When you woke up today, what was the first thing you noticed? What was your first thought? Perhaps it was to relish the memory of a dream? Could a dream be a treasure? Or how you feel toward the reality you are bound to?
Admittedly, when I awake from a dream, I’d really like to go back! Don’t get me wrong, only having to take two steps to reach my toilet is convenient, but this reality is designed to oppressively remind me of my failures. Maybe I should treasure each opportunity to escape into a dreamscape?
Perhaps … except when I end up dreaming about being in prison!
The subtle truth is that it all matters; all the waking moments, and those that pass as I dream. All of them functionally contribute to my awareness; there are lessons to be learned. For that reason, these days I try to wake slowly, to not miss the deeper message. And while awake, I strive to be appreciative of what I do have–the blessings in my life–rather than harping on all that has been lost.
Does that mean how I perceive and relate to the world around me is unique? How I react to situations, or do nothing? Surely these elements are fundamentally different for everyone. Or is there only one, universal standard of reasonableness?
Steve Silberman in his book, Neurotribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity, observed: “[T]he subjective experience of autism-like that of bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, Tourette’s, or any number of neurological anomalies–exceeds attempts to stabilize or unify it as an object of analysis or diagnosis.”
The point here is to recognize more than the notion of what neurotypical might be, when each individual subjectively interacts with their world, in their own way. And often deep, subconscious conditioning lives as the root program or script a mind follows. In other cases, damage, brain defects, or chemical imbalances can also play a role. But all that really means is that each person is normal unto themselves; it is the world around them that attempts to judge otherwise.
Considering all of that caused me to ask: Who am I, naturally? Then: What treasures are stored in my house? All too soon I began to encounter delusions. False narratives. And many other things that could hardly be considered treasure at all.
It took a very long time to recognize my depression to survive it, and even longer to systematically begin to understand what triggered my bipolar reactions to control them. Or attempt to. It is through those efforts that I came to recognize how neurodivergent I am.
Through the looking glass: How closely related I actually am to the man who screams or beats and bangs all day, or to another guy who is prone to throw bodily fluids when he doesn’t get his way. I sense the pain behind their symptomatic behavior, and perhaps they are broken beyond repair.
I have needed to know what it would take for me to fall into that level of despair. So, I raise the question to myself: Where do I now stand in the realm of neurodivergence? After more than a decade of following a path of introspection, through meditative analysis, working to better condition my thoughts and intentions and actions, have I changed?
Am I . . . normal?
* * *
Have you ever braided a line?
Line-running is how those of us in solitary confinement commonly pass things, so line-making is a sort of industry. I usually only make lines for myself, because a lot of time is necessary to acquire useful material to spin or braid. For that very reason, I try to braid lines with pure nylon, for maximum strength and durability.
Of late, though, I’ve noticed a trend. Guys I know and deal with will see my pristine, oh-so-strong line, and they begin to subtly inquire:
“Nice line, did you make it yourself?”
My customary response: “Yes, and I like it.”
“What’s it made of?” they always ask.
And there we go . . . down the rabbit hole. Before I know it, we reach the “Can you make me one?” stage, which leads me to just let them borrow mine.
Amazing how lending turns into such an act of permanence, though!
Once upon a time I had a nice and oh-so-strong line, over 50 feet long. I still get to see it often enough, passing by, pulling things across the ground or up into the air. When I do, I smile. It feels good to have helped another. In those instances, I feel I have moved the needle past selfish intent, more towards sharing the treasure of my knowledge and skill.
Everything comes with a price, though. The reality of cause and effect is very real. When I opened the door to share, inquiries were bound to flow in from . . . others. Like from my neighbor when, two weeks ago, he asked: “Can you make me a line?” I did not want to, in all honesty. It was a very different matter to conduct business, than to give away something I had already created. That he would pay me was of little consequence. But as we talked, I felt my initial reluctance melting away. He really needed a better line, and he was willing to provide all the material. In that sense I inwardly convinced myself that I would be doing a good thing. The good thing, however, began to diminish as soon as he passed me the raggedy elastic bands. There was a moment when I wanted to back out of the deal, to say “No thank you,” but in here a man’s word is one of the few things he really has. So, I accepted the inferior material with a sigh, and began the process of breaking it all down so that I could make the line.
Once my mind was set to that task, my thoughts drifted, and I was reminded of a story:
A friend of mine, Andrew (not his real name), told me about when he was younger. Back in those wilder teenage years, he needed tools to work on a project so he asked his dad if he could use his. Andrew’s dad had a large, well-organized tool shop. With his father’s permission, Andrew grabbed what he needed, finished the project, then took the tools back into the shop and laid them on a table.
Thinking nothing more about it, Andrew was relaxing in the house when his father walked in and said: “Son, come with me, I want to show you something.”
