Inception
“An idea is like a virus, resilient, highly contagious and the smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you”
It is accepted as primarily a positive thing when the mind responds effectively, unconsciously and appropriately to physical stimulus. Similarly when the mind instructs and the body responds in a seamless manner, we feel we are in control, autonomous and self-directed.
The psychological world and the physiological world are more often than not in perfect harmony. We do not often consciously register every physical act such as breathing, the beat of our heart, the semi-conscious instructions that allow our hands to traverse a keyboard as we type. We need much of what we do to operate below full consciousness to provide the space for “higher” thoughts.
On occasions when the mind interacts with the physical without conscious consent, we can feel a hostage to a little understood subconscious. Dread causes the stomach to turn, the bladder muscles to loosen, the legs to shake. Anticipation leads to sweating palms, shortness of breath, an elevated heart rate. Liberation would appear to be when we are free from such surreptitious attacks and we are able to modulate and discover a place where there is balance, choice and ultimately control.
On a trip around the African continent many years ago I remember the deep fascination I had when on one level I decided (as many thousands of others have done before me) that I was going to bungee jump off the Zambeze bridge. Immediately my body protested violently. Initially my mouth dried, I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each breath was an effort and I felt my stomach constrict. And yet there was a part of me that reflected on this bodily reaction as a parent does to the ridiculous protestations of a hysterical and overtired toddler. I remember focusing on each part of my body and through the simple attention given to my physical response, I was able to bring each area to order until the residual reaction morphed into a mild and controlled excitement.
I was on an organised overland tour from Zimbabwe to South Africa with a large group where only one other man, Stuart, who was about my age, had volunteered to jump. Stuart was gripped by the same depth of fear I had initially felt; however, his fear persisted at an heightened level. He looking decidedly ill and had obviously accepted that it was visible to those around him. He was jumping immediately before me and it was compelling viewing to watch him push himself towards the edge of the bridge. Shaking and reluctant, something determined deep within dragged Stuart forwards and off the edge, resulting in more of a fall than a jump.
The group were loud, cheering and very supportive of Stuart, a little condescending, but his vulnerability was endearing as it appeared to console some of those in our group who had decided not to jump. Possibly justifying in their minds the decision not to put themselves through what looked to them a painful and unnecessary hell. When the focus turned to me there was an initial silence as I did not display any observable nerves. A number of people probed for obvious signs of fear or apprehension; however, at that stage the predominant feeling I had was anticipation and impatience. At some point and after a short while I recognised that most people had stopped the banter and just starred at me with a strange look as if I was in an alien emotional state. I heard some comments about “faking it” or “nutter”, all in good humour I suspect, yet the mood was very different: quiet, subdued and disconnected.
I looked into the faces of many of the people on the bridge that day and I saw a hint of the fear I saw in Stuart’s face as he approached the precipice, looking back at me. I felt both triumphant and defeated at the same time, as if I had reached a place I had sought for solace only to find that with no one there to share it, it had lost its allure.
At that moment I had an idea, a slightly dark and insidious idea that what mattered more that day, was not that I had traversed an emotional, physical and psychological terrain to a place of relative peace - but that this place was a somewhat lonely place. Like being in the eye of a storm, looking around at a violent landscape, separate from it and yet at the same time at the very heart of it. I remember vividly shuffling eagerly to the edge and jumping in relative silence.
The evidence on that day in Zimbabwe suggested to me that vulnerability more readily facilitates connection and that our flaws present better opportunities for others to empathise. Whilst an excess of need and vulnerability is invariably seen as off putting, a dearth or absence of these traits appears as conceit or madness or both and either way far from endearing.
That day on the Zambeze bridge an idea took hold and grew to define some aspect of me. I recognised that if all around you people are afraid and you somehow manage to appear unafraid, it is inevitably and by definition a lonely place to be and subject to question. On that day I remember that my legs were shaking imperceptibly. All the symptoms of fear were subtle and rendered negligible by an overriding feeling of excitement and anticipation. Fear was not completely displaced merely relegated and superseded.
Watching the video footage of my younger self running up the mountain side after I leapt gleefully from that bridge, I can see in my eyes that I had changed, imperceptibly and yet absolutely. I was high on adrenaline and yet subdued by the solitude of what I had observed and felt. As time has passed I see that what Cobb says to Ariadne in the film Inception resonates, that: “Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it’s almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed, fully understood. That sticks”.
However, in recent years I recognise that the original premise was flawed and over-simplified when presented in such binary terms, as the reality is far more nuanced. People are multi-faceted and complex. We are neither predominately vulnerable or content for we are a soup of contradictions that manifest in different ways at different times. Connection is rarely simple or static as they are invariably dynamic living systems that morph and evolve unpredictably. There will be times when we are riddled with insecurity and have the courage to project our needs, and yet remain feeling isolated and alone. At other times we will feel the love and support of others when we are at our most confident and composed.
It is entirely feasible that that fateful day in Zimbabwe represented a particular response that was unique to that place, at that moment, with that group, at that time. It is equally possible that we all need to take heed of Cobb’s request: “to take a leap of faith” and remain open to shared experiences with whoever we are with, whenever they arise, wherever they may be and however we may feel.
Now that’s an idea.
