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Authors: Dan Millman
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libraries, arts? What about all the advances of our society that were generated by brilliant minds?”
He grinned, put down his chopsticks, and said, “There aren't any brilliant minds.” Then he carried the plates to the sink.
“Socrates, stop making these irresponsible statements and explain yourself!”
He emerged from the bathroom, bearing aloft two shining plates. “I'd better redefine some terms for you. 'Mind' is one of those slippery terms like 'love'. The proper definition depends on your state of consciousness. Look at it this way: you have a brain that directs the body, stores information, and plays with that information. We refer to the brain's abstract processes as 'the intellect'. Nowhere have I mentioned mind. The brain and the mind are not the same. The brain is real; the mind isn't.
'Mind' is an illusory outgrowth of basic cerebral processes. It is like a tumor. It comprises all the random, uncontrolled thoughts that bubble into awareness from the subconscious. Consciousness is not mind; awareness is not mind; attention is not mind. Mind is an obstruction, an aggravation. It is a kind of evolutionary mistake in the human being, a primal weakness in the human experiment. I have no use for the mind.”
I sat in silence, breathing slowly. I didn't exactly know what to say. Soon enough, though, words came.
“You certainly have a unique perspective, Soc. I'm not sure what you're talking about, but you sound really sincere.”
He just smiled and shrugged.
“Soc,” I continued, “Do I cut off my head to get rid of my mind?”
Smiling, he said, “That's one cure, but it has undesirable side effects. The brain can be a tool. It can recall phone numbers, solve math puzzles, or create poetry. In this way, it works for the rest of the body, like a tractor. But when you can't stop thinking of that math problem or phone number, or when troubling thoughts and memories arise without your intent, it's not your brain working, but your mind wandering. Then the mind controls you; then the tractor has run wild.”
“I get it.”
“To really get it, you must observe yourself to see what I mean. You have an angry thought bubble up and you become angry. It is the same with all your emotions. They're your knee-jerk responses to thoughts you can't control. Your thoughts are like wild monkeys stung by a scorpion.”
“Socrates, I think...”
“You think too much!”
“I was just going to tell you that I'm really willing to change. That's one thing about me; I've always been open to change.”
“That,” said Socrates, “is one of your biggest illusions. You've been willing to change clothes, hairstyles, women, apartments, and jobs. You are all too willing to change anything except yourself, but change you will. Either I help you open your eyes or time will, but time is not always gentle,” he said ominously. “Take your choice. But first realize that you're in prison--then we can plot your escape.”
With that, he pulled up to his desk, picked up a pencil, and began checking off receipts, looking like a busy executive. I got the distinct feeling I'd been dismissed for the evening. I was glad class was out.
For the next couple of days which soon stretched to weeks, I was too busy, I told myself, to drop in and visit with Socrates. But his words rattled around in my mind; I became preoccupied with its contents.
I started keeping a small notebook in which I wrote down my thoughts during the day---except for workouts, when my thoughts gave way to action. In two days I had to buy a bigger notebook; in a week, that was full. I was astounded to see the bulk and general negativity of my thought processes.
This practice increased my awareness of my mental noise; I'd turned up the volume on my thoughts that had only been subconscious background Muzak before. I stopped writing, but still the thoughts blared. Maybe Soc could help me with the volume
He grinned, put down his chopsticks, and said, “There aren't any brilliant minds.” Then he carried the plates to the sink.
“Socrates, stop making these irresponsible statements and explain yourself!”
He emerged from the bathroom, bearing aloft two shining plates. “I'd better redefine some terms for you. 'Mind' is one of those slippery terms like 'love'. The proper definition depends on your state of consciousness. Look at it this way: you have a brain that directs the body, stores information, and plays with that information. We refer to the brain's abstract processes as 'the intellect'. Nowhere have I mentioned mind. The brain and the mind are not the same. The brain is real; the mind isn't.
'Mind' is an illusory outgrowth of basic cerebral processes. It is like a tumor. It comprises all the random, uncontrolled thoughts that bubble into awareness from the subconscious. Consciousness is not mind; awareness is not mind; attention is not mind. Mind is an obstruction, an aggravation. It is a kind of evolutionary mistake in the human being, a primal weakness in the human experiment. I have no use for the mind.”
I sat in silence, breathing slowly. I didn't exactly know what to say. Soon enough, though, words came.
“You certainly have a unique perspective, Soc. I'm not sure what you're talking about, but you sound really sincere.”
He just smiled and shrugged.
“Soc,” I continued, “Do I cut off my head to get rid of my mind?”
Smiling, he said, “That's one cure, but it has undesirable side effects. The brain can be a tool. It can recall phone numbers, solve math puzzles, or create poetry. In this way, it works for the rest of the body, like a tractor. But when you can't stop thinking of that math problem or phone number, or when troubling thoughts and memories arise without your intent, it's not your brain working, but your mind wandering. Then the mind controls you; then the tractor has run wild.”
“I get it.”
“To really get it, you must observe yourself to see what I mean. You have an angry thought bubble up and you become angry. It is the same with all your emotions. They're your knee-jerk responses to thoughts you can't control. Your thoughts are like wild monkeys stung by a scorpion.”
“Socrates, I think...”
“You think too much!”
“I was just going to tell you that I'm really willing to change. That's one thing about me; I've always been open to change.”
“That,” said Socrates, “is one of your biggest illusions. You've been willing to change clothes, hairstyles, women, apartments, and jobs. You are all too willing to change anything except yourself, but change you will. Either I help you open your eyes or time will, but time is not always gentle,” he said ominously. “Take your choice. But first realize that you're in prison--then we can plot your escape.”
With that, he pulled up to his desk, picked up a pencil, and began checking off receipts, looking like a busy executive. I got the distinct feeling I'd been dismissed for the evening. I was glad class was out.
For the next couple of days which soon stretched to weeks, I was too busy, I told myself, to drop in and visit with Socrates. But his words rattled around in my mind; I became preoccupied with its contents.
I started keeping a small notebook in which I wrote down my thoughts during the day---except for workouts, when my thoughts gave way to action. In two days I had to buy a bigger notebook; in a week, that was full. I was astounded to see the bulk and general negativity of my thought processes.
This practice increased my awareness of my mental noise; I'd turned up the volume on my thoughts that had only been subconscious background Muzak before. I stopped writing, but still the thoughts blared. Maybe Soc could help me with the volume
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