This is the self-image of modern humanity: of the Right
Man in particular, but also of masses of ordinary men and women who have
internalized the Fundamentalist Materialist3 metaphor and made it
the New Idol. Pessimism and rage are never far below the surface of most of
the art of the Materialist age: the sad clowns of early Picasso—the
frenzied monsters of his middle period—the defeated heroes and heroines of
Hemingway and Sartre and Faulkner—the cosmic butcher shop of Bacon—the
homicidal nightmare of such arch-typical films as Dead End and
Bonnie and Clyde and Chinatown—the bums and
thugs and the endless succession of self-pitying and easily-defeated rebels
in virtually all the novels and plays and films that claim to be
Naturalistic—the music that has increasingly become less a melody and more
a shriek of pain and rage—the apotheosis finally achieved by Beckett: man
and woman in garbage cans along with the rest of the rubbish.
Adolph Hitler read Nietzsche, mistook the diagnosis for
prescription, and proceeded to act out the worst of the scenarios Nietzsche
could imagine, ironically incorporating precisely that nationalism and anti-semitism
that Nietzsche most despised. The world looked on in horror, learned
nothing, and decided Hitler was a “monster.” It remained hypnotized by
the same materialistic biological determinism which, to Adolph, had
justified both his self-pity and his revenge.
And so we stumble on toward a bigger Holocaust than the
Nazis could imagine, complaining bitterly that it is “inevitable.” The
“Real” Universe will not give us a chance.
When I speak of The “Real” Universe being created by
self-hypnosis, I do not intend anything else but psychological literalness.
In the hypnotized state, the existential “reality” around us is edited
out and we go away to a kind of “Real” Universe created by the
hypnotist. The reason that it is usually easy to induce hypnosis in humans
is that we have a kind of “consciousness”
that easily drifts away into such “Real”
Universes rather than deal with existential
muddle and doubt. Everybody tends to drift away in that
fashion several times in an ordinary conversation, editing sound
out at the ear like Bruner’s cat. As Colin Wilson
points out, when we look at our watch, forget the time, and have to look
again, it is because we have drifted off into a “Real” Universe again.
We visit them all the time, but especially when existential concerns are
painful or stressful.
Every “Real” Universe is easy to understand,
because it is much simpler than the existential continuum. Theists, Nazis,
Flat Earthers, etc. can explain their “Real” Universes as quickly as any
Fundamentalist Materialist explains his, because of this simplicity
of the edited object as contrasted with the complexity of the
sensory-sensual continuum in which we live when awake (unhypnotized).
Being hypnotized by a “Real” Universe, we become more
and more detached from the existential continuum, and are annoyed when it
interferes with us.
“Real” Universes make us puny, however, because they
are governed by Hard Laws and we are small compared to them. This is
especially true of the Fundamentalist Materialist “Real” Universe, and
explains the helplessness and apathy of materialist society. Vaguely, we
know that we are hypnotized, and we do not even try to act anymore, but only
re-act mechanically.
Since the criminal mentality derives from such hypnosis
by a “Real” Universe and the helplessness and rage induced
by such metaphors, the criminal becomes, more and more, the typical person
of our age. When the “Real” Universe becomes politicized—when the
hypnotic model is based on “Us”-versus-“Them” Aristotelian
logic—the criminal graduates into the Terrorist, another increasingly
typical product of the materialist era.
Against all this mechanized barbarism, existentialist
psychology and humanist psychology—aided, perhaps not coincidentally, by
the metaphors of quantum physics—suggests that other models of human
existence are possible and thinkable and desirable.
In existentialist and humanist models—models influenced
by the thought and experiments of researchers such as Maslow, Sullivan,
Ames, Peris, Leary, Krippner, and many others—the human being is seen as
both in-DIVIDE-ual and in-UNITE-ual, separated in some ways but connected
with all things in other ways. How a human being experiences his or her
world is not regarded as an immutable “fact” but as that human’s
“interpretation,” perhaps learned from others, perhaps
self-generated. The “Real” Universe is regarded as a model—a
linguistic construct—and we are stuck with existential experience, which
may or may not mesh with our favorite “Real” Universe.
According to existential-humanist psychology, where the
materialist says “I perceive,” it would be more correct to say “I
am making a bet.” Concretely, in Ames’s
cock-eyed room, we “make a bet” that we are seeing something familiar to
us. If allowed into the room and asked to touch a corner of the ceiling with
a pointer, we quickly discover the gamble in every act of perception.
