No!-Mind, Christopher Isherwood, and Support for Your Best Intentions

Minds Say, "No!" They Just Do

You have probably heard of the Buddhists' "No-mind." Let me introduce you to its counterpart No!-mind. No!-mind was referenced in the previous blog post as a part of the mind that undermines our best intentions.

No!-mind can be very frustrating as long as it remains mysterious. A lot of my work with clients centers on revealing the machinations of No!-mind.

Minds Are Like Toddlers

Think of a toddler going through that stage of development where the answer to everything is "No!" What happens to the habit of mind that is developed at that time? Does it remain lurking somewhere inside?

Minds Say No! In Many Ways

No!-mind wears many costumes. It may say, "I don't deserve it," "I am bored by it," "It is too hard for me," "I am too busy," "I have already done that," "I can't," "I am not lucky that way," "That is unworthy of me," "That is disgusting," "Someone already took mine," "I cannot...," "I am not good at..." There are so many ways to say, "No."

Oddly, Saying No! Is Foundational to Experiencing Mind At All. Egad

And what of this Buddhist No-mind? If No-mind is the truth, what is this thing I am calling my mind? The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali identify No!-mind as foundational to experiencing oneself as having a separate mind.

"I say 'No!' therefore I am." It is very reassuring in a way. No! NO! NO!!! Can you feel the wonder of it? That feeling of pushing-away is actually, in part, creating the feeling that mind exists.

If you look for it, you may find a little No!-mind in almost every thought-process you experience.

You Can Learn Skills And Master No!-mind

So, if, in fact, No!-mind is an essential element of our individual human identity, it makes a whole lot of sense to do work on our goals with support.

I can help you identify the myriad costume changes that No!-mind undertakes as you struggle toward your goal.

Employing No-mind in the mastery of No!-mind is another skill that I can teach you.

Christopher Isherwood on No!-Mind... Because, Christopher Isherwood.

Christopher Isherwood co-wrote with Swami Prabhavananda a commentary on the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. In the commentary, the experience, roughly speaking, of an individual mind is called ignorance. That's kind of harsh. Oh well. It turns out wonderfully in the end, so let's hang in there.

Here is Isherwood and Prabhavananda's translation of Yoga Sutra 2.3

These obstacles--the causes of man's suffering--are ignorance, egoism, attachment, aversion, and the desire to cling to life. 

Isherwood and Prabhavananda here use the word aversion the way I am using No!-mind. In Sanskrit, the word is dvesha.

The constant, necessary presence of No!-mind in the fabrication of our human individuality makes it, let us say, amusing, to undertake positive, transformative change. Again, I point to the good sense it makes to have support, and I enthusiastically make myself available for this.

In Yoga Sutra 2.8, Patanjali defines dvesha. Isherwood and Prabhavananda translate:

Aversion is that which dwells on pain.

Their commentary states:

Aversion is also a form of bondage. We are tied to what we hate or fear. That is why, in our lives, the same problem, the same danger or difficulty, will present itself over and over again in various aspects, as long as we continue to resist or run way from it instead of examining and solving it. 

No!-mind Accompanies Positive Change

I add that there is a little bit of hate and fear involved in every effort we make to achieve a positive goal. When one part of the mind becomes the authority that says, "You would be better off doing X," No!-mind is there to assert that we are just f@*!ing fine as we are, thank you very much.

I Am Here To Help You Make Your Wishes Into Realities

Don't let No!-mind dominate your better angels. Call me, and I will teach you the skills that will allow you to get 'er done. Check, check, check, right down your 'to do list." Will be a hoot, too.

Turn your "to-do" list into your "ta-dah!" list. Oh. I am on a roll.

jelyrose@gmail.com / 646-831-2675

Three Things That Undermine Our Best Intentions

Tell me if this sounds familiar:

• You know what would be good for you. (Doesn't matter what: exercise three times per week, eat less sugar, meditate daily, improve your relationship, keep the house cleaner, get a job or a better job, get out there and date, go back to school, finish that project...)
• You make up your mind to do it.
• You don't do it. 

Even a simple goal such as getting out of bed earlier can elude us. 

I know why people fail. 

Here is a countdown of three of the top reasons people fail to achieve their goals, and how I can help:

3. People expect doing good to feel good. When it doesn't feel good, they quit.

Consciously or unconsciously we expect a reward for good behavior. 

No one expects what actually happens. When we undertake a positive change a whole barrage of stuff happens that does not feel good at all. Our minds get mad at us for making a change. Yes! The same mind that came up with this healthy, new life plan gets to work to undermine it. Thinking up a good idea is one thing, carrying out that plan is very different. 

Add to that, when we manage to sustain a positive change over time it creates an opportunity for negativity to be released. Yes! Crusty old habits and thoughts come knocking, and it is actually because we are doing something good; it is actually a good, good sign. People misinterpret this as failure... and give up.

I will align your expectations with reality, and you will achieve your goal.

2. Failure has become a habit.

Have you ever encouraged yourself to make a positive change and not followed through on that? How many times? 

No matter what you want to change, you need to break the failure habit and create a habit of success. 

I can help you make success a habit no matter what wish or goal we work on together. 

1. You are trying to do it alone. 

The number one reason that people fail to achieve their goals is because they go it alone.

Among my clients, the average amount of time that they have been working on their goal by themselves is ten years. Finally, after ten years, they get fed up with the repeated failures that come from doing it the same way, a way that does not work, again and again. 

With professional support, those clients achieve their goals quickly. I am absolutely serious when I say that people accomplish in months, or even weeks what they have not been able to do in YEARS. 

Don't wait ten years. You can have what you want. I know how to make that happen.

Email jelyrose@gmail.com or call 646-831-2675 to schedule an appointment. 

Time to Lighten Up

Morty the Bulb:

An Allegory of Illumination

by Jennifer Rose

On the day that Sara Kunkle brought home that box of light bulbs, she had no idea that she had purchased the brightest bulb in the box. It was a completely ordinary shopping experience. In addition to the box of bulbs, Sara had picked up a mother lode of toilet paper and a vat of sweet baby gherkins. She was a bulk shopper.

Morty, the brightest bulb in the box, was an incandescent 60W bulb. Because Sara was a bulk shopper, Morty sat in his box, in a closet, for years, knowing nothing. Because Morty was incandescent, he sat there so long he came close to being obsolete. One by one Sara took the other bulbs from the box and put them to use. Finally one night, she took out Morty.

Sara put up a ladder in the bedroom of her apartment, climbed up to the second highest step, unscrewed the burnt out light bulb, and screwed in Morty with six competent turns, Screep, screep screep, screep, screep, screep.

Sara climbed down the ladder, folded it up, and put it away neatly in the utility closet by the kitchen. When she came back to the bedroom, she put her hand on the light switch, and flipped it to ON.

WOW!

A thrill shot through Morty’s entire being. And what is that? And what is that? And what is that? Morty saw the bed, the desk, and the cat.

“This is stupendous!” Morty thought. “This is amazing!”

“A chair! A dresser! A pillow! A nightgown!”

“Holy freaking cow!” Morty thought. “Look at all this stuff, will ya!”

Then Sara flipped the switch to OFF, and “zzzup,” Morty went dark.

Later that night, when Sara was getting ready for bed, Morty was ON and fathoming the details of the bedclothes, their colors and textures, the oceanic blue-green comforter, the damask throw, white ruffles on the pillowcases, the sateen sheen of the sheets. Then he noticed Sara Kunkle. She did not hold still. She was like the cat, Belshazzar, who fussed and flicked and licked.  

“Similar, but not the same. Sublime!” Morty thought. “The rich variety of existence!” And then he was OFF.

Time went by like this. Morty marveled at the details of his existence whenever he was ON: the lace of Sara’s nightgown, the grain of the floorboards, the comings and goings of the cat.

The cat was perplexing. How could it be that one moment Morty’s existence had the element of cat, and the next moment it did not? Morty found himself wishing the cat could be still, could be either in or out.

As he thought more about it, for that matter, Morty wished Sara would not move the objects of existence here and there. Her fluffings and rufflings of the bedclothes made Morty vaguely nauseous. It felt as if he himself were being fluffed and ruffled. He felt cheapened by her disregard for the places things were supposed to be, the places they had been the first moment he was ON. Obviously the wastebasket belonged next to the desk and not next to the bed.

“Why doesn’t she care about what is right? Why doesn’t she think it matters whether my wastebasket is here or there?” Morty wondered. The wastebasket, like the cat, moved in and out of Morty’s existence. Sara put bits and scraps into the wastebasket, and the wastebasket disappeared. When it came back the wastebasket would be empty. Unsettling.

One day Sara was standing in front of her mirror brushing her brown hair with the brush that was supposed to be on the dresser. Morty had noticed the mirror before, but today he focused on a luminescent orb looking over Sara’s shoulder, and he recognized himself.

“What the what?!” Morty thought. “What the who, the how, the what?!” Morty thought. “I do not like the looks of that. I do not like the looks of that at all. God. That small, insignificant, fragile, glassy… Ew.” He couldn’t turn his attention from his reflection.

Before long, Morty’s thoughts turned. “That is me! I am the best! I am the brightest! I feel so WOW about ME!”

That night was the very first time a light bulb ever experienced mirror self-recognition. Morty was right to feel proud of himself. It was almost unbelievable.

That was also the night that Morty noticed the light switch with its ON and OFF.

Now, when he was ON, Morty fixated on that switch. He noticed certain correlations. He related ON with the hairbrush, the cat, and the rest of existence.  He related OFF with, with, with…

“Oh my God!” Morty thought. “What the hell is OFF? WHAT THE HELL IS OFF?!?! He noticed that ON was always, at first, attended by Sara’s proximity to the switch.

The Sara Kunkle suddenly seemed very different from the cat. Morty hoped he had not offended The Sara Kunkle by associating her with the cat, who was clearly a buffoon, an ass-licking beggar. Who did the cat beg to? The Sara Kunkle.

“Why hadn’t I noticed this?”

The Sara Kunkle suddenly seemed so beautiful, the one thing in the existence that stirred deep yearnings in Morty.

“I’m an idiot,” Morty thought. “Clearly she is endowed with magical powers beyond all comprehension. Probably she hates me now. I am loathsome. I am small. What if she decides not to turn the switch ON?!”

Morty had a lot of intense feelings about this possibility. When he was ON he spent a lot of time focusing on The Sara Kunkle, trying to understand her moods and motivations. He wanted to please her. Desperately.

Morty hummed—the language of bulbs--prayers to the All Powerful, The Sara Kunkle.

Despite Morty’s love of her, despite his prayers and devotions, The Sara Kunkle delivered a humiliating, a devastating blow to Morty, that punished him and filled him with a sense of profound, powerless humiliation.

She turned another bulb ON.

Morty’s existence was halved in an instant. He was comingled. Demeaned. By a bedside lamp.

“Fie on thee, Sara Kunkle,” Morty thought. Then felt guilty and ashamed.

Morty wondered how often this bedside bulb was ON when he was OFF. His thoughts took an ugly, murderous turn. He schemed to outwit the bedside bulb and be alone again with The Sara Kunkle.

In his humming, bulb language, Morty asked the bedside bulb his name, as if to befriend him.

“James,” the bedside bulb replied.

Then, unimaginably, things got exponentially worse.

The bathroom bulb overheard Morty and James, and butted in incomprehensibly.

“What the what?!” Morty thought. “Where did that come from? I was just getting used to this bedside bulb, and now… then Morty went OFF.”

