This morning I'm sitting in the slanting sunlight, thinking of English scientists and living inside the box. Why is that, you ask? Doesn't Chris usually write this blog in an attempt to get "outside the box"? And why English scientists? Is Chris somehow connected to Climategate?
The English scientist I'm speaking of is Michael Faraday, who lived from 1791 to 1867. He was a geek par excellence for his time, doing work in electromagnetism and electrochemistry. He was apparently one of those Really Bright People who made huge strides in the physical sciences due to the combination of his experimental curiosity and the low hanging fruit that was waiting to be discovered in his day.
I don't usually sit around reflecting on deceased scientists, though, let alone English ones. I'm merely writing about him here as a segue into my own experiments in life, and more specifically meditation. Yesterday evening, I was sitting on my cushion, surrounded by a lovely group of friends who were also meditating with our regular Tuesday evening sitting group. About halfway through our sit, when I was "supposed" to be thinking of nothing, I suddenly started thinking of the room we were in as a Faraday cage.
A Faraday cage is a pretty awesome thing that Michael Faraday discovered. You can think of it (as I do in my not-as-brilliant-as-Faraday-way) as lining the walls of a room with chicken wire (or some type of conductive material). What this does is prevent electric fields from entering the room or space. You can protect things from lightning strikes this way, as well as block out any electromagnetic radiation that is outside the cage. You are creating a box that is relatively safe from outside interference, which is useful for conducting experiments or protecting sensitive equipment. The finer the mesh of the protective wrap, the more types of electromagnetic radiation you can block out (basically any radiation whose wavelength is bigger than the holes in your surrounding mesh).
Why was I thinking of Faraday cages while I was supposed to be working towards nirvana? Sadly, I cannot answer that. However, after the meditation, I started thinking of our lives as being full of signals that are coming at us, much like all these forms of electromagnetic radiation that are present in our modern world. We've got cell phones frequently going off, we've got incoming texts, we've got computer screens with visual and audio alerts for new emails, we've got alarms, we've got Twitter. We've got all the distractions you could possibly hope for in this modern age of leisure and well-being. Reflecting on all these incoming bits and bytes, I suddenly felt a huge amount of gratitude for my friends who come together each week to help me create a safe space of quiet meditation - a Faraday cage for our spirits, a sacred slice of life devoted solely to sitting with our breath.
I've been thinking recently that it's really important to pull the plug on our lives as often as we can, and find a little bit of uninterrupted time with ourselves. I have this suspicion that we are failing to serve ourselves as we live at the beck and call of our technology. As we fill our lives with more little noises and flashes that signal an incoming message, we actually erode our ability to be aware of the present moment. Yes, there are useful bits of info that come through the internet to our eyes and ears. Yes, we can stay connected with friends and family more easily than ever before. By inundating ourselves in communication technology, though, we steep ourselves in a new ethos that it's okay to be interrupted by anything that comes along. Few things rub me like petting a cat's fur backwards as much as being in the middle of a deep conversation with someone when suddenly their phone gives them an email alert. They say sorry, pause to check it, and then say "oh, it's only a fill-in-the-blank" from some organization they get mass emails from and don't care much about anyway. I hold that the very act of checking interrupts our train of thought and takes us out of the present moment, into which we then need to focus to re-enter. Something is lost in those situations, and I (obviously) feel some apprehension about giving our lives over to them.
Beyond our ability to be present, more and more people are writing about how gathering data via instant-access web technology is actually changing the way we think. Reading bits and pieces while bouncing around the web (the irony is not lost on my as I write this blog post) seems to leave us remembering less while we actually read more than we have in the past. Our attention spans are shortening, and our ability to take in and process data is changing as the technology changes. It's pretty wild, and we're not sure where we're headed with it.
Why am I being so dramatic? I don't know. All my explanations may just lean dangerously close to rationalizing my semi-Luddite lifestyle. Perhaps I'm just an old soul who is persnickety about new-fangled things. Perhaps I'm just a late adapter. I do know that I love the wave of peace when I unplug, tune out, and turn off. I like practicing being present with those around me in an uninterrupted way. I like when people offer me the same attention and consideration. I like reading longer pieces of writing without giving consideration to surrounding ads or novel formatting and presentation.
I don't want to blame anyone for being plugged in in this way. I think it is a common way of life in modern affluent American society. I think I can tell a story of the benefits of receiving a more constant stream of signals. We can stay more frequently connected with family and friends. We can follow news stories closely. We can keep our hands in more work projects. We can gather bits of data and triangulate from various media. We can avail ourselves of benefits unimaginable even 20 years ago.
Rather than blame us for being enticed by the signal stream, I want to encourage you to take a step back when you can. Create a little space that is sacred and keep it clear of tweets, pings, rings, pop-ups, and alerts. Turn off the phone and computer and be with the space around you. Reconnect with the freedom from technological distractions. Maybe Tuesday evening can be your very own Faraday cage, with a book, a loved one, a good dinner, a picnic in the park, or whatever you want. If you feel inspired, leave a comment on my blog and let me know how it goes. I'll love to hear from you, even in cyberspace.