Typically, we hit almost everything but the corner in our first
attempts—the walls, other parts of the ceiling, etc. A strange thing
happens as we go on trying. Our perceptions change—we
are making a new series of bets, one after another—and gradually we are
able to find the corner we are aiming for.
The same sort of thing happens in any psychedelic drug
experience, which is why existentialist-humanist models became more popular
with psychologists after the 1960s. The same sort of thing, again, happens
in meditation—clearing the mind of its habits—and that is why so
many psychologists of this tradition have been involved in researching what
happens, physiologically, to those who meditate.
When we return to the ordinary world of social
interactions after such shocks as the cock-eyed room, LSD or meditation, we
observe that the same processes are going on—people are making bets about
which model fits best at a given time—but they are not
aware of making bets. They are—it must be
repeated—hypnotized by their models. If the models do not fit very
well, they do not revise them but grow angry at the world—at experience—for
being recalcitrant. Most typically, they find somebody to blame,
as Nietzsche noted again and again.
Edmund Husserl, who was as important as Nietzsche in
pioneering this kind of existential analysis, points out that, where in the
materialist metaphor consciousness appears passive, once we recognize
the gamble involved in every perception, consciousness appears very active
indeed. Nobody is born a great pianist, or a quantum physicist, or a
theologian, or a murderer: people have made themselves into
those things by actively selecting what types of perception-gambles they
will make habitual and what types of other experience they will edit out as
irrelevant. It is no surprise, from this perspective, that the world
contains Catholic reality-tunnels, Marxist reality-tunnels, musical
reality-tunnels, materialist reality-tunnels, literary reality-tunnels, ad
infin. It is a mild surprise, almost, that any two individuals can
superimpose their reality-tunnels sufficiently to communicate at all.
This surprise vanishes when we remember that none of us
was born and grew up in a vacuum. We are socialized as well as “personalized”—in-UNITE-uals
as well as in-DIVIDE-uals. Even the most “creative” of us will be found,
most of the time, “living” in a social reality-tunnel manufactured of
elements which are, in some cases, thousands of years old: the very language
we speak controls our perceptions (bets)—our sense of
“possibility.”
Nonetheless, the process of socialization or
acculturalization—the Game Rules by which Society imposes its group
reality-tunnel on its members—is only statistically effective. Every
individual seems to have a few eccentricities in her or his private
reality-tunnel, even in totalitarian states or authoritarian churches. The
alleged conformist—the typical “bank-clerk,” say—will reveal some
astonishing creative acts in his or her private model, if you talk to such a
person long enough.
In short, consciousness, in this model, is not a passive
receptor but an active creator, busy every nanosecond in projecting the art
work that is an individualized reality-tunnel and is usually hypnotically
dreamed of as The “Real” Universe. This trance, in most
cases, appears as deep as that of anybody professionally hypnotized to
repress pain during surgery. The criminal—we return to this point to
stress that these observations are not academic but urgently existential—repressed
sympathy and charity just as “miraculously” as the patient
repressed pain in the above example. We are not the victims of
The “Real” Universe; we have created the particular “Real”
Universe that we happen to dwell in.
This existentialist-humanist psychology thus comes around
to the same conclusion as the majority of quantum physicists: whatever
we are talking about, our mind has
been its principle architect. “Nothing is real
and everything is real” as Gribbin says. That is, in this model, nothing
is absolutely real in the philosophical sense, and everything is
experienced reality to those who believe in it and select it in their
perception-gambles.
If we recognize some validity in these observations and
try to “wake” ourselves from the hypnotic trance of modeltheism—if
we try to recall, moment by moment, in an ordinary day that The “Real”
Universe is only a model we have created and that existential living cannot
be compressed into any model—we enter a new kind of consciousness. What
Blake called “Single Vision” begins to expand into multiple vision—into
conscious bet-making. The person then “sees abysses everywhere,” in
Nietzsche’s deliberately startling metaphor. (Blake says it more
soothingly when he speaks of perceiving “infinity in a grain of sand.”) 4
The world of living experience is not as finite, or static, or tidy,
as the trance called The “Real” Universe. Like Godel’s Proof, it
contains an infinite regress. In talking to another human being for two
minutes, “I” experience and create dozens of gambles (reality-tunnels)
but never fully know that person anymore than the quantum physicist “knows”
if the electron “is” a wave, or a particle, or a “wavicle” (as has
been suggested), or something created by our acts of seeking. The other
person’s “mood” or “self”-at-the-moment, similarly, now seems
friendly, now bored or unfriendly, now shifting too fast to be named, now
something I have helped create by the act of seeking to tune
in that person.
