Dear Peter:

Heavy Duty Bag of Chips Trigger Warning! 😊 Please feel free to stop reading at any time if the salt gets to be too much.

I found it amusing that you called your habit of analyzing “kind of masochistic.” I love analyzing too (as you may have noticed, haha). For me, analysis (not rumination) is enjoyable—it gives me clarity and relief, while confusion breeds chaos.

Taking a moment to differentiate analysis from rumination:

* Both involve repetitive thinking, and both can be emotionally charged.

* Analysis seeks understanding, problem-solving, and insight, whereas rumination dwells on negative experiences without resolution.

* Analysis is intentional and constructive, while rumination often feels involuntary and hard to stop, trapping people in negative thought loops rather than leading to solutions.

The challenge is recognizing when thinking shifts from analysis into rumination and steering it toward constructive reflection rather than endless cycling.

You noted that stillness before analysis is preferable to using analysis as a means to stillness. That makes sense—yet, for me, understanding often brings stillness. Perhaps this is why I struggle with your ability to be still and let things happen naturally.

You wrote, “I am uncomfortable with the wording of ‘your transcendence.’ That has a progressive feel, or something set as a goal to be achieved… My sense is that transcendence is a happening, rather than a doing, willing, or achieving.”- I see what you mean, and I appreciate your clarification.

Your distinction between happening and doing is compelling—transcendence, as you describe it, isn’t something pursued but something that unfolds beyond effort and will. That contrasts with how I habitually seek control through analysis and problem-solving. Letting things simply happen is difficult for me. My attachment to problem-solving makes it hard to embrace an approach that isn’t actively pursued.

You likened transcendence to dance, where leading and following merge—implying that the sequence doesn’t matter, only the experience itself. Perhaps that’s why I only feel comfortable in free-style dance, where I neither lead nor follow another person.

Reflecting on this (analyzing it, of course 😊), I wonder if part of my reluctance to engage in structured dance—besides my clumsiness—comes from a deeper fear of being taken over by another person, of being controlled. If I let someone lead (if let things happen), do I lose autonomy? There’s a threat in Together and in Letting Things Happen, and a sense of safety in Alone and in Control.

You clarified that you’re not trying to address trauma in the Eternal realm, because trauma belongs to the temporal world and must be engaged with here. However, experiencing the Eternal creates a foundation from which past trauma can be examined—viewed through the lens of weightlessness rather than as something demanding immediate fixing.

Yet, my trauma is still heavy, even after all these years. I can carry it better because I am stronger, but I don’t want to view it as weightless. That would feel dismissive of its reality, almost like a form of denial, and that wouldn’t serve my mental health.

Looking forward to the Eternal where there is no trauma feels—dare I say—similar to the idea of Heaven, where pain ceases. It’s comforting, but does comfort change the reality of the Temporal? Our suffering exists in our bones, our muscles, our neurons—woven into every minute of every day. Does envisioning a place without suffering help us process what is, or does it simply provide refuge from its weight?

This reminds me of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” where dreams come true and troubles disappear—the same longing for Heaven, the Eternal.

I do believe in the Eternal, but I question whether it is about Love. If love is tied to bonding behaviors, oxytocin, and attachment, it evolved in social species for survival and connection. Turtles don’t exhibit emotional bonding, nor do plants—so when we say “plants feel love,” we are simply projecting human sentiment onto them.

If love is purely biological, framing Love as a cosmic or Eternal force could be human wishful thinking—a way to assign meaning beyond survival and suffering.

Yet, you describe Love not as an emotion, but as a state—interconnectedness, openness, presence. In this interpretation, Love isn’t dependent on oxytocin or attachment but is the absence of division, fear, or resistance—a state of being rather than an emotion.

So how does the Eternal feel? You say it isn’t possessed or measured—it transcends time, language, and fixed definitions. Instead of presence, it is absence—the absence of clinging, suffering, resistance. Not an emotion, but a happening.

Yet, if our emotional experience in the Temporal shapes how we imagine the Eternal, doesn’t that mean our perception of it is colored by longing—perhaps even idealized as an escape? If we desire relief from suffering, do we unconsciously construct the Eternal as a place of peace and transcendence because our minds seek refuge?

Your philosophy resists framing the Eternal as a goal or destination—you say it just is, beyond measurement and possession. But can human consciousness ever perceive something free from the lens of desire?

Back to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”: “Someday I’ll wish upon a star / And wake up where the clouds are far behind me / Where troubles melt like lemon drops / Away above the chimney tops… Birds fly over the rainbow—why, then, oh why can’t I?”- These words encapsulate a deeply human longing—the desire for a realm beyond suffering, where dreams manifest effortlessly. This longing mirrors the construct of Heaven and the Eternal, where existence is imagined as a state free from pain, limitation, and earthly struggles.

The song asks “Why can’t I?”—expressing the ache of being trapped in the temporal while yearning for transcendence.

Yet, your philosophy suggests transcendence isn’t an escape—it’s a shift in perception, not a removal of suffering. This contrasts with the song’s depiction of Heaven as a distant destination, a place requiring movement beyond reality.

Comparing Heaven & The Eternal:

* Both are imagined as beyond the Temporal, promising relief from suffering and a state that surpasses ordinary human experience.

* Heaven is a destination—a divine realm where souls go after death, often associated with reward-based belief systems (and financial contributions), while the Eternal is not something to be “achieved”, or bought—it happens outside of effort, possession, or hierarchy.

* Heaven is emotionally charged—a place of joy, reunion, comfort—while, while the Eternal is neutral, beyond longing or expectation.

* Heaven is depicted as hierarchical or governed by divine presence (God, angels, etc.) while the Eternal is not governed by external entities

Yet, even perceiving the Eternal as “beyond suffering” already implies human longing for peace—so can it ever be free from desire?

* Both seem to stem from human cognition—would they even exist without our brains wired for abstraction, existential reflection, and longing? If humans didn’t seek meaning beyond survival, would concepts like Heaven or the Eternal ever emerge? Likely not.

I imagine that the Eternal resonates with those who seek transcendence without religious doctrine. It strips away dogma, hierarchy, and anthropocentric views of life after death. So, in a way, the Eternal is the abstract refinement of Heaven?

I recognize, like you, peter, that analysis itself wasn’t the problem, but the desire to rid myself of shame and fear through analysis kept them strong. I will be sharing about this later, in my own thread.

Finally—Peter, I want to make sure my questioning isn’t disrespectful or confrontational. My intent is exploration, not refutation. You’ve found comfort in the Eternal for a long time, and I don’t want to harm you by shaking that comfort.

Does this feel like an open discussion to you, or do you sense tension or discomfort in my approach? I value your perspective, and I want to engage with it thoughtfully.

anita

Dear Peter:

I am not focused enough to read ad reply, but reading your last line, the three questions, makes me smile, and again, feeling affection for you. It is a bit like dancing.. with you, is it?

More tomorrow morning, or if you prefer, Monday morning, as I know you prefer to take a break from the computer during the weekend.

anita

Hi Anita and Peter

I just wanted to say that I love the conversation that is happening! ❤️

I haven’t had much time to write because of my studies recently. I have been busy with group projects and exams.

I hope to find a chance to write some this week. 🙏

Both of you keep being awesome! 😄

Hi Anita – everyone

I was concerned that we were getting lost in a attempt to define experience as definitions. A habit of mine.

“What happened to that moment?”- the moment, the realization is still with me. I definitely want it to last. (I think you’d say that I shouldn’t aim at making it last, but instead surrender to it..?)

The experience of feeling will fade and is meant to flow. Surrendering to the realization on the other hand is a way of taking in the realization as happening that is yours, always. My thought is that such realizations can be the lenses and light though which we then engage memory and life?

I’m going to try to share an experience and ask that the words be held lightly.

