A Theory of Everyone (3)

[Corrie van Wijk]

There is something about walking down these glass stairs: after all questions have been asked and everything has been said and done, I can only wait. On every floor the true colours of these tiles welcome me, until I hit rock bottom on the ground. It is a pity that these tiles have all been cut into straight pieces: the corners tend to break off, which reveals the concrete floor beneath. True colours go only a centimeter deep unless they belong to the mountain itself.

Mount Blanc is covered with snow these days and the tunnel even had to be closed for a while. It doesn't make sense to close a tunnel because of risk of avalanches, since it is the only safe place to be. It would'nt have mattered if my car had broken down, no vehicles would have moved anyway. I could just have had it towned unto one of those trucks that carry cars.

The only way to save yourself from an avalanche is to start one and manage to stay out of it.

A simple clean question can start an avalanche of information coming down the mountain of knowledge, showing it's true colours of rock bottom.

[Corrie van Wijk]

Our ancestors were primarily too busy surviving to spend much time about thinking, but as soon as they had their act together, having a crop nearby and making sure useful animals would not run away, they started thinking about others, themselves and – on a more abstract level – thinking itself.

When an airplane crashes, the black box (which actually has a bright colour) from the cockpit tells you what happened just before the accident: the conversations that went on between the pilots, all the technical details of the machine. For a very long time the thinking process was like a black box: you know sensory information comes in, gets processed somehow and results in some kind of behaviour.

During the twentieth century cognitive neuroscientists identified a network of neuronal locations that serve independent functions, and the interaction between them, which yield the integrated, holistic behaviour that humans exhibit. Neurons take in information, make a ‘decision’ about it following some relatively simple rules, and then, by changes in their activity levels, pass it along at chemical or electrical synapses to other neurons. Learning involves primarily changes in the synaptic strength between neurons in the brain’s circuitry. The size and shape of sensory and motor maps in the cortex can be modified with experience. (Cognitive Neuroscience; the Biology of the Mind; 2009).

So when a human brain crashes, it is more difficult to figure out what happened: all you can rely on is your memory, but that may have been damaged as well in the process. And since memory may alter how we perceive something and attentional constraints affect how information is processed, how do you know what is going on inside?

Clean questioning is a way of mapping the information in your brain. A neuroscientist may be able to record where something is going on inside and perhaps what kind of information it is but only you can know what it is about and you are the only one authorized to make decisions about your life with it.

[Corrie van Wijk]

Empiricism is the idea that all knowledge comes from sensory experience, so let’s explore this a bit: have someone ask you the following questions or record and play them:

Close your eyes and direct your attention to the position of your body:

“How is your body positioned in the space around you?”

[e.g.: you are standing upright, your are sitting or lying down.]

“How does it feel where your body touches anything in the space around you?”

[e.g.: your feet touch the ground, your hands grab a branch, you feel the wind on your face.]

“What is the impact of this touching?”

[e.g.: you feel a deep pressure when your hands hold on to the branch; you feel the warmth of the sun on your face and your feet touch the ground lightly when you let go of the branch and lie down in the grass, feeling the texture of the grass on your back and a little pain in your arms.]

[Corrie van Wijk]

Find a position that you are comfortable in, close your eyes again and direct your attention to your breathing:

"Are you smelling anything in particular?"

[E.g.: the smell of fresh-cut grass.]

"When you sniff, does it become more dominant?"

[E.g.: you notice it is a bit humid as well.]

"When you turn your head, does it come from a certain direction?"

[E.g.: it comes from the direction of the garden.]

"What kind of odor is it?"

[E.g.: a 'very natural' odor.]

"What does it remind you of?"

[E.g.: 'the green green grass of home!'.]

[Corrie van Wijk]

Close your eyes and direct your attention to your surroundings:

Do your hear any sound?

What kind of sound do you hear?

From what direction does it come?

How far away is it?

Is it continuous or does it alternate?

What is the intensity?


Anything else?

What kind of?

Which direction?

How far?

Continuous of alternating?

What intensity?


Anything else?
Etc.

[Corrie van Wijk]

Now open your eyes just a little bit and look around you:

Where are you in relation to the space around you?

Turn around slowly.

Keep turning.

Do you distinguish any shapes?

Do they move or are they stable?

Do they have a colour?

What size do they have?

At what distance are they approximately?

What kind of shapes do you distinguish?


Open your eyes and have a closer look:

Is there anything else about those shapes?

Do they have a shadow?

Which would you like to approach?

Which would you need to avoid?

[Corrie van Wijk]

Orient towards something that smells good:

Of the shapes you would like to approach, which ones look eatable?


Try one of them

What does it taste like?

What does it tell you?