For Whom the Bell Tolls
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
-John Donne
Here’s what I do to drive myself crazy: I scroll the news on my phone the instant I awaken. Then I flit over digital nonsense throughout my day, while working on a computer. Then I do more of that after work. Then I do that in bed before I fall asleep.
The effect that behavior has is to deaden my mind to the feelings I have about all the things I’m reading on the internet. Like Homer Simpson with beer, the internet is the solution to, and the cause, of all of my problems. It lulls me, it drives me crazy, it lulls me, it drives me crazy. But the pressure rises and rises. Being someone who always wants more, there is no bottom, or top, to this cycle for me, unless I manufacture one by pulling myself outside.
Last weekend I went to a quiet place, a monastery, outside of New York, with a friend. We discussed the work of Thomas Merton, and we sat in silence. I found myself completely and utterly exhausted for the first half of the retreat. Being away from my phone drained me. But as I slowly de-fogged, I found myself returning to the me I’d nearly forgotten.
Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent Eyeball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
There was a moment when I was standing by the Hudson River, in the darkness of the winter’s night, and I heard the honking of Canada geese. They passed between me and the moon, which was shrouded in mist and reflected in the glassy black water. Tiny rabbit tracks in the snow ran alongside even tinier bird tracks. Aside from the honking of the geese, the night was silent. And holy.
The honks of the geese weren’t trying to get me to buy anything. They weren’t discussing the Republican primary or the rate of inflation. And yet, I found those honks meaningful. I was amazed. Honking up in the sky like that, just honking along. “I’m here, are you there?” “I’m here.” “I’m here.” “I’m here.” An endless avian roll call. And for once, I didn’t want to shout up to them, “I’m also here!” I didn’t need to give them a like or an upvote. I just watched them with a sense of joy that I haven’t felt from a podcast or a Reddit post in a very long time.
“One has to be alone, under the sky, Before everything falls into place and one finds his or her own place in the midst of it all. We have to have the humility to realize ourselves as part of nature.” - Thomas Merton
But this isn’t a “Get off the internet!” article. We all write those in our minds to ourselves all the time. And I know that geese are assholes when they’re on the ground. And I know that life is both boring and hard and our hamster minds demand distractions with an appetite that we can’t resist. The internet has become digital high fructose corn syrup, fattening us with quick jolt after quick jolt. It’s everywhere, unavoidable. Irresistible.
So this is just a dispatch from the world of geese, to remind you that they honk and the moon shines and you have a place in it all where you’re both insignificant and beautiful. This is a beam of moonshine from my heart to yours. Maybe when you have a quiet moment with the beauty outside, you’ll share it with me.
Honking at you from beneath the moon,
I am,
Your Free Life Coach,
Sean Sakamoto
This makes me think of a poem by Kobayashi Issa (translated by Robert Haas):
Here,
I’m here--
the snow falling.
Here are some of the methods I have tried: Limiting myself to only one type of social media, only scrolling through videos at a certain time of day, swearing off forever, making my screen black and white, deleting all social media apps completely, just taking the apps off my home screen so they’re not in my face, limiting scroll time to when I’m alone, and it goes on and on. More than ever, I’m acutely aware of the dopamine marinating my brain and seem to physically feel it washing over me like a relief.