I'm of the opinion that the mind is an incredibly powerful thing, and that it can do nearly anything. I also believe that one's basis of agency stems completely from the mind.
As the task we have in this life is to use our agency correctly, we must then learn how to hone our minds to do the right thing. Coming up with the perfect answer to this is nigh impossible, but from my current experience focus has quite a lot to do with it.
One's actions do come from the mind, but not just immediate thoughts. A mind it something like an amoeba of ideas. It can move and branch out, but it can't get too far from the center, and the center doesn't move too quickly. Some people really cannot comprehend things, because it is simply too far from their current "center" to reach it. Can they get there eventually? Certainly. Will it take work? Yes.
Our minds are light-attracted amoebas. Within this context, light does not refer to goodness; it refers to happiness. Any ounce of joy within our reach we'll grab at, whether it's the sunlight of peace or the fluorescence of pleasure. In addition, we don't really like to move.
In summary - we'll naturally shift towards whatever light is near us, and naturally focus on whatever is easily happy for us.
Our brains need light, but the wrong kind can kill them. The plethora of numbing lights can be nice, but also devastating. Not only are we surrounded by a multitude of easy distractions, our own minds can create complex imaginings that can take us from this world and keep us cozy inside our own heads. This relief from life can be a very good stress reliever when used correctly, but all too often our amoebas bathe in the light and come out weary and lethargic, only to return again. In our further slowed state we are even more reluctant to move and less likely to head towards the more distant sunlight.
Pulse lights are also devastating. The bright flash is stimulating and incites emotional functioning like no other, but fades all too quickly. After the bright light the world seems darker, and the amoeba franticly searches for another pulse nearby. One can get caught in the endless cycle, forever getting more extreme in the need for bright light and the despair of following darkness until it simply becomes too much.
True sunlight is marvelous, but it moves. One cannot simply sit in the same place and expect to bathe in the glow all day. The effort it takes to follow the sun is weighed against the feel of the light, and one chooses to either move with it or let it leave.
Unfortunately, with all of the pulse lights and numbing glows around, choosing to follow the best light is a difficult decision.
Now for some specifics:
The reason I'm making this extended metaphor is because I've been finding myself to be a rather unintelligent amoeba lately. I've got both a numbing light and a pulse and neither of them are doing me any real good.
The numbing light is my mental fantasy realm. Away from everything, it promises boundless possibilities and harbors no fears. Everything goes exactly as planned. People are no worry. Anything I want to do is doable. Everything is perfect, except for one thing: it's not real.
In my hole of imagination I hide away from the world that isn't perfect, and reality looks scarier every day. It is unfortunate that this has been my coping mechanism my entire life, because my amoeba is so used to living here that moving away at all is a great struggle. Yet it must happen. The downward spiral of escapism only to return and find the world scarier than I remembered and subsequently flee back to make-believe has unfortunately become unstable. Reality has become so frightening that I'm oblivious to nearly everything, and when I look for a reason to live life I don't have one. My usual plan to fix this? Stop thinking about it and head back to dreaming. My life used to be scary. It may not have been scary objectively, but for me it was frightening. That is no longer the case. The world around me is actually rather marvelous, but I have been so conditioned to disappear that it's all I can do right now. I can't live by surviving the bouts of reality and hiding from them whenever possible, and I most certainly cannot progress that way. Thus: I'm trying to tone down the intensity of my imagination and live here a little bit more. No promises though, this is a difficult process.
I am embarrassed to admit, but the pulse is the promise of love. Yes, I feel stereotypical, corny, and all around pathetic, but as a normal human being, this happens. In addition, our culture is infused with references to love. There are endless songs, billions of books, and nearly infinite images of people in love. While a large part of this is romantic love, and romantic love seems to be one of if not the most cathartic form, there are others that are also potent. Familial love is strong, and by many accounts a necessity for normal functioning. While most people, including me, probably have more love than they think they have, the stories of perfect families entice us to wish for more. So many people I've talked to have wished they had an extra sibling. Or one less. Or a different one. Or a different parent. Or a different family altogether. As much as some families might seem, no family is perfect. In addition no family, no matter how amazing, is going to fulfill your desire for that strong feeling of love all the time. No person will for that matter.
