I’ve been practicing regular meditation for the past few months. I try to do a 15 minute session in the morning and evening each day.

I got started by teaching myself Natural Stress Relief (NSR). NSR is a spin-off of Transcendental Meditation (TM), of David Lynch fame. TM is one of the most studied forms of meditation. Unfortunately, TM courses are expensive and its organizational structure is questionable. NSR does away with the organization and some of the dubious claims of TM, offering simply a manual for self study and claiming only that it will effectively reduce stress levels.

In the first few weeks, the most pronounced effect I had was the elimination of grogginess. Even though I wasn’t getting much sleep at the time, I felt the meditation sessions helped me stay clear headed throughout the day.

The NSR manual is quite good and I would recommend it to beginners. In addition to describing the practice, which in this case consists of repeating a one syllable mantra in your head, the NSR manual gives useful tips about approaching the meditation session with the right attitude. For example, don’t get discouraged if you get bored while meditating. This is a sign of stress. When stressed, it’s harder to keep the mind still, but when you do it will be especially beneficial. There’s no such thing as a good or bad meditation session.

I’ve recently been experimenting with points of focus other than the NSR mantra. For me, meditation is about keeping the conscious mind still. That is, not following trains of thought but instead just watching them go by. So it doesn’t matter where I settle my attention so much as that I keep it still. Focusing on my breathing, or the sounds I hear without interpretation (deep listening), or the point of contact in contact improvisation are each worthwhile meditative focal points.

A good physical analogy for meditation is practicing balance. When you stand on one leg you need to constantly make adjustments to keep from falling over. You need to be aware of when you’re tilting and consciously return to center. I have this same experience while meditating except I am balancing on a single point in mental space.

Like physical balance, mental balance is not a specifically useful skill so much as a fundamental ability. Having good mental balance helps me calmly react to situations that are thrown at me. And in the same way that a figure skater uses physical balance to contort her body without being reprimanded by gravity, mental balance allows me to make mental leaps and stretches while remaining perceptive of the constraints of the external world.

Thinking, the sequential flow of our conscious mind from one thought to the next, is just one of the ways that we know the world.

Our nervous system extends throughout our entire body, and many of the sensory message that we take in never flow through the singular locus of our consciousness. Nonetheless, our nervous system processes these signals to determine our motor output. For example, when we walk through a crowded street, we orchestrate our tactile, visual, auditory, proprioceptive, etc. input to maneuver our body, often while our conscious train of thought is somewhere else entirely.

I would argue that these information flows are not merely “knee-jerk” reactions, but that there is high level processing happening outside of our consciously experienced thought. In other words, we are thinking with our body — we are processing information simultaneously in every part of our nervous system. We have access to this experience, but it feels completely different than conscious thinking. Indeed, because our language system is based on (and reinforces) sequential thinking, the experience is not easily described in words.

For me, the best way to personally experience this is through improvisational dance, such as contact improvisation or martial arts. In these practices, you must let go of the conscious, sequential command center: “I’m doing this, next I’ll do this, then this, etc.” Instead, you need to listen with all of your body and connect these information signals together to fully exploit your entire nervous system.

The single sequential model of information processing is powerful. Indeed, the Church-Turing thesis is that sequential thinking with a single, external read-write memory is universally powerful — it can emulate any other system for information processing. But the Turing machine is not the only such universal machine, and it is not the only conceptual foundation for an information processing system. Many of the problems we are now facing, in computer programming and system design in general, are best served by alternate models.

Object-oriented programming was a step in the right direction. It acknowledged that systems are divided into separate components. However even in object-oriented systems, the control structure is still usually top-down. There are separate components but they are orchestrated by a single, central command sequence.

This reliance on centralized control in our designed systems subconsciously reflects and reinforces the organizational structures that produce these systems. Most of our institutions rely on a top-down control hierarchy to organize information flow, rather than exploiting distributed interaction between components.

Finding and implementing alternatives to large, centrally organized institutions is perhaps the most pressing challenge facing humanity.

In terms of computational systems, I see three levels of system design beyond the sequential, centralized organization of information flow.

In the first, we remove the sequential aspect of our computation. Examples include programming for GPUs, FPGAs, and MapReduce style distributed computation. In these cases, we massively parallelize most of the work, but the entire process is still orchestrated by a central authority.

In the second, we remove the need for a central authority. An example would be distributed hash tables. Since there is no central authority, the system is resilient to any single node being removed from the system. However, the overall behavior of the system is still fixed as each node is executing the same program, whose code comes from an original central authority. The running system is distributed but its creation is centralized.

