On not knowing

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
 
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
 
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

ee cummings

After that, it seems to be just too much arrogance to claim to know something, and that the act of knowing something excludes the discovering of many other things. Human beings are too quick to think that they have the corner on knowing things, classifying things, understanding how things work. But the fact is, their primary senses (smell, sight, hearing etc.) are inferior to that of many other species. And their interpretive faculty is dependent on the sorting practices of parts of the brain that reject most of the information coming into the frontal lobes (our super-processor). Just like a computer - what goes in is what comes out. 

Perhaps the alertness and nimbleness of little birds is a clue to how human beings can improve the flow of data into the brain. Perhaps, like them, we can be surprised by everything. And perhaps our quality of mental life will improve?

The new Artful Dodger

I bless Terry Pratchett - while I wasn't looking, he released another novel this year entitled, "Dodger". Every book that comes new on the market now is ever greater treasure - Prachett's battle with Alsheimer's makes every new book a miracle. And though his books fly off my shelves into the dungeons of my daughters’ bedrooms, I never feel hard-done-by buying and re-buying Prachett’s books. If, by the time I die I have managed to have a full set in my bookshelf for a month, I will consider myself the winner.

Much has been said of Prachett’s skill at satire – and I do love that. But more, I find on his pages life-lessons to grow by. Any teenager that crosses my path instantly gets a grubby copy of a Tiffany Aching novel thrust upon them. And certainly “Equal Rites”, followed by the Wyrd Sisters series. If ever I was to give a course in shamanism, Pratchett is where I would begin.

And “Dodger” is no exception. Drawing from Charles Dickens’ London and grasp of character, as well as Mayhew’s documentation of living conditions there in the time of Victoria’s reign, Pratchett spins a story with his ever-compassionate apologies for human nature. And had I not been reading some Casteneda alongside, I might have missed this: Pratchett’s Dodger carries two shamanic themes with him across the pages. The first is the creation of “fog”. That is, the weaving of a projected image that others, with the help of their habitual expectations, will believe and make real. The second is how habitual behaviour make you easy prey to those who want to find you, and make use of your resources.

In Don Juan terms, this is the skill of the art of “stalking”. Which means, if you avoid slipping into habitual ways of moving through your day, you are likely to find out interesting things about yourself, and others. And by understanding how others see the world and designing a suitable character disguise, you can manoeuvre through their lives projecting an image others will believe.

The important question to answer here is why you would want to do either. And when you see how Dodger, the hero, moves between the world of sparkly chandeliers and high-powered wealth, and the subterranean labyrinth of London sewers, the answer suggests itself.