As the Buddhists say, the other person and indeed the
whole continuum of experience now seems to “be” X and not-X and both X
and not-X and neither X nor not-X. All that seems like relative certainty is
that whatever I think I “know” about a person, or a whole world, is just
my latest gamble.
One begins to perceive that there “are” at least
two kinds of consciousness. (There seem to be many more.) In “ordinary
consciousness” or hypnosis, models are considered The “Real” Universe
and projected outside. In this state, we “are” modeltheists,
Fundamentalists, and mechanical; all perceptions (gambles) are passive
mechanical acts. We “unconsciously” (neurologically) edit and select
bits of existential experience and admit them to The “Real” Universe
only after they have been processed to accord with the “laws” of The “Real”
Universe. Being mechanical and passive, we are also, or experience ourselves
as, dominated by The “Real” Universe and pushed here and there by its
brutal impersonality.
In this existentialist-humanist mode of consciousness, on
the other hand, we “are” agnostic, and consciously recognize our models
as our creations. In this state, we “are” model-relativists, “sophisticates”
and actively creative; all perceptions (gambles) are actively known as
gambles. We consciously seek to edit less and tune in more,
and we look especially for events that do not neatly fit our model, since
they will teach us to make a better model tomorrow, and an even better one
the day after. We are not dominated by The “Real” Universe since we
remember that the linguistic construct is just our latest gamble and
we can make a better one quickly.
In the first, materialist mode of consciousness—as
Timothy Leary says—we are like persons sitting passively before a TV set,
complaining about the rubbish on the screen but unable to do anything but
“endure” it. In the second, existentialist mode of consciousness, to
continue Leary’s metaphors, we take responsibility for turning the
dial and discover that there is not just one “show” available,
that choice is possible. The tuned-in is not all of existence; it is
only—the tuned-in.
To ask which mode of consciousness is “true,” after
experiencing both, seems as pointless as asking whether light is “really”
waves of particles, after seeing the two-hole experiment.
In fact, the emphasis on “choice” and “creativity”
in existentialist-humanist psychology has an exact parallel in the two-hole
experiment. Many physicists think the best metaphor to describe that
experiment is to say that we “create” the wave or particle depending on
which experimental set-up we “choose.”
The wave/particle complimentary seems to mirror the
existential experience of consciousness even more closely when we examine
it. The ordinary consciousness of the “self”—in the vernacular sense,
with no technical philosophic doctrine implied—is much like a particle:
“solid,” “isolated,” “real,” encapsulated by the skin and more
or less static. When one becomes detached enough for neurological self-criticism—for
revising models as one goes along—the “self” appears more like a
process and even a wavy process: it “is” a succession of states,
rather than a state itself (as Hume noticed) and these states come and go in
a wave-like manner, “flowing” between “inner” and “outer.” As
one observes them come and go, one learns to choose desirable states, at
least to the same extent that the two-hole experiment “chooses” waves or
particles.
One of the best ways to learn to experience the
wave-aspect of consciousness, of course, is listening to music, especially
Baroque music, with one’s eyes closed. Much quicker than Oriental
meditation, this makes one aware of consciousness’s wave-like flowing
aspect, and of its synergetic nature. At its richest, as in meditation,
consciousness appears to become the object of its attention; “there is no
separation between me and the music,” we say. This simple experience,
available to all, makes clear that in-UNITE-ual and flowing modes of
consciousness are existentially as “real” as the in-DIVIDE-ual “particles”
that we normally experience as our “selves.”
In Dr. Leary’s Flashbacks (1983), he writes the
latest account of his celebrated and controversial “drug research” with
Massachusetts convicts in the early 1960s, in which, statistically, many “criminals”
became “ex-criminals,” and the recidivism rate dropped dramatically.