Without hesitation he followed his father outside, around back, and into the shop. Andrew’s father stopped near the table, casually motioned to the tools there, and asked: “Do you see anything wrong in here?”
To Andrew’s way of thinking, he had returned everything. It was all back in the shop, right there in plain view, on top of the table. But he hadn’t taken them from the table. The tools had been in drawers, or hanging on pegs, well-organized. It took Andrew’s father to point that problem out, then he said: “Son, when you do something, don’t half-ass it.”
“Don’t half-ass it,” echoed in my mind. Of course, it was my intention to make the best line possible but remembering that story caused me to reevaluate the type of line the raggedy elastic would actually produce. I knew from experience that it would not last as long as my neighbor hoped, so I untied a laundry line–a boot lace I had secured between the light and my table–and de-threaded it. Once the individual nylon strands of gold, brown, and white were separated, I mixed them with lengths of elastic to add strength and began to braid.
Three lines . . . over, under, over, under . . . simple but tediously time-consuming. Even so, sustained braiding allowed my mind to flow freely, and I recalled another story:
Back in high school Andrew played football. On the weekends he would meet
up with friends, and more often than not they played pranks on others. From the traditional toilet-papering trees or whatever, to climbing a water tower and tossing water balloons down at people passing by. What was intended to be harmless fun was obviously not appreciated by others, which is how the cops got called after one heathenish event. Andrew and his friends were caught and detained, and Andrew’s father was contacted to “come get your son.”
The drive home was calm and quiet. Eerily so, which unsettled Andrew. It wasn’t until they returned home and were inside, behind closed doors that the veil of silence lifted.
In a tired voice, Andrew’s dad said, “I just want you to know that I’m really disappointed in you,” and he walked off.
Left speechless, Andrew was crushed! His dad was his best friend, his hero. A beating would have hurt less! But it was a lesson Andrew never forgot. Coupled with not half-assing what he set out to do, he likely internalized the concepts to the point of subconscious mandates. Or guides for his ethical and moral conduct:
- If he was going to do something, he would give his best effort and never a half-ass one; and
- He never wanted to do anything to disappoint his father, understanding that to do so would affect the whole family.
I would go on to stand for some ten hours to complete the line, but I gave my best effort despite the hardship and discomfort. My neighbor had expressed his expectations. He deserved to not be disappointed.
* * *
In her book, Thinking in Pictures: My Life with Autism, Temple Grandin wrote: “There is no black-and-white dividing line between normal and abnormal. I believe there is a reason that disabilities such as autism, severe manic depression, and schizophrenia remain in our gene pool even though there is much suffering as a result.”
What are the values in neurological differences? There are complicated notions between how self relates to the brain–our overall understanding of consciousness. So simple categories like normal and abnormal are far too limiting, especially when the subjective experience of any number of neurological anomalies exceeds attempts to stabilize or unify them as an object of analysis or diagnosis. The mind needs to be conceived as embodied, dynamic, and relational. Neurological differences could lead a savant to create extraordinary technologies. Other pathologies in divergent minds surely contribute to the advancement of society, as well. Unless we are blind to them?
Often distinctions between what might be considered normal or abnormal only become relevant in response to expectations. So, when perceived differences involve suffering, what are the social obligations that could focus attention on the relationship between physiology and culture, to help rather than harm?
Consider Andrew not wanting to “half-ass” anything or disappoint his father. As Andrew lived his life, surely, he was thought to be normal when he played football and excelled, went to the Marine Corps and was Honorably Discharged, then became a Fireman and Paramedic. When he got a woman pregnant, Andrew married her to form a family. He built homes, hunted, fished, loved the outdoors, to include competing in orientation courses and mountain-biking meets. Andrew gave his all in everything he set out to do, becoming to many a pillar of the community.
All normal, right?
But what happens when the fundamental concepts that guide a person to success, lead to actions society does not agree with? That run contrary to the law? In those instances, does the person become abnormal, suffering from a neurological divergence?
Causation matters. Andrew’s wife enjoyed aspects of an open marriage, having other sexual partners. During one event a partner convinced the wife to allow Andrew’s daughter to be drugged and molested. What do you think happened next?
Andrew was known as a very trustworthy, upstanding man and citizen. A hands-on type of guy always willing to perform hard tasks himself. And to Andrew’s way of thinking, it was his responsibility to protect and maintain his family. When his daughter was hurt, he set out to fix the problem–to the best of his ability. There was no half-assing. One of the actors in that event managed to survive. The wife did not.
Before leaving to the Marine Corps, Andrew’s father told him: “At some point you will encounter an officer who is worthless, a piece of shit. Just remember that you do not have to honor the person. Honor the position.” Mixed together with the other principles that Andrew lived and excelled by, we are only able to imagine these were guides. How did Andrew categorize people in his mind in relation to their position? And what did it take for the overlay of “You don’t have to honor the person” to kick in?
