Suffering well on live shrimp – Re, FW, Ea, happiness
|April 29, 2014||Posted by Koanic under Learning Koanic Soul|
So. Guess the composition of farmed shrimp feed? 1/3 soy, 1/3 wheat, and 1/4 fish meal. Which fish are also fed on soy and wheat, no doubt.
So it’s damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Wild caught shrimp is TPP, live farmed is soy+gluten infused. Perhaps that’s why my experiment with live shrimp was significantly worse than the my usual travails with the frozen variety.
I’m so exhausted by the disaster of that experiment that I don’t even have any emotion about it. It was a relentless three or four day barrage of fatigue and pain. I stopped tracking, so I’m not sure how long. In the final stage, I learned to simply accept being sick and not being able to work.
I switched to farmed live abalone, and my circadian rhythm has come back. Farmed abalone is raised on plant feed – algae, seaweed, etc. There’s still the concern of antibiotic exposure, but that’s no different than chicken. Otherwise, it’s far far cleaner than shrimp.
Perhaps the ideal solution ultimately is to move to Hong Kong and get never-frozen squid, which can’t be farmed. I might try some inland frozen squid to see how the TPP affects me. But the abalone SEEMS to be working, although the result is preliminary. If it fails, then I’ll retrench to just sea salt for my minerals.
Anyhow, I had some meditations to share.
** Happiness is a force
This meditation was prompted by a passage from War and Peace, although the same idea is echoed everywhere:
There was nothing in Pierre’s soul now at all like what had troubled it during his courtship of Helene.
He did not repeat to himself with a sickening feeling of shame the words he had spoken, or say: “Oh, why did I not say that?” and, “Whatever made me say ‘Je vous aime’?” On the contrary, he now repeated in imagination every word that he or Natasha had spoken and pictured every detail of her face and smile, and did not wish to diminish or add anything, but only to repeat it again and again. There was now not a shadow of doubt in his mind as to whether what he had undertaken was right or wrong. Only one terrible doubt sometimes crossed his mind: “Wasn’t it all a dream? Isn’t Princess Mary mistaken? Am I not too conceited and self-confident? I believe all this- and suddenly Princess Mary will tell her, and she will be sure to smile and say: ‘How strange! He must be deluding himself. Doesn’t he know that he is a man, just a man, while I…? I am something altogether different and higher.'”
That was the only doubt often troubling Pierre. He did not now make any plans. The happiness before him appeared so inconceivable that if only he could attain it, it would be the end of all things. Everything ended with that.
A joyful, unexpected frenzy, of which he had thought himself incapable, possessed him. The whole meaning of life- not for him alone but for the whole world- seemed to him centered in his love and the possibility of being loved by her. At times everybody seemed to him to be occupied with one thing only- his future happiness. Sometimes it seemed to him that other people were all as pleased as he was himself and merely tried to hide that pleasure by pretending to be busy with other interests. In every word and gesture he saw allusions to his happiness. He often surprised those he met by his significantly happy looks and smiles which seemed to express a secret understanding between him and them. And when he realized that people might not be aware of his happiness, he pitied them with his whole heart and felt a desire somehow to explain to them that all that occupied them was a mere frivolous trifle unworthy of attention.
When it was suggested to him that he should enter the civil service, or when the war or any general political affairs were discussed on the assumption that everybody’s welfare depended on this or that issue of events, he would listen with a mild and pitying smile and surprise people by his strange comments. But at this time he saw everybody- both those who, as he imagined, understood the real meaning of life (that is, what he was feeling) and those unfortunates who evidently did not understand it- in the bright light of the emotion that shone within himself, and at once without any effort saw in everyone he met everything that was good and worthy of being loved.
When dealing with the affairs and papers of his dead wife, her memory aroused in him no feeling but pity that she had not known the bliss he now knew. Prince Vasili, who having obtained a new post and some fresh decorations was particularly proud at this time, seemed to him a pathetic, kindly old man much to be pitied.
Often in afterlife Pierre recalled this period of blissful insanity. All the views he formed of men and circumstances at this time remained true for him always. He not only did not renounce them subsequently, but when he was in doubt or inwardly at variance, he referred to the views he had held at this time of his madness and they always proved correct.
“I may have appeared strange and queer then,” he thought, “but I was not so mad as I seemed. On the contrary I was then wiser and had more insight than at any other time, and understood all that is worth understanding in life, because… because I was happy.”
