A Grasshopper diversion

A little meditation about bliss and neuroplasticity

Photo by Shubham Dhage on Unsplash

The Grasshopper Letter, 8/26/24: The Pursuit of Bliss and Neuroplasticity

In which I veer away from politics for a moment

Taking a short break from political writing today after last week’s marathon DNC celebration. I do want to offer an apology of sorts regarding a piece I did this weekend about the possibility of ending the filibuster in Congress under a Harris administration. As several readers pointed out, I was in error about some aspects of the filibuster. I’ll be doing better research next time.

Lately I find myself longing for change, specifically a new place and a new state of mind. A few years ago I dated a lovely Russian woman who held two doctorates, one in neuroscience, and she gave me one of the best compliments I’ve ever received. She said, you have remarkable neuroplasticity for your age (she is ten years younger).

I’ll take compliments like that all the time. But sometimes I worry if that plasticity is as plastic as it used to be. A lot of things get less flexible when you get older; bodies, ideas, and minds come to mind. I certainly do not want to write a newsletter about aging. There’s enough about that in my political writing!

But neuroplasticity might be a topic and it starts with optimism, hence my title. The bliss requires optimism and an open mind.

I had an answer when Katia complimented me. As a developing adolescent I consumed quite a few psychedelics as a bored suburban kid. You might say we moved from exploring the woods and water to exploring whatever is behind reality.

Some of that stuck with me, probably because it took place while I was still developing physically and mentally. But the lesson learned, that the world is not what we think it is, has remained. I had a glimpse behind the curtain and have not forgotten it these many decades later, it was so vivid.

These days the roles of neuroplasticity and psychedelics are intertwined as we see more evidence emerging that those drugs seem to rearrange the pathways of nerves in our brains in startling ways. Makes sense to me because I have never felt like the person I was before my first dose of LSD, which blissfully, was a wonderful experience.

I think bliss is another possible topic because you can’t pursue it, all you can do is set the stage and see if that stag wanders into the glade. These days my tools are a simple form of Zen meditation, hopefully surrounded by trees. Though I live in a city, it is extremely green and looks like a forest with steeples from high above.

And in that forest, literally across the street from my building, is a Zen Center in a former gothic mansion and behind it is a Japanese garden, impeccably maintained by invisible monks, or so I speculate because it is extremely rare to see anyone in there. But it’s open and that’s where I go to practice, weather permitting.

Sitting in the fenced in garden, among the mature Japanese maples, I feel I’m in an urban island, someone’s hidden place that even they have forgotten. Those are the places where my familiar city starts to reveal cracks in its reality, places where you might catch a glimpse of another reality under the surface.

I wrote an unpublished novel, my first, about those cracks in reality. I am considering serializing it here because I simply don’t want to go through the rigmarole of finding an agent and hopefully selling it. I binged on that experience in the nineties when I wrote seven non-fiction books in something like five years. And yes I got advances and royalties and some international translations.

That was all good but seeing a novel through the traditional publishing process in these times is really hard and you have to want it really bad. There are things I really want, like the aforementioned bliss, but publishing the old way is not one of them.

(Hey, I used the word ‘aforementioned’! How about that?)

Aside from politics, this summer has been very low key and I’m ok with that. But I’m also ready to change things up a bit as we transition into fall. I’m not sure why we see seasonal changes as times for personal change but we are creatures of nature and there’s no reason we would be immune to the natural cycles of dormancy and rebirth.

I’ll be launching a new newsletter this fall on a completely different passion of mine, cooking. I know, there are almost as many food newsletters here on Substack as writing letters, but I have a different angle. Right now I’m sketching out a few examples to see if it interests me to make the commitment to the topic. You’ll see them soon, maybe.

Thanks again to all my readers, paid and free, and those nice people who occasionally buy me a coffee. And to those thoughtful commenters. They remind me that most Americans are passionate about the truth and the rule of law.

Martin Edic

This is a reader supported newsletter. Please consider helping out by upgrading to a paid subscription or donating a small amount through Buy Me A Coffee, a site for small financial contributions. Thanks, ME