What seems obvious is this: Acting on the very principles that people had witnessed him achieve with, making him normal, even exemplary, Andrew killed his wife. Now he’s in prison, here, around me. How much of Andrew’s mental house was filled with treasure if such a thing could happen? Or was any of what existed in his mind a treasure at all?
* * *
Am I . . . normal?
I honestly do not really know how to define what normal is or should be. In contrast to Andrew, I achieved far less in life. A significant difference seems to be my suffering from manic-depressive/bipolar episodes from a young age. But under the law, Andrew and I are treated the same. As statistics, we add to the same category of criminal offenders. Both of us killed–the State calls it Murder–for distinct reasons, based on circumstances that triggered elements in the mind.
In a relational sense, if I could adapt the teachings Andrew likely followed to braid a line, to create a very strong and long line that my neighbor was absolutely satisfied with, it is hard to call those elements wrong or bad. And for me to endure the ten hours of braiding necessary to complete the task, surely that speaks well to my ability to focus, to settle into the idea of getting something done. But it is also true another could see the time I spent as wasted, as the line unnecessary–especially considering the fact such lines are considered contraband. So, to help another with his direct need required me to break a rule. I consciously decided to, so how much different than Andrew can I really be?
Andrew took the law into his own hands when he killed his wife, but can anyone say with confidence that, under the same circumstances, they would never act in the same manner? One thing is for sure, his dad was not disappointed. When the subject came up, Andrew’s dad said: “I would’ve done the same thing son. I just wish you had told me. I wish I could take your place.”
If it was as simple as unravelling or de-braiding a line to find true understanding here, I would think it would have already been done. I guess that begs the question: Is it treasure we rely on within to progress towards a goal?
* * *
In his blog, “Neurocosmopolitanism,” Nick Walker described what he called the “Neurodiversity paradigm”:
- Neurodiversity is a natural and valuable form of human diversity.
- The idea that there is one “normal” or “healthy” type of brain or mind, or one “right” style of neurocognitive functioning, is a culturally constructed fiction, no more valid (and no more conducive to a healthy society or to the overall well-being of humanity) than the idea that there is one “normal” or “right” ethnicity, gender, or culture.
- The social dynamics that manifest in regard to neurodiversity are similar to the social dynamics that manifest in regard to other forms of human diversity (e.g., diversity of ethnicity, gender, or culture). These dynamics include the dynamics of social power inequalities, and also the dynamics by which diversity, when embraced, acts as a source of creative potential.
There are many attempts in society to categorize what happens in the mind, to create models that can be judged as normal or abnormal. Through mappinq neuronal activity in the brain, to using tests to determine where on a certain spectrum a person might suffer from a psychosis, we lean heavily on labels as a means to identify what we simply do not–and maybe never will–understand.
But when it comes to the idea of the Treasure House Within, a simple explanation does exist . . .
Daiju visited the master Baso in China, and Baso asked: “What do you seek?”
“Enlightenment,” replied Daiju.
“You have your own treasure house. Why do you search outside?” Baso asked.
Daiju inquired: “Where is my treasure house?”
Baso answered: “What you are asking is your treasure house.”
From that day forward Daiju went on to tell his friends: “Open your own treasure house and use those treasures.”
As you are, naturally, is the treasure. For me, three words clearly define this, and help me to realign my own thoughts and actions when things go wrong.
- Emptiness. This is not like an empty glass, but rather everything is naturally empty. A wall is just that, a wall. A person can choose to feel however they wish to about the wall, and the same is true about anything or anyone else a person encounters.
- Impermanence. Change is constant, from moment to moment. Needing to stay flexible in relation to the notion of change means understanding that what exists in one moment does not have to be in the next. This is especially true when it comes to mental processes–feelings that might breed emotion and lead to action.
- Transformation. To assume life is static defies reason. People do change and grow, adapt and overcome. Keeping an open mind to this concept is a way to humbly remind oneself that we live in a shared reality–that what we do affects more than ourselves.
Obviously, the mind gets filled with other things. The house of your mind, in rooms, through doorways, down hallways, behind panes of glass, rests the accumulated wealth of memory–holdings acquired through habit and conditioning. All the lessons learned; trauma experienced. Notions of prejudice, how to stereotype. How to be happy! To love or hate. How each individual connects to all of that is unique to them. For sure certain treasures do exist, but they are mere additions to the natural treasure each person is capable of relying on, independently.
So, no . . . I may not be normal. I am as neurodivergent as the next person, but how I relate to that concept is different. I sit within and do not run from what is needed to keep my mind ordered and calm. In that way I have found out how to open myself to the treasure within my own house. I will leave it to others to argue over whether I am in fact normal or not.
No Comments