Leary emphasizes, as he always did, that there is no “miracle” in any
drug per se, but in what he calls the set and setting—the
preparation for the drug experience. This included an explanation, in simple
terms, of the main points of existentialist-humanist psychology. During the
drug experience, not unexpectedly, music was played. Some criminals wept,
some laughed uncontrollably, some sat in silent awe: all were receiving more
signals per minute than usual, and understanding how signals are
usually edited. In a phrase, they were given the opportunity to look at
materialist consciousness from the perspective of existentialist
consciousness. It is not surprising that many of them thereafter “took
responsibility” and ceased robotically repeating the imperatives of their
old criminal reality-tunnels.
Nor is it surprising that Dr. Leary, like Dr. Reich, was
subsequently denounced, slandered colorfully and, finally, imprisoned. The
ideas we have been discussing—the ideas that, in a sense, were being
tested in the convict rehabilitation research—are profoundly threatening
to all dogmatists, not just to materialistic dogmatists. Powerful
churches, political parties and vested (financial) interests, for example,
have a strong desire to program the rest of us into the particular “Real”
Universes that they find profitable, and to keep us from becoming
self-programmers. They want to “take responsibility’ for us, and they
have no wish to see us “take responsibility’ for ourselves.
Materialism-in-the-philosophical-sense is very much
supported by materialism-in-the-economic-sense.
To summarize:
Consciousness is not a given, or a fact.
Our mode of consciousness seems historically to have been determined by
neurological (unconscious) habits. When we become aware of this, and
struggle against the inertia of habit, consciousness continually mutates,
becomes less particle-like and “fixed,” spreads like a flowing wave. It
can move between the poles of pure in-DIVIDE-ualism and pure in-UNITE-ualism,
and between many other poles, and can become increasingly “creative” and
“self-chosen.”
Since there is no explanation for these experiences of
consciousness-altering-consciousness, or self-programming, in the
materialist model, we can either reject them as “hallucinations” and “appearances”
if we wish to retain the materialist model at any cost, or we may supplement
the materialist model by recognizing that, like all models, it describes sombunall5
of Universe, whereupon we may choose a more inclusive model, which in this
case seems to be supplied at present by existentialist-humanist psychology,
quantum mechanics, and the thought of philosopher-psychologists like
Nietzsche, James, Husserl and Bergson.
In the “Real” Universe, all things are determined,
including us and our thoughts. In the experienced world, things come and go
incessantly and some come and go so fast that we can never know why; causal
models fit only sombunall of experience. There is a sense of flow,
process, evolution, growth, and of what Bergson called “the perpetual
upsurge of novelty.” In this experienced world, and not in abstract
theory, we are faced by apparent decisions continually. We make them and we
experience the sense of choice as we do so. We can never know how much such choice
is “real” absolutely, but since we can never know anything else
absolutely, we make do on probabilities.
In the “Real” Universe we are re-active mechanists;
in the experienced world, we are creators, and The “Real” Universe is
just another of our creations—a dangerous one, with a tendency to
hypnotize us.
Concretely, on any ordinary day, we may observe ourselves
contacting the experienced world continually, merging with it, actually
breathing its molecules in and out, eating and excreting other parts of it.
It “passes through” us as often as we “pass through” it. Since we
edit and orchestrate the signals that make up our personal share of the
experienced world, we are never separate from it or from responsibility for
it.
Neurological research during the past two decades has
rather clearly demonstrated that the passive consciousness in which there is
a “Real” Universe “out there” is characteristic of left-brain
domination. Correspondingly, any method of moving into the
flowing-synergetic-holistic mode of consciousness—with meditation, or with
certain drugs, or by the process of Zen-like attention described in the
previous pages—leads to an increase in right-brain activity. Presumably,
if we stayed in the flowing right-brain mode all the time we would become,
in Mr. Okera’s term, Dionysian.
It is more amusing, and more instructive, I think, to orchestrate
one’s consciousness, by “dialing” the TV set—choosing which mode one
uses. This way one learns the best, and worst, of both hemispheres of the
brain. One also can learn, with self-experiment, that there are other
modalities besides right and left. There seems to be a top-bottom mode also,
connected with the degree of possible delay we can tolerate: the
bottom, or old brain, seems to be reptilian in its reflexes, the top, or new
brain, more easily visualizes a multiple-choice reality-labyrinth in place
of the either/or of pure reflex. And there even seems to be a
front/back polarity: the frontal lobes seem to fine-tune the
intuitions in the general direction of that damned and verboten “ESP.”
