agli altri, ma avendo cura di condividerlo nelle forme e nei modi più facili e divertenti. La discrepanza con le immagini che vengono da fuori non sono una maledizione, ma segni di unicità.

– Rispondere alle chiamate: un’anima speciale mi ha insegnato a resistere alla tentazione di dire no ai richiami della vita e di fare tutto il possibile per rispondere Sì, o almeno Forse, senza chiudere le porte a possibilità emergenti.

– Scrivere il più possibile, per aiutare la memoria, per registrare le vibrazioni del presente piuttosto che per scopi utilitaristici: questo consiglio mi è stato dato da Oliviero, un grande artista, pittore e creatore eccezionale, il quale ho avuto il privilegio di incontro grazie a un incontro inaspettato. Un regalo che i miei desideri ristretti non potevano nemmeno formulare.

– Finire ciò che si inizia: un’area di miglioramento molto importante che consente di eliminare i pesi in eccesso.

– Abbandonare oggetti, situazioni e persone non necessari: elimina le proprietà che non hanno una funzione e collezionarle solo perché UN GIORNO saranno utili.

– Chiedere ciò di cui hai bisogno: visualizzare in dettaglio i bisogni e i desideri, e attendi che si manifestino, sapendo che non tutti i desideri saranno soddisfatti, ma anche che “chi cerca trova” funziona come un incantesimo.

– Creare con le proprie mani : nonostante le difficoltà, il giudizio interno ed esterno, è importante creare oggetti, giocare con la materia, per ricordarsi che modificare la materia è un’attività sacra.

E infine:

– Continuare ad abbassare la leva del freno a mano, permettendo ai sensi e all’attenzione di abituarsi all’aumento della velocità, di rispondere alle perturbazioni caotiche onnipresenti e di seguire la musica del cosmo che risuona in ogni momento.

Questa è la formula per sbarazzarsi dell’illusione del controllo e partecipare alla danza cosmica in cui, lo vogliamo o no, siamo una parte essenziale.

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