Out in the nature, one of those days where is warm but not hot, cool but not cold. A breeze rustling the leaves of a tree that looks older than time. Life scurrying up and down, in and around most of which is unseen, the sun light filters through. A moment of arrest. A realizing of the web of life, nature interconnected, life, death, wonder, sorrow…. The Heart breaks… Open… and ‘sees’ as if for the first time. ‘Arrested’ the question of time wasn’t relevant, so no need for language to define it. What arose with a tear was Compassion for all things and myself.

Walking home, lost in thought, thought become a something to grasp with each defining measure the experience gains weight, which I imagine as comfort. It is a comfort for a time. Someone on a bike passes me by almost hitting me. Irritation arises. Funny my experience of connection with nature, did it include humans, as if humans, as if i am, separate from nature…

By the time I get home I have begone to doubt the experience as real. Later when I share the experience with others, they confirm the experience as being a ‘only’. ‘Only’ a imagining, only a dream, not really ‘real’ and so relevant to ‘real’ life. The weight added to the experience now heavy no longer comforting, I went on seeking.

One of my literary hero’s is Richard Wagamese. Richard had a difficult beginning to life that lead to alcoholism. In his book – For Joshua: An Ojibway Father Teaches His Son – he tells his story. A story where amazing teachers showed up followed by amazing experiences and “awakening” that would change his life for a time but not last as he fell back into old habits. Until… here his words turn to poetry and meditations.

I asked myself what changed and glimpsed that his realizations transformed to Truths to live out from. The connection he felt for all things and all peoples became his Truth. A truth from which Compassion, let us call it Love that transcends language, naturally arose as the source of all things of all peoples. The light in him seeing and acknowledging the light in all. That Truth more real than the truths of his past. He chose to as best he could live what he realized.

From what I read, Richard past remained as it was only it no longer defined his being (detachment). His people continued to suffer as all people do and he continued to suffered with them. His relationship with his son remained strained, his son needing to work though his own healings. I hope now that his father has passed that the book helps.

Richard knowing deeply of the tears in things lived the remainder of his life, engaged with his now “knowing’s” as his ‘still point’. A circle without circumference which center is everywhere. The center compassion, let us call it Love from which all things arise and return.

My experiences in nature and meditation are more real to me than things I try to ‘understand’. I wonder if maybe I should try living from that ‘still point’.

Opening the book Embers by Richard Wagamese:

“I Walk with the scars of a lifetime of living. Some were self-inflicted wounds. Some were caused by others. Either way, they mark the trajectory of six decades of experience with the ins and outs, ups and downs, doubt and certainties of my relationship with living. They mark the territory of my being. I don’t regret a single one of them now. In fact, I’m thankful for them. My scars have the strange abitly to remind me that my past was real, and what is real offers knowledge, understanding and an ultimate forgiveness.”

“There is sunlight in the mountains today. The morning is crisp and clear as untrammeled thought. Against the sky, the trees raise crooked fingers in praise. To be here is to be affected, made more. Filled. The creative energy of the universe.
Drink it in, my friends…” – Richard Wagamese – Embers

Dear Peter:

Processing and commenting:

The tension between thought and feeling= the internal struggle between intellect and emotion, analysis and experience, reason and instinct. It occurs when a person is caught between processing emotions rationally and allowing themselves to fully feel and express them.

Some people, like myself, rely on analysis as a way to process emotions— I try to understand, label, and define my feelings rather than simply experiencing them. It’s definitely an engrained habit.

* I just felt fear and I can see why I would rather not experience it.

While reflection and intellectualization can be helpful, it can also distance someone from the raw emotional experience itself, making emotions feel like puzzles to solve rather than feelings to embrace.

* How does a person embrace fear?

Intellectually inclined individuals may suppress emotions because they fear being overwhelmed by them or believe that feeling emotions fully might make them lose control.

Thought often seeks logical conclusions, explanations, and certainty, while feelings exist in a space of ambiguity and fluidity.

* I don’t like ambiguity and fluidity (unless I dance free style while tipsy).

If someone struggles with uncertainty, they might attempt to control emotions by rationalizing them, rather than allowing themselves to sit in emotional discomfort and simply feel.

* To simply feel .. feels dangerous.

Thinking too much about emotions can sometimes lead to emotional detachment—analyzing emotions can feel safer than actually experiencing them.

