I am not a movie star and other journeys into esoterica.
December 20, 2013 | 21 Comments
Dziga Vertov
Chelovek s kinoapparatom (Man with a Movie Camera) (still)
1929
When I was a little girl, I would walk around viewing myself from the outside. Even then, I wondered about the advisability of assuming this perspective. It just seemed odd that I viewed myself as though I was on a television show about my life wherein I was playing Susan Piver. Rather than absorbing what was happening to me and deciding how I felt about it, I framed it all as scenes and decided whether or not they played to my advantage.
Fast forward a bunch of years.
When I first began to meditate, I believed that the practice was about cultivating the inner observer—that if I could notice my thoughts, feelings, experiences, and so on, I was meditating. Fair enough. As I practiced, this power to observe became stronger and stronger. Thus, I reasoned, my practice was becoming stronger and stronger.
Only partially true.
Two things happened to cause me to reconsider. One was a thought that arose suddenly and the other was something someone said to me that sort of blew my mind.
The thought: I was sitting there on my meditation cushion observing my mind when I realized that I was also observing myself observing myself. I mean, how else would I know I was observing myself? If I could see that another observer was observing the observer (stay with me here), then who was observing him/her? I could almost hear the accompanying clap of thunder as I realized, there is no end to this observational chain. Given this, who was I? The space within was so much larger than I had imagined (one Susan looking at another Susan) that it was literally beyond my comprehension. There was no end. I could not locate my “self.”
Holy crap.
The thing someone said: I was talking to a friend and longtime meditator about the ins and outs of practice. I said something like, the inner observer is becoming very strong. I’m more and more able to let go of thoughts to simply observe. He said, “Then the next step would be letting go of the observer.” Wha?! How is that even possible? Where would I be if I actually could do that? “I” would disappear.
I realized that for all of my life, I had somehow located my “self” somewhere in the vicinity behind my eyes. “I” was looking out from that inner perch, no? However, if I somehow took my face away to try to find this person, there would definitely not be anyone there. Where was I?
Mind. Blown.
Just this morning I was pondering all of this yet again when it occurred to me that there was another observer to let go of in addition to the inner observer: The outer observer. The one who is outside of me viewing my life as a theatrical event. The one who has been framing my life as tableaux that show me off to good or ill effect. The one who is judging my every move. The one who is seeing me through the eyes of advertisers. The one who is always comparing me to others. The one who is looking at me through the lens of convention.
There is more than one observer here.
I’m not sure, but I bet this second observer was not an issue for the people of thousands of years ago. The selfie culture which began slowly with film in the 20s and sped up with the advertising ethos of the 50s and the television culture of the 60s and then ramped to warp speed with the internets has bred this relatively new observational point: Outside looking in. (Thus, I posit.)
So perhaps step one for spiritual practitioners is not to strengthen the inner observer but to weaken the external one. Every time you gaze at yourself as if from the outside, cut (as it were). Just stop. Drop that perspective. You have the power to shift away from how you imagine you appear to how you actually feel. Come inside. Align with the inner observer.
We could do this for ourselves and we could teach our children to do this. It is a great first step, a crucial one in battling one of the most rampant epidemics of our time and a great, horrific block to wisdom and compassion: what I call “image poisoning.” When we try to appear wise and kind rather than be wise and kind, well, all kind of problems emerge.
Instead of following a narrative structure, my life will always be a story in process, one that is being told each day with every word and gesture. I’m not living in a story. I’m writing one. Somehow it feels more true to align with the artist than the creation.
PS When pondering the non-locatable “I,” it is always help to remember Chogyam Trungpa’s dictum: “The bad news is you’re falling through the air, nothing to hold on to, no parachute. The good news is, there is no ground.”
categorized in: dharma
21 Comments
I know this, but the way you have written it here helps me to truly “know” this in a bigger, brighter, humorous way. Susan, your writing has become explosively powerful. I’m so happy for you.
Thank you, Sandra.
