Escaping Mind’s Labyrinth
We are the pattern searching creatures.
Born into the universe way beyond our comprehension, we persist in discerning patterns, discovering algorithms, and detecting tendencies.
Those who excel in these activities, become scientists or conspiracy theorists, or marketing geniuses.
When you travel, you are force to observe and make sense of what you observe. The temptation of patterning becomes irresistible. You try to discover which line moves faster, which mode of transportation is more reliable, which city is more friendly.
It there is one pattern I discovered, is that all this patterning breaks sooner or later. There are too many unknowns and unpredictables for a picture to remain stable. Yes, I'd like to say something about French or Italians, or Democrats or lawyers, but I know better.
Yes, French love their food, and it is fun to observe them at all stages of food production or consumption. They touch, they smell, they feel, they discuss, they try. There is a respect for anything food related that I rarely observed among other cultures. Yes, Italians like to talk and communicate, and whatever something going on, there is always a group of Italians, following it like little duckies following their mother duck, and discussing latest news from the pond. Yes, I like open and friendly faces of Americans, they look at you and recognize a fellow human being, something that Upper class Brits or Middle class French, have never mastered. And yes, Russians, and their penchant for breaking rules. How can I resist that?
On the other hand, I know well, that there are French who eat cold pizza and food from cans. I know there are lone wolves among Italians, sticklers to the rules among Russians, and condescending arrogant bastards among Americans.
So are we just to give up on this pattern-finding missions? It definitely should be kept at arm's length in front of any individual or any human experience. Tolstoy's Pierre Bezhukhov always looks for patterns and schemes, including those to save the world, until he ends up in French captivity and almost gets executed. And then he learns that what matters is a clean bed and fresh food, and the joy of it, the joy that infects everyone around him.
Something similar, I think, happens in the famous film, Rashomon. Three people are listening to various versions one traumatic event. Wife, husband, a bandit. They all spin their stories, and we believe or disbelieve them in accordance with our prejudices, that is, according to our patterning of the world. Do women lie? Do murderers lie? Do victims lie? How can one believe in humanity when everyone lies? And then those who listened to these conflicting stories, hear the crying baby abandoned by the doors of the monastery. And they have to respond, and take the baby in, because life continues. And that’s the pattern, that trumps all others.
This is something to keep in mind, as we go on through our lives, planting patterns and then weeding them out.