That brings me to the heavier half of love: one-on-one relationships. I'm grouping romantic relationships and best-friendships together because if your significant other is not your best friend, that's a different kind of pulse light altogether. Living in a singles ward, this desire is rampant. Not everyone is frantically searching for someone, but many are. In my opinion, the supplements don't really help. Love that will sustain a family is not the infatuation that will remove a person's faults. Love that will last and continue to sustain the poor amoeba is the kind that comes when you really learn the inside of someone, and more importantly, let them inside you. So the Jane Austen marathons don't do much except scratch that itch to have that someone and increase the threat of loneliness. The momentary happiness is enjoyable, but the lasting hole hurts. If it gets too out of hand, one's desperation can lead one to choose to take whatever they can. This usually leads to dropping it when it gets stale. This leads me to where I am in this mess: due to my aforementioned lack of reality, I'm too scared of other people and too scared of being a terrible best friend to really be considered looking. I still allow myself to watch the movies, read the books, and listen to the songs, but I'm aware I'm nowhere close to finding anyone. The resolution with this one is to try to lessen the ache of longing, but if this one falls through, I'm not too worried.
In summary: Be wary of what you focus on; dwell too long and addiction might set in.
I've got plans to improve.
True sunlight is marvelous, but it moves. One cannot simply sit in the same place and expect to bathe in the glow all day. The effort it takes to follow the sun is weighed against the feel of the light, and one chooses to either move with it or let it leave.
Unfortunately, with all of the pulse lights and numbing glows around, choosing to follow the best light is a difficult decision.
Now for some specifics:
The reason I'm making this extended metaphor is because I've been finding myself to be a rather unintelligent amoeba lately. I've got both a numbing light and a pulse and neither of them are doing me any real good.
The numbing light is my mental fantasy realm. Away from everything, it promises boundless possibilities and harbors no fears. Everything goes exactly as planned. People are no worry. Anything I want to do is doable. Everything is perfect, except for one thing: it's not real.
In my hole of imagination I hide away from the world that isn't perfect, and reality looks scarier every day. It is unfortunate that this has been my coping mechanism my entire life, because my amoeba is so used to living here that moving away at all is a great struggle. Yet it must happen. The downward spiral of escapism only to return and find the world scarier than I remembered and subsequently flee back to make-believe has unfortunately become unstable. Reality has become so frightening that I'm oblivious to nearly everything, and when I look for a reason to live life I don't have one. My usual plan to fix this? Stop thinking about it and head back to dreaming. My life used to be scary. It may not have been scary objectively, but for me it was frightening. That is no longer the case. The world around me is actually rather marvelous, but I have been so conditioned to disappear that it's all I can do right now. I can't live by surviving the bouts of reality and hiding from them whenever possible, and I most certainly cannot progress that way. Thus: I'm trying to tone down the intensity of my imagination and live here a little bit more. No promises though, this is a difficult process.
I am embarrassed to admit, but the pulse is the promise of love. Yes, I feel stereotypical, corny, and all around pathetic, but as a normal human being, this happens. In addition, our culture is infused with references to love. There are endless songs, billions of books, and nearly infinite images of people in love. While a large part of this is romantic love, and romantic love seems to be one of if not the most cathartic form, there are others that are also potent. Familial love is strong, and by many accounts a necessity for normal functioning. While most people, including me, probably have more love than they think they have, the stories of perfect families entice us to wish for more. So many people I've talked to have wished they had an extra sibling. Or one less. Or a different one. Or a different parent. Or a different family altogether. As much as some families might seem, no family is perfect. In addition no family, no matter how amazing, is going to fulfill your desire for that strong feeling of love all the time. No person will for that matter.
That brings me to the heavier half of love: one-on-one relationships. I'm grouping romantic relationships and best-friendships together because if your significant other is not your best friend, that's a different kind of pulse light altogether. Living in a singles ward, this desire is rampant. Not everyone is frantically searching for someone, but many are. In my opinion, the supplements don't really help. Love that will sustain a family is not the infatuation that will remove a person's faults. Love that will last and continue to sustain the poor amoeba is the kind that comes when you really learn the inside of someone, and more importantly, let them inside you. So the Jane Austen marathons don't do much except scratch that itch to have that someone and increase the threat of loneliness. The momentary happiness is enjoyable, but the lasting hole hurts. If it gets too out of hand, one's desperation can lead one to choose to take whatever they can. This usually leads to dropping it when it gets stale. This leads me to where I am in this mess: due to my aforementioned lack of reality, I'm too scared of other people and too scared of being a terrible best friend to really be considered looking. I still allow myself to watch the movies, read the books, and listen to the songs, but I'm aware I'm nowhere close to finding anyone. The resolution with this one is to try to lessen the ache of longing, but if this one falls through, I'm not too worried.
In summary: Be wary of what you focus on; dwell too long and addiction might set in.
I've got plans to improve.
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