In short, it appears to those who try the
experiments/experiences of yoga and humanistic psychology, that what is
tuned in, is a function of how we use our brains habitually, and what is
not-tuned-in may, in many cases, become tuned-in, with practice in
neurological reprogramming (a variety of exercises to test these general
conclusions for yourself can be found in my book, Prometheus Rising).
I go to a pub and talk to another man. He is experienced
deeply part of the time, and shallowly another part of the time, depending
on the quality of my consciousness. If I am very conscious, meeting
him can be an experience comparable to great music or even an earthquake; if
I am in the usual shallow state, he barely “makes an impression.” If I
am practicing alertness and neurological self-criticism, I may observe that
I am only experiencing him part of the time, and that part of the time I am
not-tuning-in but drifting off to my favorite “Real” Universe and
editing out at the ear-drum much of what he is saying. Often, the “Real”
Universe hypnotizes me sufficiently that, while I “hear” what he says, I
have no idea of the way he says it or what he means to convey.
I walk down the street and, observing my state of
consciousness, I see that I am in contact with experienced reality part
of the time only. Some trees are quite beautiful, but then I realize that I
have passed other trees without noticing them. I have drifted off into The
“Real” Universe again and edited out a large beautiful hunk of the
experienced world. The trees did not cease to exist; they were simply
not-tuned-in.
One who remains alive and alert to the experienced world
knows where he is, what he is doing
and what is going on around him.
It is truly startling, at first, to practice neurological self-criticism and
notice how often one has lost track of such simple matters as that. It is
even more startling to notice that one is walking among hypnotized subjects
who, most of the time, have completely lost track of such matters and are
telling themselves stories about The “Real” Universe while editing out
vast amounts of the experienced world.
When the mathematician Ouspensky was studying with
Gurdjieff, he found it very hard, at first, to understand this unique human
capacity to forget where one is, what one is doing, and what is going on
around one. He was especially dubious about Gurdjieff’s insistence that
this “forgetting” was a type of hypnosis. Then, one day, after World War
I had begun, Ouspensky saw a truck loaded with artificial legs, headed
toward the front. Educated as a mathematician and trained in statistics,
Ouspensky remembered that—just as it is possible to calculate how many
persons will die of heart attacks in a given year, by probability theory—it
is possible to calculate how many legs will be blown off in a battle. But
the very calculation is based on the historical fact that most people most
of the time will do what they are told by Superiors. (Or, as some cynic once
said, most people would rather die, even by slow torture, than to think for
themselves.) In a flash, Ouspensky understood how ordinary men become
killers, and victims of killers. He realized that “normal” consciousness
is much like hypnosis indeed. People in a trance will do what they are told—even
if they are told to march into battle against total strangers who have never
harmed them, and attempt to murder those strangers while the strangers are
attempting to murder them. Orders from above are tuned-in; the possibility
of choice is—not-tuned-in.
War and crime—the major problems of our century and
chronic problems of our species—seem, to the existentialist-humanist
psychologist, the direct results on drifting off into self-hypnosis, losing
track of experience and “living” in a “Real” Universe. In the “Real”
Universe, the Right Man is always Right, and the blood and horror
incidental to proving that is only an appearance, easily forgotten. Besides,
the Right Man knows that he is only a re-acting mechanism and ultimately The
“Real” Universe itself is to blame for “making” him explode into
such furies.
In existential experienced life, we notice that we are
making bets and choices all the time, and are responsible for
being alert and aware enough to make them intelligently and to revise them
when necessary. We cannot blame everything on The “Real” Universe, since
it is only a model we have created to deal with experienced life. If the
model is not good enough, we do not blame it but revise and improve it.
Ultimately, existentialist psychology agrees with
neurology (and sounds remarkably like quantum mechanics) in stressing that
there is no model that is not an expression of the values and needs of the
model-maker, no description that is not also an interpretation, and hence no
“objective observer behind a glass wall” who is merely watching what
happens. In short, the whole traditional language of “the thing out there,”
“the image in here,” and “the mind” separate from both, is totally
inadequate to describe our experience, and we need a new holistic, or
synergetic language. The search for this new language—for “a new
paradigm”—is increasingly acknowledged in many other disciplines, these
days, as it becomes obvious to more and more researchers that the old models
have outlived their usefulness.
