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A "On Hard Drives, Samnyasa, and the aNAda #46 A
A Future of the Human Soul" A
A by Puck 04/24/00 A
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I formatted my hard drive last night, and now it's got me thinking a
lot about the human soul. In fact, it's got me thinking so much about the
human soul, that I'm compelled to write a T-file. And I haven't been
compelled to write a T-file for years. Any-hoot. When I was a freshman in
college, about five or six years ago, I was enrolled in an Indian Philosophy
class. It was taught by a man named Rama Rao Pappu. We called him Dr.
Pappu. Thinking back on this, I'm surprised I hadn't come up with a more
creative, endearing name for the guy, but I was only a freshman. I still
had a degree of respect for authority. Even robed, thick accented, one-of-
the-syllables-of-my-last-name-is-pronounced-POO authority.
Dr. Pappu's class was a very surreal experience on many levels. The
class met twice a week for two hours. The lecture hall was about ten times
larger than it needed to be for such a small class, so the students were
spread out. This was the first class I ever fell asleep in. Falling asleep
in this class was magical. Pappu's hypnotic voice would echo lightly
through the room. My eyes would slowly shut, and I would drift off into one
of those half-dreams where everything, anything, and nothing makes tangible
sense. I've tried for years to recapture the serenity that accompanied a
nap in Indian Philosphy, but have yet to figure out the key elements to such
bliss.
On one of the days where I was perhaps too caffeinated for sleep, we
learned about the Samnyasa - men in Indian, who, upon reaching an old age,
would shed themselves of all their worldly possessions, don a robe, and
wander from town to town living off of charity. The philosophy was this --
each object that a person owned carried with it a certain gravity. It would
bind itself to his soul. Releasing these objects was a holistically freeing
experience. The Samnyasa were no longer chained to their goods. They were
free to wander, and enjoy one phatty chunk of happiness before they were
ashes in a chamber pot.
As a college freshman, the idea of one day becoming Samnyasa was very
appealing to me. I understood what it mean to be bound by ones'
possessions. As I moved into my second and third years of college, the idea
only became more enticing... having moved through countless dorms and
apartments, I was quick to appreciate the enormous amount of junk I had
accumulated. I was looking forward to the day where I could just chuck it
out the window, pick up some hospy scrubs, sandals, and trot through the
suburbs as the town Samnyasan.
Regrettably, the self-realization concerning my attachment to
possessions that was so powerful in my youth began to fade, along with many
idealisms. My fourth and fifth years at college were unwittingly spent
ammassing an enormous collection of possessions. My unexpected financial
success after college only fueled this behavior. I'm a techno-dependent
yuppie living on Chicago's north side.
And so it was that last night, while formatting my hard drive, I
stumbled upon the future of the Samnyasa. The virtual Samnyasa. Formatting
my hard drive was such a liberating experience, and a perfect metaphor for
such an unattainable path. My machine was cleansed. My soul was cleansed.
When you format your machine and reinstall an operating system, it's as if
you dumped a gallon of grease into the gears. Programs launch quicker, your
system runs more efficiently. Pointing and clicking becomes a very holy
experience. And so the trend begins... as a person's life becomes
synonymous with the contents of his hard drive, perhaps there will be
therapy techniques based entirely on memory formatting. Support groups.
12 step programs. (Step 1: Admit you have a problem. Step 2: Format the
FUCK out of it. And so on.)
Sadly, however, formatting a hard drive is a very temporary fix. The
permanence of impermanence, the sanctity of chaos and entropy -- my hard
drive will inevitably become cluttered once more. I will once again move
through the day sluggishly, chained to the earth by my dependence on my
possessions. When the burden becomes too much, when that last blue screen
breaks the camel's back, I'll format again. I'll make sacrifices. Chuck
year-old programs out the window. Get rid of those jpg's of ex-girlfriends.
Acknowledge that no, I'll never get around to watching that .asf file of the
Dudley Do-Right movie. But my computer is going to stay right where it is.
On my IKEA desk. Right next to my AIWA stereo. Holding up my Palm Pilot.
Underneath my Waiting for Guffman poster. And so on. And so on. And so
on.
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{ (c)2000 aNAda e'zine * * aNAda046 * by Puck }
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