We are sentient beings. As conscious entities we often look for meaning in what at first appears to be an uncaring universe.  This seems to be the way we are, constantly seeking for meaning that relates to our own lives.

Religion and philosophy are attempts to render meaning to our lives.  People of long ago, living in constant contact with the natural world, often looked to nature for meaning, searching for meaning in the behavior of animals, in the weather, and in other natural phenomena.

We have a rational, logical side to our nature, and we have the great body of information given to us by science, and by that great tool, the scientific method which can give us demonstrable truth, truth that can be demonstrated to others.

But our soul cries out for other truths, truths that are more subtle than that learned by the blunt tool of science, truths that do not lend themselves easily to demonstration.

There have been times of great emotional storms in my life in which I searched for meaning in the small things about me…times in which I tried to quell the storm within and tried to listen to that “still, small voice” that speaks to us all, but often goes unheard in the turmoil of modern society.

At such times I often go for walks and look for insight in the world about me.  And if I am able to still the waters within,  I often hear things.   This morning I heard the small brook speaking to me.  The rains had lessened recently, and the voice of the little stream had changed, become more melodious and fuller as its flow diminished.  It’s gurgle and burble sounded like an ancient voice that spoke a language that hovered on the edge of comprehensibility.

An eagle sounded as I ambled along, a sound that I have heard so often, that it threatens to become commonplace.  I stopped to listen and to appreciate more fully the wild character of the call.

Then I remembered that two nights ago when I stepped from my car about two hours after midnight, I paused for a second and looked up at a rare, clear, night sky at the Big Dipper.  I remembered how long ago my father pointed out to a small boy how the Big Dipper is always pointing to Polaris, the North Star, and showed me where it points.  I checked, and sure enough, it is still pointing to this guide star.

As I paused there in the darkness, I heard the oh-so-soft hooting of the Great Horned Owl.  It was immediately answered by another.  I had often wondered why I seldom heard owls even though my house is surrounded by forest.   The calls were so faint and soft that I know that I could have easily missed them as I rushed from the car into the house.

So I stood there longer in the darkness, wondering if further mysteries were to be hinted at.  Then far off over the Sound, I heard a growing sound that increased until it sounded like the yapping of hounds in the sky.  For a second I thought of the hunting dogs of Diana, or Artemis, coursing through the night sky in pursuit of some unknown prey.  I shook my head, but the sound remained the same.  I told myself that it was Canada Geese on their northern migration, but I have heard these geese many times, and this did not sound the same.  Whatever it was, it gradually faded, growing fainter until I was left standing in the dark listening to the soft hooting.

Perhaps I should pause more often and slow my pace and open my eyes…and ears…and mind.

I loved the way that this writer found meaning in the birds of a walk that he took.  In fact I admire his entire blog.

           We are self-aware entities cursed, or blessed, with the foreknowledge of our personal extinction.  We realize that our passage through this amazing universe is a short, fleeting journey.  And as we pass along, our journey seems to accelerate, and with growing apprehension, we watch the wonders flash by us as we approach the inevitable.

          Our actions become influenced by this foreknowledge.  We grasp at the flashing seconds, trying to savor more fully the fleeting, evanescent scenes that seem as dreams as we pass by,  looking back with astonishment like travelers in a speeding train, trying to discern the landscape behind us that passes into shifting mist and then is lost.

           A blessing and, yes, a curse.  But as our existence accelerates, we can make a conscious decision to…put on the brakes, to pause and examine closely, in detail, each moment like a precious golden coin, squeezed between our fingers, savoring the details, the look, the touch, the taste and realizing that in this great universe there are wonders beyond belief and imagination, beyond comprehension, and then we can appreciate how incredibly blessed we are to have had this journey, not only to have had it, but to have been fully conscious of its wonders.

           Make a conscious decision now to decide just exactly what it is in this life that is important to you.  Decide this and then decide to consciously be aware of each precious moment.  Then take it and live it!

          I recently reread Latro of the Mist which combines two of Gene Wolfe’s books (Soldier of the Mist and Soldier of Arete) into one book.  In this book Wolfe (who has been described by some as one of the best writers in the English language) tells the story of Latro, a Roman, who suffered a severe head injury while fighting for the Persian King, Xerxes, against the Greeks at the battle of Plataea.

          Latro has lost his long term memory and overnight forgets everything that happened the previous day.  As a sort of compensation he is able to see and talk to the gods.  He is told that he must write down a detailed account of the events of each day, and make sure to read it the next morning when he gets up so he can maintain some sort of continuity in his life.   The two books are thus the journal that he keeps (I just found out that there is a third book in the series: Soldier of Sidon.).   I enjoyed the books very much, and as always Wolfe showed his consumate skill as a writer.

     I was reminded of these books today after reading an article about the death of Henry Gustav Molaison, who after an operation performed in 1953 to relieve severe seizures lost his ability to retain long term memories…or almost any memory except some from his childhood.   This is a man like the fictional Latro who constantly found himself in a new world, living almost solely in the present.  The article didn’t say how long Molaison retained his memories, although I believe it was much shorter than one day.

