>Huh. So, I can choose my thoughts and get out of this mess? Not sure if you really believe that or trolling.
Well, not trying to troll anyway. The best metaphor I can think of is this. You have a desktop, and a bunch of malware keeps popping up, blocking the screen, steeling, well, focus from keyboard and mouse. The work that you want to be doing is obscured. It's frustrating, angering, even depressing, because even your terminal session is obscured, preventing you from finding and deleting the malware. Note that within this metaphor, you cannot turn off the machine, or ssh in from a known good computer (that would be telepathy, heh). What do you do? You have to be patient. An vigilant. And not get mad. You have to close each window as it comes up. New ones keep coming. It seems never ending. But as long as the rate of closure > rate of new windows, eventually you catch a glimpse of your terminal window! Eventually you get to type a character in there. Still they pop up, but you handle them. They steal focus for an instant, but by now you've grown adept at closing them.
Another remarkable thing is that as you get better at closing the malware windows (the negative thoughts) the rate of intrusion decreases, which actually makes your job easier. Eventually you may go for long periods without a single unwanted popup.
Of course, the actual experience of a thought is far more organic. It's more like the popups fade (or ooze) in from the edges. You may not notice it. But when you do, you close it, and carry on.
The Buddhists have all kinds of explanations for what the malware actually is - they all mind malware is written in a scripting language called "karma". I'm not sure about that, but it doesn't matter, really. Your job is to keep clicking close, hitting CMD+W, until you've got a clear desktop.
Oh, what is the desktop in this metaphor? Actual, physical reality. The experience of breath, for example. Or sitting in a chair, or walking, or typing. All experiences which, devoid of unwanted popups, are actually intrinsically pleasant.
It's hard to get started, though, because you've probably lived for many years with nothing but popups, and the desktop seems like a fiction. I suppose that's where a little bit of faith (and not a little bit of moxy) comes in handy. Good luck, my friend.
Well, not trying to troll anyway. The best metaphor I can think of is this. You have a desktop, and a bunch of malware keeps popping up, blocking the screen, steeling, well, focus from keyboard and mouse. The work that you want to be doing is obscured. It's frustrating, angering, even depressing, because even your terminal session is obscured, preventing you from finding and deleting the malware. Note that within this metaphor, you cannot turn off the machine, or ssh in from a known good computer (that would be telepathy, heh). What do you do? You have to be patient. An vigilant. And not get mad. You have to close each window as it comes up. New ones keep coming. It seems never ending. But as long as the rate of closure > rate of new windows, eventually you catch a glimpse of your terminal window! Eventually you get to type a character in there. Still they pop up, but you handle them. They steal focus for an instant, but by now you've grown adept at closing them.
Another remarkable thing is that as you get better at closing the malware windows (the negative thoughts) the rate of intrusion decreases, which actually makes your job easier. Eventually you may go for long periods without a single unwanted popup.
Of course, the actual experience of a thought is far more organic. It's more like the popups fade (or ooze) in from the edges. You may not notice it. But when you do, you close it, and carry on.
The Buddhists have all kinds of explanations for what the malware actually is - they all mind malware is written in a scripting language called "karma". I'm not sure about that, but it doesn't matter, really. Your job is to keep clicking close, hitting CMD+W, until you've got a clear desktop.
Oh, what is the desktop in this metaphor? Actual, physical reality. The experience of breath, for example. Or sitting in a chair, or walking, or typing. All experiences which, devoid of unwanted popups, are actually intrinsically pleasant.
It's hard to get started, though, because you've probably lived for many years with nothing but popups, and the desktop seems like a fiction. I suppose that's where a little bit of faith (and not a little bit of moxy) comes in handy. Good luck, my friend.