I overslept this morning, and I feel great. Maybe there's something to this sleep thing...some connection between my mood and whether I'm suffering a somnial deficiency. Could it be? But then, what would become of my artistic side...are not the best of artists fueled by pain, misery, and a certain moody nature?
But no, peoples' natures are not something so fungible as that; I absolutely reject the principle behind allowing my physical circumstances such great influence on my mental state. It doesn't matter if there are brain chemicals that are altering my mood if I consciously recognize and react to counter it.
What is the self, is what I'm getting at. The sum of your moods and memories and all of it, which do you identify with? Can I even make a difference by trying to squeeze out a single part -- the physical -- or am I doomed to failure? Oh, Mark Twain, you knew everything! Perhaps it was the cosmic cut of his life, so bound to the movement of the comets, that set his mind in such a naturally beneficial arrangement as to give him insight into the true form of existence. He might stare for long hours into a flame, and see a hurricane within. Could you do the same?
There is a short story by Roald Dahl which I read long ago and only very recently reread, known as "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar". That link contains multiple stories, and all are well and good, but only Henry Sugar himself has stuck with me through the years.
The story concerns a fellow who is essentially a trust-fund baby in his late twenties, who spends all his time having fun with his similarly situated friends. He enjoys partying, drinking, relaxing, and, above all, gambling. For Dahl states that the chief concern of these adult rich kids is the growth of their wealth, for their great fortunes correspond to great fears that they might awaken one day to find the bank account empty.
Dahl isn't especially unkind to these; he sees them as having had the meaning stripped from their lives by fate, and if they enjoy themselves, then they enjoy themselves. At least they aren't hurting anyone. But in this story, he gives one a chance to redeem his pointless life.
Henry Sugar, through a twist of fate, comes across an old account written by a doctor, an interview with an Indian mystic who was able to see with his inner eye. The mystic describes the training regimen he followed to develop this ability, including staring into the flame of a candle for hours every day, as well as reading cards from the reverse side. This last especially catches the attention of the gambler Henry Sugar, and he immediately sets out to develop the abilities using the training scheme described in the tale.
Henry locks himself away from the world in absolute pursuit of these magical powers. For years he does nothing but train laboriously, forcing himself to stare into flames and focus on cards for twelve hours or more each day. He loses all of his friends and his former party lifestyle fades to a distant memory, but slowly, he comes to be able to see with his eyes closed, and then to see behind things with his eyes open. And once he has developed the power to read cards, he focuses only on training that, and improves his time to visualization from four minutes to four seconds over the course of several more years.
When he has finally reached a point where he feels truly ready to bilk the casinos for all they're worth, he immediately stops his training and heads straight there. He finds, over the course of a short evening, that he is easily able to focus and predict the outcome of every last one of the casino's games, to the point that winning is almost too easy. He wisely avoids winning too much, and takes away a relatively small amount of money, but he comes away from it convinced that he could easily make millions every night.
He goes for a walk, and muses on the fact that something in him has changed. The other guests at the casino, whom he used to see as his fellows and compatriots, he finds he can no longer relate to at all. His old self would have been driven, after such a successful night on the town, to go out and celebrate with champagne. It occurs to him that, in the course of single-mindedly pursuing these powers that would allow him to make all the money in the world, he has lost his great desire for making money.
That was the part of the story that stuck with me the most. It may be that you dedicate yourself and achieve something great, only to find that the journey has left you with no desire for your initial object. While this theme is usually used to a tragic end, Dahl gives it a more positive spin, by filling Henry with the desire to use his money to a good end. He spends the rest of his life traveling the world, bilking casinos all over, and using the money to open world-class orphanages in as many countries as he can.
It's well worth a read. It's not one of the works Dahl is most famous for, and I only found it because of my tendency to obsessively seek out all the product created by my favorite artists. But I am glad that I did, because unlike so many of his other creations, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is a true story.
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