The “jargon” suggested in parts of this book—the
strange new terms used in place of old terms—is a groping and fumbling,
and it is meant to be suggestive and poetic rather than precise. The new
paradigm has not quite emerged yet; we see only its broad general outlines.
The human brain, from the viewpoint of perception theory
and existentialist psychology, appears much like a very unique
self-programming computer. It chooses—usually unconsciously and
mechanically—the quality of consciousness it will experience and
the reality-tunnel it will employ to orchestrate the incoming signals from
the experienced world. When it becomes more conscious of this programming,
its creativeness becomes truly astounding and has been called
meta-programming by Dr. John Lilly.
In meta-programming or neurological self-criticism, the
brain becomes capable of deliberately increasing the number of signals
consciously apprehended. One looks casually, in the normal way, and then
looks again, and again. Dull objects and boring situations
become transformed—partly because they “were” dull and boring only
when the brain was working on old mechanical programs—and, without being
too lyrical about it, the synergetic unity of observer-observation becomes a
thrilling experience. Every experience becomes the kind of intense
learning that usually only occurs in school when cramming for exams. This
state of high and involved consciousness—called awakening by the
mystics—seems perfectly normal and natural to the brain that has been
programmed to watch its own programming. Since, in the existential world of
experience, we have to make bets and choices, we are
consciously “cramming” all the time, but there is no special sense of
stress or anxiety involved. We are living time instead of passing
time, as Nicoll said.
The brain, it seems, works best under pressure. The
soldier being decorated for bravery often says “I don’t remember doing
it—it all happened too fast.” Even in situations less terrifying and
punishing than war, most of us have had flashes of this staggering
efficiency and rapidity of brain processes in emergencies. It seems very
likely that habitual feelings of “helplessness” and “inadequacy”
derive chiefly from our habit of wandering off into The “Real” Universe
and not being electrically involved in where we are, what
we are doing, and what is going on
around us. In crises, this wandering off or hypnosis is not
permitted: we are urgently aware of every detail of the experienced field.
Some people develop a suicidal habit of seeking danger—mountain climbers
and other sportsmen, for instance—just to enjoy this state of rapid brain
functioning and High Involvement again and again. Meta-programming or
neurological self-criticism, developed as a habit to replace the old habit
of wandering off to “Real” Universes, creates that kind of “ecstasy”
more and more frequently, and it appears that one has never been using one’s
brain before but only misusing it.
Concretely, two people can “be” in the same
existential situation but experience two very, very different
reality-tunnels. If they are both modeltheists or Fundamentalists, these
different reality-tunnels will both be experienced as “objective” and
each will react passively. If both are in heightened consciousness—seeking
more and more signals every minute—both reality-tunnels will still be
different, but each will be experienced as a creation and both
persons will be involved. It is more likely in the second case they
will be able to communicate clearly and understand one another; in the
former case, they may fall into violent quarrel about who has the “real”
reality-tunnel and the Right Man will have to punish the other for “error.”
It seems that when “God” or “nature” or “evolution”
presented us with a human brain, we were not given instructions on the
operation of this marvelous device. As a result, most of our history has
been an attempt to learn how to use it. In learning that this involves taking
responsibility and being involved we seem to be learning,
also, lessons that are not merely technological but esthetic and “moral.”
Once again, it seems the experienced world functions holistically and our
separation of it into separate grids—“science,” “art,” “ethics”—is
more confusing than helpful.
To use the brain efficiently—to be aware of where one
is and what one is doing and what is going on around one, and to take
responsibility for one’s bets or choices—seems to increase “intelligence”
and “creativity.” That is hardly a surprise. Whatever our technical
definitions of these mysterious functions, it is obvious that they are
somehow connected with the number of signals consciously apprehended,
and with the rapidity of the revision process. When one model is held
statically between ourselves and experience, the number of signals drops, no
revision occurs, and “intelligence” and “creativity” correspondingly
decline. When many models are available, and when we are consciously involved
in our choices, the number of signals consciously apprehended increases, and
we behave more “intelligently” and “creatively.”
But the same process of involvement, responsibility, conscious
choice, etc. also increases those faculties that are traditionally called
esthetic and moral. There is no separation; experience
is a continuum. What we see and experience tells us the
most intimate truths about who and what we are as well as disclosing
increasing richness of “meaning” in every existential transaction. To
quote Blake again: