It seems the diagnosis of ‘hynomania’ may be a little bit premature - as only three, out of the “At least four consecutive days” (link), have passed so far since resurrecting (and, more importantly, with a clear knowledge of the ‘how’) naiveté. And since I seem to have, at most, only one day left, I might as well publish the draft I’ve been refining to describe my current ongoing experience in the last three days (~80% of time, ebb’ing and flow’ing) before this purportedly Vipassana-induced hynomania leaves the scene.
On a Haply Occasion in the Coffee Shop
For instance, there is this vivid immediacy of engaging with a laptop computer, the fingers nimbly traversing the trackpad, the eyes absorbed in the fluid shifting of windows across the screen, and the rhythmic percussion of typing away at the keyboard (by virtue of engaging in my favoured play-activities of hacking and pottering around the internet, reading this or that), while seated in the pleasant ambiance of a local coffee shop.
With the raw affective energy dynamically enabled for one purpose and one purpose alone, channelled[1] directly into the sheer thrill of doing that which is already happening, the eyes are wide-open to the vivid visual delights of the computer screen. Whether it be the perusal of sundry texts or the mental machinery behind the code unfolding, one is drawn inexorably closer to the sheer magic of the brain in operation. These so-called mundane tasks thusly become intimately fascinating, being experienced with more of a heightened, immersive, and immediate awareness of them as they are happening.
This intense fascination thusly engendered, along with the sensory closeness by-now ensuing more, soon segues into a delicate intimacy with the entire room, which is flowering as this luscious richness now opening up. The yellow-lit ambiance of the café takes on a brilliant character; the visual acuity is markedly increased, and out of this splendid exquisiteness this excellent state of affairs, where the habitual separation is so wondrously diminished, is oh-so-sweetly manifesting in all its wondrous, environmental scope.
Looking up over the rim of the laptop screen, gently gazing into the bustling café, there is the mutual recognition of fellow travellers in this (normally) faraway land where the grip of psychological time has been so wondrously loosened, whether it be a middle-aged man intent upon his e-ink tablet, a young man likewise occupied with paper and ink, a family with two dogs chatting in the corner near the window, or the two baristas appearing so very happy and calm, thusly leaving one fully here in this vivid immediacy.[2] There is a profound revelling in being this forgotten, naive part of ‘me’ (the one prior to having experienced all hurt and thus prior to all the defensive personae), and this very appreciation, of being as a child again, unburdened by adult personae, only serves to magnify the sheer enjoyment of the moment and to further reinforce this very naive way of being. Through these freshly naive eyes, everyone, including oneself, is equally fascinating.[3]
For here, where the habitual separation has so felicitously receded, both hurting and being hurt are far removed; thusly here is the environment ever with me, pervasive and largely benign, just as it is ever the same with me for it.
There is a marked contentment here, having little need for anything or anyone, for one is so wondrously out-in-the-open and in marked exposure to the world about, with so very little left to hide. This is all that is wanted in life, to be naïve through and through and to unreservedly enjoy this only moment of being alive. With a very pleasant, unforced demeanour,[4] I can no longer pretend, upon any spontaneous association hence, to again be someone I am not as this freshly naive openness has left no room for the adult persona’s habitual duplicity.
Nary a word needs to be expressed to the room of this most precious revelation, as this very exposure is speaking for itself in a language of its own. An older man walks by, a young woman orders a drink, and a completely unplanned, spontaneous smile is exchanged.
She asks, instead, if the chair next to me is taken.
By the usual run of things, the adult persona is on guard hereabouts, subtly attempting not to be distracted by the females walking past, and filtering the room through sophisticated, protective, and sexualised layers. The instinctual passions, such as the biological drive of lust, are typically frittered away and squandered upon fantasies, narratives, expectations, or stratagems (and all such burdensome psychological movements navigating psychological time), however, having already ceased to fight this dynamic (having realised that fighting it only ever rendered it ‘serious’), and with the belief in the at-core marginalised scared child-identity having already evaporated, one instead employs the developed knack to instantly ‘arrive here’ (what is actually happening) wherein the raw energy of the libido, whilst still-born in its biological intent, segues seamlessly into aesthetical enjoyment, whereupon the habitual, predator-like focus eases back into a more wide-eyed partaking in all that happens, thusly allowing the affective energy to be felicitously channelled (which is to say, dynamically enabled rather than being repressively “declined” as a robotic, unfeeling persona might otherwise sudorifically attempt). ↩︎
Because the instinctual passion has been successfully channelled into this felicitous immersion, the women going about their day are no longer ‘distractions’ to be managed, nor objects of an adult sexual layer to be ‘possessed’. To be carried away by such instinctual passions, such as by attempting to ‘possess’ another, is to be instantly swept out of the immediacy of the actual environment and plunged back into the burdensome navigation of psychological time. ↩︎
This very quality of experiencing has so felicitously informed my social interactions, as evidenced by a recent haply occasion during a gathering with some French students, occurring whilst playing a board game and partaking in the simple delight of some pork rinds, where there was no longer any habitual urge to ‘think too much’ during those naturally occurring lulls in the conversation, nor any planning of what to say, nor even the urge to say anything at all. Instead, with the internal conversation having been so wondrously quietened, one found that these fellow human beings were not in the least bit boring; rather, it was with a complete ease that one could just be here, fully present and unreservedly engaged in the simple business of being with others. ↩︎
The facial muscles are no longer held in their habitual grip; the rigid visage (the ‘poker face’ put on to pretend being unaffected, for instance) has given way to this actual ease. ↩︎