Pierre’s insanity consisted in not waiting, as he used to do, to discover personal attributes which he termed “good qualities” in people before loving them; his heart was now overflowing with love, and by loving people without cause he discovered indubitable causes for loving them.
The benefits of happiness, though desirable, cannot be forced. What Pierre was doing was not a result of an intellectual appreciation of happiness, and a desire to reap its rewards, nor much less of a suborning of his intellect to believe about others what he knew to be false, but from a true overflow of his soul.
In the past, I sought happiness, in the “fake it till you make it” sense. But happiness forced is a brittle, volatile emotion. For a moment it seems to carry all before it, until the incongruent note is struck, and it collapses, causing a proportional inversion of amplitude.
At other times, I sought suffering, as a lash to drive me away from vice and towards virtue. But too much suffering debilitates, and to avoid joy stultifies.
Now I understand that happiness and suffering are two sides of the same coin. Both are forces, both sources of power. Their proper expression cannot be an end in itself, but the byproduct of a correctly designed system. They are to be ratified and formalized, not resisted or goosed as Keynesians would do.
I place happiness at the bottom of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil + conditions of life cluster, because in letting go, acknowledging limitation, I find freedom and happiness. The position of this cluster, happiness on the palm and suffering on the back of the left hand, reflects the idea that happiness and suffering are two sides of the same coin.
** Center edits
Ea – God’s will. Jesus crucified, Neanderthals raped and genocided. God’s will? No. And yet, yes. God spoke the word of being, Ea, as in the Silmarillion. Thus God does not will that men suffer, God does not work evil, but God wills that what is should exist – His word of being persists. The conditions of life are largely the product of the free will of men and fallen angels. Yet all is enwrapt by the overarching will of God. Just as Melkor’s discordant singing was enwrapt by Iluvatar’s melody, and showed that all his strivings could only redound to the greater glory of the creator.
Thus the individual wickednesses of man, which are fully comprehensible to our human conception of agency, and the vast tides of historical forces exposed by Tolstoy, which seem to us beyond comprehension and therefore attributable to some greater will or Will, both are and are not God’s will.
Thus the future is open and free, and we make it, but the present is God’s will, and we must endure it, unresisting. For God, though devolving to us the free co-creation of the conditions leading up to the Now, dictates that this Now, having been co-created, must be.
Re – Redeemed. Though it is God’s will that the Now be suffered (or enjoyed), yet my sins contributing to the present condition are forgiven by Christ’s blood, and should not serve as grounds for self-abuse, but only analytical fodder for the improvement of systems, to allow better conditions arise in the future.
FW – Father’s Will. What is the purpose of my work? Why do I rise each day, why labor in the same groove? It is not work that I do, not routine, not self-glorification of decaying flesh and fleeting life, but the varying and infinite will of the Father I seek to fulfill. This is reason to rise, reason to focus now. One cannot know where it leads next. One must remain in the tongues to continually seek it out. Thus is boredom relieved and flexibility maintained.
This is similar to my Dao of Drakoan koan, which I never published. The idea was that there is one perfect path, like the lines of fate in Donny Darko. But that had too much pride and overmind taint; the will of the Father can only be revealed by tongues, in the moment, and the individual horizon only extends that far.
Together, Re, FW and Ea surround the four cardinal points of the tongues switchboard. When I found myself too exhausted to do anything useful, I spent a long time only able to activate the switchboard, without enough strength to make it spill over into any of the four cores. At first this caused me unnecessary suffering and frustration. With the addition of Re+FW+Ea, I found peace in my condition. Not that I was able to work; rather, I accepted that I could not. And thus avoided doing further damage to myself, and recovered more rapidly.
In other news, Seth Roberts is dead. He collapsed while hiking. Hiking is a bad idea. Exposure to extreme heat+exertion in rural isolation, often by people who do it so rarely they lack all conditioning, for a set distance that can’t be flexibly altered according to biological need, by people who lack wilderness experience. If you can kill fit teenagers with football camp, you can kill senior citizens with hiking. It’s like cramping up and drowning while swimming across the channel, except the stupidity and risk of what you’re doing is less obvious. Having some experience with heatstroke plus the usual illness, I have both a subjective as well as intellectual appreciation for its role as a mortality force-multiplier, on par with shock and hypothermia.
I salute you, Seth Roberts, and regret your passing. May you continue your measurements on subjects celestial in the first circle of hell.