* Safer indeed.

This tension might make it difficult for someone to connect deeply with others, because they are more focused on understanding emotions intellectually rather than allowing themselves to be vulnerable.

* Definitely me.

The balance between thought and feeling is essential—too much intellect creates emotional distance, while too much unchecked emotion can feel destabilizing.

* Don’t like feeling destabilized!

Allowing emotions to exist without immediate analysis can foster self-awareness and acceptance, leading to deeper emotional understanding and healing. Learning to balance reflection with emotional experience—knowing when to analyze and when to simply feel—can create a more holistic emotional well-being.

* Definitely easier said than done. But I want to do it. So, back to fear, fear without the intellect… First, there is no way to avoid the intellect and yet keep typing words.

Meet the fear where it is: yes, here it is. Fear. Oh, I see. Fear is not dangerous (a relief). It’s not my enemy. It’s trying to protect me. So, it’s a friend. I see. No reason to be afraid of fear then. Hmmm…

I didn’t know I’ve been afraid of the fear itself.

Fear cannot be eliminated, but fear of fear can. What a concept.

A concept made possible by intellect, intellect patient enough to feel the fear first, if only for a moment.

anita

Dear Peter:

This stood out for me: “I find that I’m seeing this light more often as I learn to look.”-the idea of looking is a skill that can be learned.

Your reflection on secondary emotions also struck me: “In hindsight, when I analyze emotion as a way to process them, I was really questioning if I had a right to feel what I felt… A process that creates the secondary emotions. The thoughts of the emotions creating emotions.”-

It makes me think about how emotions and thoughts can become tangled, forming layers upon layers, like an unchecked system of feedback loops. When cognitive distortions (inaccurate thoughts) or false beliefs creep in, they act like a virus, infecting the natural emotional response and replicating unchecked.

Imagine the virus taking hold—one distorted thought, one false belief, and suddenly, instead of a single emotion being felt, it splits and multiplies, generating meta-emotions. What begins as sadness, for example, mutates into guilt for feeling sad, frustration for not overcoming it quickly, shame for needing support—a whole network of emotions that spiral beyond the original source.

Like any virus, the more it spreads, the harder it becomes to locate the original healthy emotion beneath the layers of distortion. The healing process, then, isn’t about rejecting emotions but identifying and clearing the cognitive distortions that trap them—allowing them to flow without excessive processing or judgment.

Perhaps the antidote isn’t perfect clarity or control but recognizing when the system is becoming infected and choosing presence over excessive analysis.

I wonder—how do you recognize when thought has begun to distort emotion rather than clarify it?

anita

Dear Peter:

I want to reflect on your words: “Last night I watched a BBC interview… He spoke in a slow, calm manner, his breath even… At the end of the interview, both Ken, the interviewer, and I had tears welling in the corner of our eyes. It seemed to me Ken Burns was speaking from his Truth, a still point of compassion that his passion for history had opened in him.”

His communication wasn’t rushed or reactive, but rather purposeful, measured, and deeply considered. His calm, measured delivery seemed to evoke a sense of trust in you, trust that he was not merely performing or persuading, but revealing something deeply authentic. That calm presence had a way of creating space in you and in the interviewer, space for connection, inviting you into his experience.

If he had delivered his thoughts in an agitated manner—his voice strained, uneven, hurried—it might have had an entirely different effect. Agitation often signals urgency, frustration, or defensiveness, and in communication, it can make the listener feel pushed rather than invited, reactive rather than reflective. Instead of drawing you in, it might have created a barrier, leading to hesitation about whether his words were driven by deep understanding or emotional turbulence.

Trust and empathy are closely linked—both require an openness to receiving another’s truth without resistance or skepticism. Empathy allows us to feel what another is expressing, and trust emerges when we sense that their expression is authentic and vulnerable, rather than performative or manipulative.

This is how I want to communicate—with calm and intention, rather than haste or reactivity. I want my words to be guided by deep understanding, not emotional turbulence—inviting the listener into reflection rather than pushing them toward reaction.

anita