Beyond Free Thought

Mapping My Way to Nirvana

Beyond body-mind lies Free thought Beyond Free thought opens Nirvana

This is how I saw it that mild though rainy morning in the fall of 1968. I saw those concentric circles: body (at center), then mind, free thought, and then, lastly, the whisper: Nirvana.

The evening before had seen me muse, again, on what made me think.

Sitting in my bed in that large, near-empty hospital staff bedroom, again I tried to sift the complexity of thoughts arising, to discern and inspect the series of causes and effects that brought thought to my mind — our visceral sense of thinking.

At this point, I had stepped back to get a better mental view, and from there I asked myself: Without what would I not think?

I was only looking for certainties now.

And here rose one of those, a certainty: my body. If I had no body, said this certainty, I would never be hungry and would never think about food. Had I no body, I would never be thirsty and would never think about water. Had I no body, I would never be horny and would never think about sex. Had I no body, I would never be tired and would never think about sleep. Had I no body, I would never feel pain (which all on its own could spawn a trillion hectic, desperate thoughts) I would not think about comfort.

Yes, I concluded, absolutely yes: the body made me think.

So, let’s assume then, that I have no body. What would then remain, without which I would not think? Say there was just me, a mind, floating free of the calls of the flesh as it were.

Several things came to mind, rushed to mind, rising in near unison: parents, teachers, books, films, the world: for I had been indoctrinated since more or less birth, first by (well-meaning, of course) parents who taught me this and told me that and upbraided me for his and applauded me for that. In many ways, they not only taught me how to behave and navigate through life but also how to think, for navigation requires thought.

And then there arose those very important opinion leaders you encounter from the first day in school: teachers (gods at this point). Some good, some better, some lousy, but all with not only knowledge to impart but also with opinions to voice. And there they stood, at the front of the classroom, stern or smiling authority figures before the young mind, telling you how to live, how to behave, and in many ways, how to think.

The books you read did the same.

The papers you read did the same.

The television programs you watched did the same.

The movies you saw did the same.

In sum: all that you have learned, perceived, experienced in this life makes you think. So, say I had none of that — in essence no mind — would I still think?

Were this the case, I concluded, I would not think involuntarily. I would not be surprised (ambushed might be the better word) by thoughts. There would be stillness unless, unless I decided to think. Without body, without mind, I would make me think. I would be free to think or not think by my own choosing. This would indeed be the circle of free thought.

But, returning briefly to reality: I had a body, no question about that, and I had a mind, ditto. And I would go on having both body and mind until my dying day — at which point, so I then thought, I’d leave them both behind and, yes, enter the circle of free thought, which I then conceived of as a sphere. Freedom of thought, this wonderful sphere then, was death.

No, I did not for a moment question my surviving death, I would. And I would rise into this silent freedom, where I could think, or not, as I pleased.

I was absolutely convinced of this. Now floating in an amazing bliss of spiritual certainty, I had trouble falling asleep.

Eventually, I did. And eventually, I awoke the following morning, and right up and into that spiritual certainty, almost like it had been sitting guard by my side just waiting for me to resurrect and don it again.

The circle, the sphere of free thought.

I had to tell someone.

And I did. And I explained these concentric circles: body, mind, free thought (death). And having drawn these circles and elaborated on my logic, pointing at the free-thought circle with my pen, the question rose from I know not where: Is there a circle outside this circle of free thought? An outer sphere?

And along with the question arose this answer: That would be Nirvana. And this answer was voiced.

It could have been a small angel sitting on my shoulder leaning over to whisper in my right ear. I could have been the sphere of free thought itself having its say. I could have been God rewarding my curiosity. It could have been me, remembering. I don’t, to this day, know. But the answer, that would be Nirvana, arrived clear as day, and with it the fountain of light to underscore and make the point memorable.

This fountain rose from my feet, up through ankles, through calves, up through thighs and torso, lungs and throat, into head where it cascaded into light and light and light.

© Wolfstuff

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