Meditation, Mindfulness

Many things here. Let’s begin with that wild construction of a new “amnesia genre”! Lethem says,

I had in mind fiction that, moreso than just presenting a character who’d suffered from memory loss, entered into an amnesiac state at some level of the narrative itself—and invited the reader to do the same. Fiction that made something of the white spaces that are fiction’s native habitat or somehow induced a dreamy state of loss of identity’s grip. (xvi)

So: Lethem’s seeking art that merges form with content- a style that evokes the neurological disorders addressed within! What Sacks continually struggles with is conveying to his audience the evocative experience of sensory alteration (no means an easy feat!)- he was moving in the same direction as Lethem’s collected authors- disclosing information until the “proper” time, attempting to somehow bridge that strange gap between the patient and the outsider. How do the various author’s achieve this neurological effect? I certainly felt the same creeping anxiety and unsettling calmness reflected by the patients within the pages.

Here, Lethem’s also stating that there’s something intrinsic to the properties of storytelling, or narratives, that shapes them towards expressing neurological disorders, specifically amnesia. White spaces are “fiction’s native habitat”, Lethem says, as if the writer’s task of summoning something up from nothing (an exaggeration) parallels the patients own clawing for a constructed past. Neurological disorders hint at the strange borders of our perceptions of reality. Is what’s there really there? And should it then be almost expected that illusions should best represent such conditions? After all, in such states, what is an illusion? (Forgive muddled speech here, hopefully the thought is vaguely conveyed?

In some ways, the methods of these authors are almost opposed to Skloot’s own work. They’re attempting to alter language, reality, etc. to attempt to capture that alien, anxious, exhausted sensation that comes with these forms of amnesia. Skloot, conversely, is trying furiously to, if you will, meet us rather than force us to meet him. He battles to construct linear, logically coherent thoughts. The whole book is his exhaustive, laborious attempt at capturing “normative” thought.

It’s interesting. Skloot speaks of the therapeutic benefits that come from constructing his narrative. The book is really another extensive conversation with his wife before bed. And yes- traditionally humans understand one another through narrative-

But then the difficult question rears up of... and I’m still struggling with this- how “rational”, logical thought... how LANGUAGE... should factor into Skloot’s life. Language, oftentimes, seems embedded in rational thought; it functions through a series of causes and effect- language is a map that illustrates the trajectory from point a to be to c. In this regard, it’s stunning that Skloot can write as well as he can (albeit, as he repeats, with great difficulty). However, so much of Skloot’s current life seems to illustrate a necessary retreat from such formal, structured manners of thought. Is writing a positive, “safe” way of experiencing these difficult processes (he notes that none can catch his mistakes), or is it still a clasping on to an antiquated part of life (a bustling city that he should move out of). Now: Obviously he’s receiving great joy and success from his writing, though he does remark of its pain... I suppose I’m simply attempting to make note of the necessity for acceptance spoken of throughout Skloot’s work. Which spins into the fact that...

Some of the most striking characteristics of Skloot’s experience are the potential positive ramifications that came from his illness. A doctor reminds Skloot early on that he should not equate intelligence with (and I forget the exact words here) brain/reasoning functionality. In discarding balance, memory, and reason, Skloot is allowed access to a level of awesome mindfulness and equanimity. In one of the books most stirring passages, he relates,

Since I cannot presume that I will remember anything, I must live fully in the present. Since I cannot presume that I will understand anything, I must feel and experience my life in the moment and not always press to formulate ideas about it. Since I cannot escape my body and the limits it as imposed on me, I must learn to be at home in it. Since I can do so little, it is good to live in a place where there is so little to do. And since I cannot presume that I will master anything I do, I must relinquish mastery as a goal and seek harmony instead. (28)

The process seems almost like enforced meditation- a narrowing down of one’s perceptions and abilities so as to reach a supreme level of condensed concentration. By being so immersed in himself, by acknowledging that he “cannot escape his body” he’s able to, well, somewhat escape. Just a little. He makes his way with the necessitated drive towards harmony, towards acceptance and mindfulness; the whole experience brings up connections to dozens of different spiritual practices.

Skloots speaks of the beauty that comes from a lack of necessity to formulate ideas about the moments he exists in. Yet, in doing so, he writes, formulating ideas. His communication upends some of the revelation spoken of earlier. Perhaps, like all things, reflection, the fight towards “rationalism”, must be balanced.

And again we reach the question: what is health? What is illness? How can we gauge the functionality, the success, of a person’s life? Especially when language and narrative (used successfully as a neurological communication device in the Vintage Amnesia, yes) can be such a source of... at times... strained rigidity?

There’s something up with language, with narrative, and communicating the neurological experience to oneself and others... right now I feel as if I’m circling over it like a buzzard.