WANDERINGS THROUGH THE MINDVERSE
Meanwhile, in Sartre's Waiting Room


We offer a hearty  "Bonjour" to Joseph, Inez and Estelle, the lachrymose
trio of condemned souls who have just awakened to begin day number 28,573
of what will eventually turn out to be an eternity in each other's
company.     A fate more dire than immersion in molten lead or immolation
in consuming fires.    They are trapped in a "waiting room" together with
no one else for company.   (The sinister valet who escorted them to these
accommodations in May 1944 intends never to return.)

A concise, wholly unworthy synopsis of Jean Paul Sartre's compelling play
"No Exit."    A dreadful scenario by which Sartre illustrates his now
famous principle,  "L'enfer, c'est le autres."*  ("Hell is other people.")
 One must wonder what they could possibly be discussing after all this
time.  Not the weather -which in Hell remains aggravatingly unchangeable-
or metaphysical speculations -once they learned who was responsible for
getting them into that mess they soured on philosophy- or, -Hell forbid-
Estelle's appearance.

Of course, their topics of discussion or even mental states -the less said
about that the better- are inconsequential.   Sartre, the preeminent
existential philosopher, summoned these three into existence to help us
understand one of humanity's darker realities.    The larger portion of our
misery, despair, dread, depression, and sorrow derives from one source:
other people.  Or, perhaps more precisely,  contemplations of other
people.    That is the pretty taste of paradox because people are generally
good, albeit imperfectly so.   (As any geneticist would explain, mortal
fallibility has been woven into our DNA ever since Pandora opened that jar.)

Could this notion possibly be true?
Well, could I ask you a favor?    Yes, I am speaking to you.  Today, try to
take note of the thoughts that engender pain or dread or anxiety.
 Generally, what are these thoughts?

"Oh, I can't believe I let her say that to me all that time ago without any
response."
"He must think I'm such a fool and a loser."
"Man, they have a nicer vehicle than I do!"**
"Damn, I remember the time I was with those people who conversed with each
other as though I wasn't even there."
"Ouch, I made such an idiot of myself that time.  Oh, I can't even think
about it.  Well, actually, I think about it about twenty times a day."

and so forth and so on, etc, etc and
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"yada, yada, yada."***

I don't know about you, but I eventually came to the sobering realization
that I invested an inordinate amount of mental energy thinking about what
others were thinking about me.   And, these contemplations tended to be
highly efficient misery makers.   Moreover, unlike the contemplations of
philosophers which tend to yield results, or at least tenure, my ponderings
served only to perpetuate self-torment, ultimately toward no end at all.

Here's the rub: a person's opinion is no reflection of you.  It is
generally predicated on his/her own view of the world and the narrow place
that you fit into it.     They are reacting merely to a wraith-like copy of
you which is far removed from the real you, the you that is complex,
wonderous and of unfathomable depths.

Shift away from these painful reflections of others who, ironically, are
generally also thinking of what others are thinking about them and into the
vast universe beyond Sartre's waiting room.   Our minds are endowed with
the capacity to invent, learn, grow, explore, contemplate ideas, and derive
intense joy from the simple experience of being alive, of being here in
this moment with hundreds of different endeavors and enterprises available
to us.  We can't do much to alter opinions.   We can, however,  do so much
to expand and enrich our lives if we pull our attention into the aspects of
life that empower instead of weakening us.    Just write another list of
thoughts that engage and delight you and practise, practise, practise.    I
assure you in time it becomes easier as the neural pathways become more
ingrained.

We bid farewell to Joseph, Inez and Estelle as they spend the morning in
close confines with themselves: a cosmos reduced to a constricting room
rendered scarcely more cheerful by Second Empire decor.    As we beat a
hasty retreat into the unbounded cosmos, we should remember that unlike
them, we have a choice.


As always, I hope I haven't wasted your time.



*I expect my wife and older daughter, both fluent French speakers, to
praise my pronunciation.

**This one does NOT apply to me.  My vehicle is larger on the inside than
the outside, is capable of hyperluminal velocity and makes fantastic noises
when it switches on.

***I expect my Hebrew speaking friend Stan to praise...

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