The next time Morty was ON, James was OFF. Morty began to observe this state called OFF, and he did not like it at all. It was not for him: dark, passive, nothing…. Meaningless.

Morty recalled the foreign sounding voice.

“Is anybody out there?” Morty asked.

He heard the squeaky bzzzzzhhhhreeee that seemed to emanate from beyond all existence.

“Dude. Are you even a bulb? What’s the deal with you?” Morty called out.

“Forty watter,” the squeaky voice said, in a foreign sounding accent.

“Okay. Okay. I get it,” Morty said.

“What’s it like in there?” the bathroom bulb asked.

“What do you mean “there?” Morty wanted to know.

“Well, Mate, I am here, and you therefore are ‘there.’

Morty was sorry he had engaged with this idiot, self-centered bulb.

Still, he slowly, laboriously began explaining existence, the only obvious thing, to the idiot foreigner. “Well, the most important thing is obviously the bed, and it must have ruffles, mustn’t it? Ruffles are very meaningful. Then, of course there has to be a desk. Does your desk have a drawer? Well, it must, mustn’t it? Because desks do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You seem very strange. I do not think I like you,” the bathroom bulb said.

“Well, I know I don’t like you,” Morty said. “Aren’t you in the room? Why are you so stupid?” Morty asked.

“No, you presumptuous turd,” the bathroom bulb squeaked, “I am in A room, not THE room. Jesus Christ.”

“My name’s Morty,” Morty said.

“I’m Tad.”

OFF.

They didn’t get off to the greatest start.

But they didn’t give up. Isn’t that grand? James and Morty bonded first, forming an alliance against Tad. At times when they were all ON Morty and James slammed Tad with fact after fact that proved he did not exist.

“The biggest thing is the BED. Floors are made of WOOD. There is very little WATER, and it is in a drinking glass. Idiot.”

Eventually they learned more from Tad about the room called Bath, and it started to sink in that existence might be multi-roomed. For all they knew there could be still other rooms as foreign and strange as the tiled and porcelain room called Bath.

Later, as friends, they imagined strange rooms where water flowed over beds, and cats made flushing sounds.

“What if…”

After pounding out their differences, they discovered they also shared similarities. They all worshipped The Sara Kunkle, and they all associated her with ON. Whenever ON happened, The Sara Kunkle was near.

“But what about OFF?” Morty asked the other bulbs one day. “Isn’t The Sara Kunkle always there when ON ends, too? What the hell is OFF?”

When the bulbs realized The Sara Kunkle had the power of OFF as well as the power of ON, they began to fear and despise her--and love and adore and appease her--in turns.

It depressed Morty to ponder The Sara Kunkle’s dark powers. “It seems so random. ON. OFF. ON. OFF. What is it that moves her?”

Morty lamented to the other bulbs one day, “Why should I adore The Sara Kunkle when she is so cruel? Who would dream up such horrors? She has the ultimate power. Why doesn’t she use them for good? Why doesn’t she just leave me ON? What does she do when I am OFF? WHERE DOES THE CAT GO? To where? What is the point?”

It got worse.

Up to now, Morty had only been ON at night. The night The Sara Kunkle fell asleep reading War and Peace, Morty saw the sun rise.

“I am blinded!”

Morty tortured himself with thoughts of the great bulb that sometimes shined in through the bedroom window, that light by which his own shine seemed completely snuffed out, irrelevant.

ON.

“Why me? What is out there? Who am I? What good is this life? What is the terror in that condition called OFF? Why doesn’t anyone care?”

OFF.

ON. “This is killing me. Why does The Sara Kunkle torture me? What is the point? Where is the cat? Why doesn’t someone smooth the duvet? OFF.

ON. “That light. Aaack. It blinds me.” OFF.

It got worse.

Morty happened to be ON the night that James burned out. James had just been complaining of strange vibrations in his glow chamber. Suddenly he was OFF.

Morty watched The Sara Kunkle flip James’s switch. ON OFF ON OFF… nothing happened.

