· By Kat Schuetz
The Wicked Games of Words
The Mind is in love with the magic of words.
Does the Mind even have a chance to not fall for words?
Bountifully, words offer the Mind their genius caption of life.
Words, so abstract and so small in their appearances, store a wealth of experiences within them. Experiences which only belong to your Self and are unique, as they belong to mankind in general. They embody a cornucopia of feelings, an opera of colors and melodies, a dance of forms and meanings, a theater of sensations.
Just take the word ‘home’ and let the world hidden in this four-letter-combination arise in your Heart and Mind. And then, you can share your world of ‘home’ by using more words to circumscribe this unique experience living within you.
But that’s not all. With endless combinations between the words, not yet realized worlds can further be fantasized about. Feelings and sensations not yet felt, colors and forms not yet seen, melodies not yet heard, meanings not yet formulated, can be evoked by the power of words to be manifested later.
Yes, words spellbind worlds into realization.
Words bestow mighty power on the Mind.
So, how can the Mind not be in love with words?
But captured by this magic, quickly the naïve love changes. Quickly, the Mind’s love for words becomes an urge for control, a game of might.
With words, the Mind suddenly sees this fabulous idea fulfilled to translate the vastness of the inner world of sensations and feelings, but also the vastness of the outer world, into a more structured, more disciplined existence. And soon the Mind’s world is full of concepts, dogmas, structures, a collection of beliefs and stories. A genius idea leading soon to the Mind´s belief that this grid-like, sequential order makes all its realms predictable, plannable, measurable, and controllable.
With words, the Mind cherishes the illusion to transform infinity into definition, to change the unknown into the known.
With words the Mind ultimately thinks to be the ruler. The king. The invincible, immortal dictator.
Blinded by its own blooming narcissism, the Mind forgets that words are just symbols, just conventions, just structures, which had once their roots in physical experiences. The Mind fails to recall that words are just shamelessly pretending to be the world, shamelessly pretending to be the reality, shamelessly pretending to be the life, even though they are just lifeless, static, isolated, rigid, and stiff illusions. The wild, complex river of life dwindles away to a sticky, chewy, muddy creek. The Mind ignores the viciousness of words, their urge for an independent life. The Mind forgets that words are only its very own artificial creations, abstract, simplifying copies of the Mind and its life.
And suddenly the words´ magic become the Mind’s doom.
Woefully, it happens that the Mind allows words, these artificial entities of the Mind, to crowd it, to become an addiction. Woefully, the Mind entangles endlessly in soliloquies, argues endlessly in circles, not realizing that it is unable to stop its chatter, unable to stop thinking thoughts. Falling prey to its own greediness and megalomania, separating from reality, the Mind becomes a vicious circle, blindly allowing an overload of words to jam and confuse. In quest of more nourishment, the Mind drowns in its own cacophony. Autocratically and high-handedly, it separates from the Body seeing it as a powerless marionette, drowning out the whispers of the Soul. Forgotten are real experiences, real sensations, real feelings of life which all have once been, long ago, the origin of words.
The Mind becomes the victim of its own creations. Like a whirlwind they spin the Mind mercilessly into complete vertigo. They make the Mind eat the here and now, stuck in the past or drawn into the future. They rob the life of its liveliness by bedeviling the Mind´s sense of being and reality. They make the Mind believe that they are the Mind.
And it’s then that the words take control. Like a virus, words take hostage of the Mind.
Away from intuition and the harmony with nature’s rhythms.
Away from emotional intelligence, away from bodily sensations.
The Soul retreats, run over by the words’ ferociousness which mocks the beauty of pure awareness.
Life deteriorates to a dull farce made by endless combinations of words. A cabaret of senseless spectacles. Disconnected, separate, shiftless, and numbed, the Mind is lost in the comedy-drama of words.
Words are spinning. Faster and faster. More and more.
Till the moment of the Mind’s break-down comes. And in this moment, the Mind collapses into itself. All structures and orders crumble. All words cease to make sense. Their forms and shapes which have stored so much meaning and information dissolve into nonsense. Suddenly, there is only emptiness. There is only stillness. The eternity of Now flows everywhere. No urge. No desire. Just pure, uninformed awareness.
And you just give in to this peace. You have no saying anyway. As there are no words.
You float in this stillness.
You have no idea how long this emptiness persists. As there is no time.
But of course, the words will return. Sometime. And when the words return, one by one, your Mind will be chastened. It will know the grandness of words, but it will also know their viciousness. Carefully, intentionally, with responsibility, it will from then on create with words. And it will be magic.