What Makes a Caress?

A caress?  As opposed, that is, to a touch that is merely therapeutic?  The question can be an awkward one if you find yourself engaged with a massage therapist.  You, with your eyes closed and facing down, may feel that you are being caressed, while the masseuse may feel rather that she is kneading a loaf of pizza dough before putting it in the oven.

Intent and context certainly matter.  But Wittgenstein would remind us that the intent cannot be pulled out and abstracted from the context; we infer the intent in large part from the context.  

In the current New Age, it cannot be denied that a robot/android can be made whose caresses are indistinguishable from the real thing.  Another genius whose path crossed with Wittgenstein's, Alan Turing, would say that if you can't tell the difference, then there is no difference.

But I don't buy this particular and secondary Turing Test.  Must we really remember this, that a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh?  More fundamental things must apply.

 

Who Is the Conjurer?

Who is the conjurer of my dreamscape?  The tales are too complex and too creative to be my own. 

All in one night:

1.  A girlfriend from my youth materializes in my bed.  In the darkness she embraces me from behind.  This brings me peace and comfort.  Only later do I realize that she has taken six long, thin vials of blood from my back as part of a prank or worse, as part of a sinister experiment.  The next day I search for clues to her whereabouts.  I find an empty pack of Parliament filters, her favorite brand, on my table.

2.  I am waiting for an elevator on a high floor of my office, with a friend.  Suddenly a very petite young Asian girl joins us.  She is beyond distraught, stricken.  When she approaches me, I ask her if her distress is "personal," as opposed to, say, a colleague having had a heart attack at his desk.  But it immediately occurs to me that any such level of distress is personal.

We are in the elevator now.  Her eyes roll into her head and she collapses into me, still alive but unconscious.

3.  I am running my very first marathon.  But a half mile in, I decide to lie down in the fetal position in the middle of the course.  I am just resting to build my strength for the remainder, if I can do it.  I try not to call too much attention to myself.

4.  A man calls out to me -- "Have you seen these modern sailboats, with their flimsy construction?"  He is at the center of a cavernous wheelhouse in what appears to be an enormous Spanish galleon.  I climb towards him on a staircase within it that, like everything else around, is made of heavy, dark, ornate wood.  I then notice that, radiating out from the center, there are what he calls "belaying pins," but they are not of the usual sort.  Each is bigger than I am, and in the shape of a woman's arm.  Each ends in a delicate looking hand whose fingers are poised to grab something.  I surmise that these "pins" can be used somehow in the handling of the cordage of the massive vessel.

Night Two Addendum

We have a spectacular nighttime view of the city of Boston as we roll in by train from the west.  We can see the glow of Fenway Park far off in the distance.  When we get to Fenway, we hop off.  We find a bar within the park itself.  It is very crowded; my friend and I are well and truly belly up to the bar.

We order a round of pinot grigios.  When the barista returns with them, my friend asks her if she has something "special."  She comes back a minute later with a small tray of chocolate cupcakes, Hostess-like but without the squiggle.  She tells us that they are laced with a heavy dose of aphrodisiac and advises us not to drive after eating them.  I wrap mine in a paper napkin and stuff it in a pocket, never to be seen again.  I have a certain contempt, in the dream, for people who rely on such things.  (I do literally bump into a woman at the bar, by the way, but after tossing off a little half insult/half tease in my direction, she disappears as well.)

When I take out my wallet to settle up, I am more than a little annoyed at myself because it is stuffed to overflowing with random bills.  I must be carrying at least $1000 in cash for no good reason.

 

It's Not for Me

It's not for me to try to lead you on your own personal path to Enlightenment.  My own path suffers from a dark cast of mind and a lifelong lack of spiritual discipline.

But the Greatest Avatar Ever to Have Emerged from the State of New Jersey, Whose Multiplicity of Names Shall Remain Nameless, insisted in his lifetime on two things -- (1) that we empty our minds; and (2) that we unclench our minds.

The first is well understood, if extremely difficult in the execution.  It is the shutting down of the internal monologue, via meditation or tai chi, for example.

But what does it mean to unclench our minds?  

In that ancient and much-beloved documentary series, "The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau," Jacques and his minions would often find sea anemones on the ocean floor.  Their many tentacles waved in lovely patterns as they hunted for plankton or other little things to eat.  But if an intruder such as Jacques touched them even with a light finger, they would withdraw instantly into a tight, protective ball.

The New Jersey Avatar admonishes us to open up to the world, whatever it may bring.

 

At the Risk of Blasphemy

Could the intensity of the devotion to Jesus Christ as personal Savior that we have seen lately, and the sheer numbers of people who feel such devotion, conjure Him out of thin air, making Him real after all, for believer and non-believer alike?