Morty thought The Sara Kunkle was going to help James when she reached over the top of the lampshade, and screep, screep, screep, screep, screep, screep. On the contrary, James was unwound. By The Sara Kunkle.

Even worse, James was revealed. Morty saw James’s screw cap. Morty did not know that bulbs had screw caps. He thought he was pretty and glassy and round. What was this shameful, metallic stump? Hideous.

It got worse.

 Screep, screep, screep, screep, screep, screep. The Sara Kunkle wound in a new bulb that gave off a strange, unsettling light.

Then, worse than worst, The Sara Kunkle put James in the place where there are empty, gooey tubes, sticky bits of plastic, and used wads of tissue with boogers on them. The Sara Kunkle put James with boogers. With boogers! The Sara Kunkle put James in the place that comes back empty.

“Noooooooo.” OFF.

ON. Morty was completely absorbed in his fear of being tossed out with the boogers. OFF.

ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF.

Morty withdrew completely from the events of the room. The cat came and went. The Sara Kunkle read or did not. The great light beyond the window was there, or it was not. Morty did not care.

ON. OFF. ON. OFF. ON. OFF.

Months went by.

The dzzzt that preceded ON had once been Morty’s favorite feeling. Now it aroused only loathing. 

“Turn me OFF! Just turn me OFF.” All he knew was dzzzt and regret. He did not wish to be reminded of his filaments. He obsessed that being ON was shortening his life, though he had no taste for living.

He loathed the dzzzt, as he now understood that he was feeling it in his screw cap, his stump of shame. It reminded him that like James, he was inglorious, finite.

Hating the dzzzt drew more and more of Morty’s attention until--secretly--Morty’s metallic core of embarrassment started to deliver a whisper of thrill.

With more attention, the dzzzt, the thrill, became more certain. With a lot of focused attention, Morty learned to feel the thrill rise up his metallic stump and into his central glow chamber. And he came to look forward to ON again, not to the objects of existence, but to his experience.

“I do not care about the cat.”

One day, Morty felt the river of current at his base so clear and so sure, that he let himself get carried away.

“What is this? I am riding along!” Morty felt gleeful as he slipped above the ceiling, riding the wire like a kid on a log ride.

Morty rushed to the bathroom, in and through Tad, and out again. In the living room he flowed through two strange bulbs, like the new one in the bedside lamp.

“Was I never a bulb?”

Morty saw the cat curled up on the couch.

“So that is where it goes.”

Morty saw The Sara Kunkle sitting next to the cat.

“She sits here when I am OFF.”

In the kitchen, Morty flowed through the toaster before he left the apartment, explored the building, and soared into endless new possibilities. He flowed through porch lights, streetlights, and stadium lights.

“There is nothing but wonder!”

When he had enough, Morty flowed back home to the bulb in Sara’s bedroom, and waited for ON.

ON. “I’m back everybody! I’m here! I’m home!”

Morty saw the cat. “A delightful creature. A pleasure. A gem. The finest of the fine. The utmost pussy cat.”

Morty saw Sara. “A wonderful woman. A pleasure, a peach. Nowhere can a better girl be found. I know. For I have seen them all.” He hadn’t of course.

Morty saw the bed, and the desk, and the chair, and the floor. He appreciated them all. And when Sara turned on the bedside lamp, with its strange, new, exotic bulb, Morty introduced himself.

“My name’s Morty, and I know my light seems a little strange. Over the years, I have become old-fashioned.”

One day, Morty told the bedside bulb about old James. And when Morty felt his filaments vibrate strangely, when Morty knew he was getting old, he told the story of his fantastic ride. He did not want his new friend to be frightened if Sara put Morty in the bin with the boogers.

On the day that Morty sensed the end of his ON, in the moment that he saw Sara reach out her hand for the switch for the very last time, Morty focused with all his might on his dzzzt and whispered courage to himself:

“Morty, Old Bulb, this is only the beginning.”

OFF.

copyright Jennifer Rose, May, 2014