Why answer your phone?
Why do you answer your phone? Does it call to you psychologically, socially, spiritually, some other way? Why do you want to talk to others, to hear their voices and ways?
:- Doug.
Why do you answer your phone? Does it call to you psychologically, socially, spiritually, some other way? Why do you want to talk to others, to hear their voices and ways?
:- Doug.
If we felt conversing as a sticky substance on our fingers and legs, we’d know we cannot free any one of us. Setting and sticky describe each other. As do the people.
Are we in fact freed to be our fullest selves when we find we are in this cinnamon sticky bun? All we survey are a part of us and we of they? Is it even possible for us to know ourselves apart from even one other?
:- Doug.
Read E. M. Forster’s “Anonymity,” and that gave me the startling insight that not having a name takes one to deeper wells. Your name—being heard—might actually get in the way of losing yourself so you can proceed home. Who are you before your name is added? So that might hint that there is a deeper place to go with people than to hear.
:- Doug.
Some conversings get endowed with life, and some give life to their parties: both hear and speak.
:- Doug.
Is a city an agglomeration, a gathering-in; or is it at least a little a natural growing-out of people and environs? Is it a making visible and tangible what already exists?
:- Doug.
“‘There reaches a point where you see other humans drowning, or washed ashore with nothing,’ says Tara, ‘where there is no possibility other than to help with all your heart. It isn’t kindness, exactly—because there is less element of choice than people think, and for this reason it is less noble.’” Robert Macfarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey, p 116.
This passage reflects fairly precisely my caring for my sister—or my present view of it.
:- Doug.
What does it mean to converse? What better question can we ask of conversing? What better invitations can we give to conversing?
:- Doug.
If we should wish to send messages to distant times, do we do best to precisely choose our words and facts, or to work poetically, lyrically, in story, invitingly? Or all of these?
:- Doug.
Cartographers we are, mappers of relations, human and more, across unacquainted scales of space-time, to enlarge the ways we—all there is—think and play together.
:- Doug.
A thought from last night: our work, conversing, is related to what Alexander was doing in Book One, in particular the mirror of the self: we have in and among us BS detectors; we have also detectors of the higher, of spirit, of qwoan. Using those, we can find our way, toward the better end of the continuum. We know the way.
:- Doug.
I-Thou appears to engage the right-brain. How do we teach right-brain activities? Maybe inviting is better than teaching?
:- Doug.
Since conversation is a social activity, the way to learn it is in pairs or threes. Wherever two or three gather, conversation is possible in their midst.
:- Doug.
Enjoyment of conversation is art and experience.
It also takes abandon—as when, as a young child, you push out into space. . .and your fears. . .on that giant slide with the big bump in its slope: once you have conquered that. . . .
:- Doug.
What does conversation generate that does not generate conversation?
:- Doug.
The game designer is working to have his players seek as many of human needs as they will, using, for instance, Maslow’s hierarchy. A person in conversation has to be aware of how all of these and the innumerable others play together in the person’s opposite, and in the person, and in the between of them, and of the surround of them, at once. For starters.
But is it simply passively finding things? Is it placing things there? Is it in fact inventing things (memory or creating or both)? Or the something else larger?
:- Doug.