In the third, the system accommodates nodes whose program can change. That is, we distribute the creation of the system. Perhaps one of the only examples of this is REST, the architectural principle that is the foundation for the web.

In Symmetry, Causality, Mind, one of my favorite books, Michael Leyton points out that information processing can only occur in the present, when information signals collide at a simultaneous point in time and space.

We are only ever in the present. Our experience of external time and space are inferred by our mind. When we remember the past, we are examining a present artifact in our mind, a shape in our neural matter which we call a memory, whose causal origin, we infer, was an event in the past. When we see something in the distance, we are inferring from signals (such as light) which are reaching us here and now, that something in external space caused these signals to reach us.

These points of simultaneity, where information processing occurs, happen at every single point in space and time. Causality is happening everywhere, all the time. Our nervous system exploits this property of the universe, redirecting information from point to point, distributing information processing throughout the body, and relying on the information processing that occurs outside the body, to take full advantage of its resources.

To cope with challenges we are now facing, we must design our systems to exploit the entirety of the information processing universe in the same way.

This entry is a personal note reflecting on some of the events, experiences, and lessons I have learned this year that have affected me.

I have always felt confident in my rational thinking abilities — solving problems in a computer science sense — but I have never felt comfortable working through my own or other’s emotional problems. I still have plenty of emotional and communicative issues to work through, but I have made incredible progress on these issues this year.

These new developments are all rooted in understanding and accepting myself. But they have been enabled by external experiences and communicating with other people. It’s the same way that thinking about a two-dimensional world helps us understand what it means to live in a three-dimensional world, and dimensions in general. Understanding my relationships with others has helped me understand myself.

For me, the triggers of this growth have been two studies. One in dance, particularly contact improvisation and to a lesser extent gaga and capoeira. The second in a set of books by Don Miguel Ruiz which appeared at a particularly appropriate time in my life. These studies have been further integrated into my being through the sharing of life with close friends and several psychedelic experiences.

Contact Improvisation

I am constantly looking for metaphors to connect my disparate life experiences. Patterns of patterns to give insight into the higher meaning of my existence. This year, all of these deep insights have originated in contact improvisation and my other dance explorations. They are physically-rooted lessons; I can describe them in words but much of their power comes from my physical, non-cerebral understanding of them.

I will share one example. At the start of every contact class I have attended, we begin with an exercise to root ourselves, to bring our attention to the present. This is especially important coming in to a class from the streets of NYC which is full of distractions. Often this exercise will involve becoming aware of our breathing and closing our eyes to bring awareness to our other sensations, the sound of a quiet room, the feeling of the air on our skin, the muscles that we’ve tensed unnecessarily. In this particular class, we were asked to bring our awareness to how we were standing. When you stand, you’re not standing still, you’re constantly making minute adjustments in your muscles based on input from your vestibular senses. Balance in an unstable equilibrium like standing is not inactive, it is a feedback-based control system. The same way we can relax our tensed muscles, we can relax this control system. We can let our body lean, and see how far off from center we can let our body fall before correcting it and still be standing. This is the start of the small dance, listening to the infinitesimal impulse which breaks an unstable equilibrium and moving with it.

The small dance, after experiencing it physically, found its way metaphorically into many aspects of my life at all scales. I remember describing it to my friend James and connecting it with the Interplanetary Transport Network which is a strategy for traveling the solar system using theoretically infinitesimal energy. Essentially you position yourself between two large bodies, say the earth and the sun, so that your gravitational attraction to each cancel each other out. This is an unstable equilibrium. If you were to minutely push yourself in any direction, gravity would pull you off into a winding, chaotic pathway. If you’re clever and push yourself in just the right direction at just the right time, this winding pathway can lead you to another point between two bodies and you can repeat as necessary. This strategy really works, although it’s a very slow way of traveling. It has been used by several space probes.

The small dance also applies to my mental modes. I’m normally in a stable mental mode, not allowing myself to think thoughts that are too “crazy”, too off center. But by building my confidence exploring the small dance physically, I’m able to apply this practice to my thinking, allowing myself to go off on a thought knowing that I’ll be able to bring myself back.

Don Miguel Ruiz

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see…
– John Lennon

I found these books through Yoko Ono’s recommended book list. I had been following Yoko Ono’s twitter feed pretty closely and I wanted to learn more about the philosophy she uses to create such simple and small but affecting works.

I started reading The Four Agreements. The book begins by explaining Ruiz’s outlook, that we each live in our own dream, our own frame of being. Our shared experience is a bigger, collective dream that encompasses us but is not truly reality. It’s just a set of agreements that humans (before us) have made so that we can live in a world together. That is, our framework for understanding the world — our ontology of things both physical and societal — is taught to us. By being aware of this setup, we become more capable of choosing when to accept society’s agreements and what it means to express our own dream.

This outlook is quite compatible with my own. However I had never consciously used this perspective to guide my way through life.

In the book, Ruiz describes four “agreements”, concepts which can be integrated into our being which can help us master our attention and express our own dream. I’ll describe them in terms of how I relate to them. The first is to be aware of the power of our words, thoughts, and actions, and to not use this power against ourselves. The second is to not believe that everything that happens around us is because of us; specifically to not take what people say personally, because the people around us are living in their own dream. The third is to not assume that we understand someone else’s dream, instead to ask questions and listen. The fourth is to do our best and be aware that our best will fluctuate and change with time.

Your experience may be different than mine, but I have found this book very useful in working through my own thoughts and feelings, I recommend it.

I’ve also read two of his other books. The Fifth Agreement goes into more depth about how our individual and collective dreams relate to each other and how we let beliefs transfer between the dreams. The Mastery of Love, perhaps my favorite, is ostensibly about how relationships between two people can be co-created but is at root about one’s relationship with oneself. The allegories in it are beautifully written.

Isolation Tank

I was halfway through The Four Agreements when I had my first experience in an isolation tank. The isolation tank was invented by John Lilly, who also researched dolphins and psychedelic drugs. It is completely light proof and sound proof. You float on your back on salt water. The air and water within have been prepared to be human skin surface temperature. At first you can hear the sloshing of the water and your own movements — the sound of moving your tongue is particularly loud — but eventually you stop moving and the water and air immediately surrounding you reach equilibrium with your skin temperature. As the name suggests, the idea is to remove all sensory input so that you are left alone with your mind.

I had been rereading some Lilly books and decided to find an isolation tank in NYC. I found Blue Light Floatation, which I recommend.

My own experience had two phases during the hour-long session. The first phase was settling my body and mind. I tried different positions (arms by my side or hands behind my head) and had to figure out how to physically center myself in the water so I didn’t drift to one side. Though it was completely dark and silent, I was still aware that I was in the tank, in a building, in the city. I was thinking about my expectations for what I should be experiencing in the tank. I was thinking about how I would describe the experience in the future. Ruiz calls this constant chattering the mitote, the sound of 1,000 voices talking and nobody listening. Eventually I managed to calm my body and mind and take the experience for what it was. I have not done a lot of meditation but I reached what I believe to be a very deep meditative state.

The insight I took out of the experience concerned the gradient of my self.

I am not just my body. My body is just a machine that is controlled by my intent. It’s the same way when you’re driving a car and the low-latency feedback system between your intent and the car’s movements temporarily extends your body to the entire vehicle.

But I am not just my conscious self either. I have always suspected that I have a variety of selves which are present at different times. Each has different desires and thought processes. In the tank I was able to see each of these conscious selves as temporary programs which I switch between. Like my body machinery, they appeared as satellites around my center, the phantom captain. Like my body, my conscious selves are tools through which my center can express its intent. I was able to see in my life when this true intent was expressed most clearly, most directly. I remembered a frisbee game a few days before, when fully immersed in play, this inner intent would express itself in the simple decision of who to throw the frisbee to next.

I resolved to express my true intent whenever possible. I still recall this feeling whenever my conscious selves are battling over what to do next. Focusing on this feeling has gotten me through what would previously have been difficult situations.

Speechless

I’ll close on a lighter note and briefly describe my most playful experience of the year. Inspired by my friend Mark’s idea for a no-talking party and encouraged by Amit, my Games & Art professor, I held a small gathering at my apartment where no speaking was permitted. About half a dozen close friends showed up over the course of the evening. I had stocked my apartment with wine, cheese, and art materials, but had no planned activities and was curious to see how the evening would play out.

We were all quite active and wanted to express ourselves to each other. But with no talking, we had to lead by example or just start something with some sort of action. Another person would interpret this action in her own way and respond with another action. This went back and forth and all sorts of playful games evolved. It reminded me of tripping in a group — when everyone’s so far out that you can only communicate non-verbally — except that we were all entirely lucid.