Eckhart Tolle tells a story of waking up one day, suicidally depressed, saying to himself “I can’t live this life any more” (or words to that effect), and then wondering with surprise who the “I” in the statement is–thus discovering his observer. I was stunned reading that; it was the first time I’d considered that not everybody lives that way, as I do.
It’s my constant state, and has been as far back as I can recall; in what few dreams I’ve remembered, and in hypnotic regressions, it’s been the same–I was watching from outside the action instead of participating. But my watcher is neutral, not critical or concerned for appearances, just detached.
Interesting.
Susan, I’m so glad you wrote this. Now I know I’m not the only one who has felt this way. And that you picked up on the TV / Media element is also huge for me. All my life I’ve been living this sort of “what does my life look like from the outside” existence and it’s been pretty miserable.
I’ve always been a shy person externally, even though I never felt like one internally. People have always said to me “it’s ok to be shy and quiet, there is nothing wrong with that” but what I’ve learned recently is that the shyness comes from that external observer. I’d become practically immobilized in social situations because that external observer was always watching and judging what I was doing.
Recently I started a letting go practice inadvertently started to let go of the external observer. I didn’t realize at first that this is what was happening. But the more I’ve gotten in touch with this internal perspective, the more I act out of it and the more I find I’m free to express me.
It’s pretty freakin amazing.
Such an interesting observation, that the shyness comes from the external watcher! That makes so much sense. It can be immobilizing.
Your practice sounds freakin amazing. Please continue to rock. xo S
So well perceived and written Susan.
You might enjoy this 2nd episode (if not all of four!) of the BBC’s ‘Ways of Seeing’ from 1972, by one of my favourite British writers, John Berger. The exploration of how women see themselves as if from outside is so interesting. When I saw this series and read the book way back then (which I still dip into), it cracked open ways of seeing that have stayed with me throughout life.
Oops. Forgot to add the link! Here it is!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1GI8mNU5Sg
Thanks, Susie! I look forward to checking it out.
Jung wrote of the same thing.. He’d look at trees and large rocks and wonder “who is”.
Interesting.
I really get the message you put forth. I love that it’s written as though you and. We’re sitting having a cup of tea. It’s so very lovely to hear your words … I get it… Sweet. Thank you
You are so welcome and I’m glad you picked up on the friendly vibe. That makes me happy.
Thank you for writing!
You’re welcome!
Great explanation. I have made this observation, also, to varying degrees since childhood. You made a very good story about it. Thank you.
You are very welcome.
Susan this is such a fantastic piece of writing, and such an immensely rich exploration. I have big questions about it though, if you have time to address. In one way what you say is blowing my view wide open, aiding me through something I’ve been struggling with all my life. I’ve actually had moments of insight and lightness since I’ve read this piece, moments which helped me completely reconstruct my view and therefore my experience from a lifelong burden of chronically viewing myself through a lens – usually highly critical – of some abstract judgmental “other.” BUT – and this is a huge question for me- I always thought that trying to apply some perspective about how you are in the world, and who you are in the world, separate form your own highly subjective experience, is a good thing, a sign of awareness. That it is in fact what may even separate the insane from the (at least somewhat) sane. Isn’t there some truth to this, too? I’m so confused about the apparent contradiction of the wisdom of what you write, and this other view I’ve always held, at least to some degree. Any advice and clarification is immensely appreciated. Thank you.
You are so welcome and thank you for the kind words.
It is great to apply some perspective about how you are in the world, but I don’t know that it is at all possible to do so separate from subjective experience.
Certainly, as you point out, the ability to observe one’s presence is a sign of awareness. But it gets confusing when you think there is no fixed reference point from which to judge–and also liberating.
My suggestion is to view it all as a conversation, if that makes sense. The world is constantly talking to you, sometimes in ways that we understand (green light = go) and sometimes in ways we cannot (bad things happen to good people and vice versa). Still, the dialog goes on.
I’m afraid that is the best I can offer…I truly hope it is of some use. Let me know.
Brilliant, elegantly written and helpful.
Thank you, Susan.
Thank you, Joy.