A consequence of the evening was that I was much more relaxed and trusting. For example, at one point my friend Sofy grabbed my camera away from me and started drawing on it with a sharpie. In ordinary circumstances this would have made me anxious. I would stress over whether I should say “Hey! Don’t do that!” or just let her express her dream. But with no talking I felt no anxiety. With no talking you can’t try to control people, you can only trust people to be responsible for their own actions. Due to the good energy in this circle of friends, this trust was very relaxing. I believe we all bonded in a deep way that evening.

Setup

1. An open space.
2. Two or more players.

Rules

1. Start on the edge of the space.
2. Choose a direction and walk backwards in that direction.
3. When you hit the edge of the space, repeat.

Documentation

1. Videotape the game.
2. Reverse it.

Performers: Monica, Nisma, Peter, Scott Wayne Indiana

Update: Here is the soundtrack if you’d like to perform this piece yourself.

rps soundtrack.mp3

For my ITP class Games and Art, we were assigned to create a variation on the classic game Rock Paper Scissors.

I’m always fascinated how players of this game can lock into each other’s mind state. I remember one time I was playing my friend Roger (to determine who would go first in another game) and we tied 12 rounds in a row because we intuitively knew each other so well.

I wanted to amplify or at least explore this aspect of the game. I created a dance piece where dancers play Rock Paper Scissors synchronized to a metronome. For excitement, the metronome speeds up as the piece progresses.

Here are two performances of the piece:

I’ve only had one week’s exposure to Contact Improvisation but already I feel that this is how humans were made to move.

I first saw this dance at Priceless last weekend. It was past midnight, having just turned July 4. I was wandering around the festival and decided to check out the chill stage. This stage was covered with a cloth shade structure, kind of like a futuristic circus tent. There was only one entrance which was crowded with people standing, so I had to push my way through.

Despite being outdoors — the night sky visible through the holes between the cloth structure — the chill stage was covered in carpeting and this carpet was strewn with large throw pillows. Within the perimeter were people sitting and lying down on these pillows, most with eyes-closed, listening to the ambient music the DJ was spinning.

But in front of the DJ was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. Five or six people were moving at about 4x slow motion, writhing, caressing and falling over each other. A multi-limbed, multi-headed, multi-torsoed human mass oozing at 4x slow motion at the center of an audience entranced by psychedelic ambient music.

In my current state, I couldn’t tell whether this was a performance or something that just spontaneously started happening. It was actually so intense that I had to leave.

The next night I hung around the chill stage in a more sober condition and was able to observe how these dancers initiated their dance and the protocols they used to communicate with each other.

I found out that the dance was called Contact Improvisation. And yesterday morning I took my first class here in New York City.

Here are some reasons why I believe that this will be the dance of the future (at least for me):

Intention not form. The form, the shape you put your body in, is not important. The art happens at the point of contact; very subtle pressure changes allow partners to communicate how the point of contact should evolve, whether it be pulled, pushed, slid, or pivoted. But only the participants experience this, everybody else just sees the form which follows from the intention.

Absolute expression. Although there is a vocabulary for common movements, there is no such thing as a wrong move. Other dances require learning fundamentals before one’s own style can be developed, but in Contact Improvisation you’re already developing your personal style on first contact. The personal styles of each partner flower in complexity as they interact. Every dance tells a unique story.

Intimate. All communication between partners is through touch. The dance can be done completely with eyes closed. There is a group that teaches Contact Improvisation to the blind.

Shared control. Like Capoeira, Contact Improvisation is explicitly an action-reaction, feedback-led dance. There is no leader and follower like many partner dances. Instead the subtle energy fluctuations at the point of contact lead the dancers, like the chaotic forces at an unstable equilibrium.

Physics-defying. Here’s the quick principle of a dance like the moonwalk: Michael Jackson goes up the toes of one foot, puts all of his weight on that foot, then slides the other foot (which is flat on the ground) backwards. The illusion in convincing because the audience sub-consciously thinks that MJ’s weight is on the foot that is flat on the ground, so when this foot is slid back it makes him appear weightless/frictionless. Contact Improvisation creates an entirely new dimension of possibilities for movements like this, because weight can be distributed to your partner.

Modular. Any number of “partners” can simultaneously participate in the dance, all linked through touch, the exchange of partners as effortless as the dance itself.

If you’re in NYC, I highly recommend Kayoko’s class. She gradually introduces the concepts of the dance in a comfortable way, has the class go through exercises which help you learn to communicate your intention, and makes very constructive suggestions on ways you can go deeper into the dance.