          Two finger-shaped slivers of tissue from the hippocampus were removed and thus in effect removed much of Molaison’s personality.  This man has been extensively studied for 55 years, (never remembering from one interview to the next the interviewer), and as far as I know nobody suggested that he keep a daily journal to maintain some sort of continuity in his life!   I have to wonder why this wasn’t suggested to this poor man.  At least he could have made recordings.   Perhaps his memory didn’t even last one day, perhaps it only lasted minutes before fading.

         Apparently Molaison could retain motor skills learned from prior experimental sessions which led scientists to conclude that there were at least two systems in the brain for creating memories.  One which they called declarative memory recorded names, faces and experiences, storing them until consciously retrieved.  This system depends especially on the hippocampus.

      The other system, known as motor learning depends on other brain systems and is unconscious.  This explains why a person can ride a bicycle years after last riding one.

      This all makes me wonder about the nature of consciousness and memory.  Apparently Molaison was an easy going fellow, and when living with relatives would navigate through the day drawing upon memories from his first 27 years, fixng a lunch, making his bed, mowing the lawn, raking leaves, etc.  This man lived in the present.  Can a person have a true personality in this condition?  Some say that beasts live in the present, in the now, with no past and no intimations of the future.  After watching a beloved member of my family gradually lose their memory and their personality, this subjects holds a special interest for me.

              Molaison lived for 82 years and was born Feb 26, 1926.  He left no survivors.  He died in an institution…I wonder if he ever saw the gods.

     The Hognose snake (Heterodon platyrhinos) was going through its impressive repertoire.  First it flattened its head and neck out like a cobra, showing the lighter yellow color between the dark scales.  Then it raised its head up off the ground, making striking motions (with its mouth closed).   However, it ignored my hand when I held it up before its head, continuing to hiss and flatten its neck as it attempted to crawl away.  This behavior is what has given this harmless snake (although some may have a reaction to its saliva) such names as Spreading Adder and Death Adder.   When I patted it with my hand the snake went into further histrionics, gaping its mouth wide, writhing as if in its death throes, salivating profusely, tongue hanging out of the gaping mouth, dirt clogging its mouth, until finally it stopped all motion lying on its back apparently dead.  Poor thing!  However, when I tried to turn it back over onto its stomach it would immediately turn back over on its back.  It lay there, muddy mouth wide open with its tongue lolling.  I reached down and tried to turn it over onto its stomach again, whereupon it turned back onto its back.  When I pushed my finger in its mouth, it totally ignored it.  This is one of my favorite snakes!

        This is the classic reaction of this snake to potential predators, and I had seen it and marveled over it many times.  I waited once again as I had many times in the past, to see what it would do.  I sat motionless a few feet away, until after a few minutes, I noticed the mouth of the snake close and its head turn.  It appeared to be looking around.  When I moved the snake went right back into its “death feigning” behavior.  If I stayed still, the snake would gradually recover, turn back onto its stomach and begin to crawl off.  It would revert back into its dead position if I made a movement towards it.

      In other words it seemed to have some sort of “conscious” control over its behavior.  The death feigning did not, in my opinion, represent an uncontrollable fit or a spontaneous, neurological reaction to hostile stimulai, but a voluntary response of some sort.  However, when I suggested this to another person, he pooh-poohed the idea saying that a primitive reptile like this Hognose snake could not possibly have a consciousness, thus there could be no voluntary action, but only an uncontrollable reaction to a stimulus.  I was nonplussed at this, but saw the reasoning.  He was saying that the brain was of insufficient complexity to show such a high order of reasoning…there could be no consciousness as I conceived of it.   I could understand his reasoning, but dang it, the snake acted as if it had some sort of voluntary control over its actions, immediately feigning death again if I made a movement during its recovery phase!  I couldn’t believe it was merely a stimulus/response reaction with no voluntary mediation.

     I hooked one of these snakes up to a Physiograph in the lab to record the breathing rate and electrocardiogram.  I thought that perhaps by comparing the readings for a snake not undergoing death feigning to those of a snake which was undergoing this behavior, some light could be shed upon the nature of this behavior.  I never obtained conclusive results.  It was suggested that I would have to open the snake up and correlate the readings with the actual observed heart beat…I was loathe to do this and dropped the whole thing.

       A few years later I held an opossum (Didelphis marsupialis) by the scruff of the neck watching its reactions to my rough handling…glazed eyes, open mouth, lolling tongue, limp body.  I placed it on the ground and it lay there motionless, apparently dead.  The Virginia Opossum (The “O” is not pronounced!) is famous for it’s death feigning behavior, and in some ways its act resembled that of the Hognose snake.  I drew back from the opossum and observed it. 

     Like the snake, the opossum slowly seemed to return to normal.  First its eyes lost its staring glaze and it began to look around.  Then its head moved slightly.  When I made a movement, it immediately lay still and its eyes regained their glazed look, staring into nothingness.  Like the snake, the opossum seemed to have a subtle voluntary control over the behavior.  If it was a convulsive fit, then it was a remarkably versatile type of involuntary neurological reaction, able to respond to the slightest stimulai.  Not only that but it appeared to be voluntary.  The nervous system of the opossum is a bit more complex than the snake, but its brain is still not as large as that of a similar sized dog or cat as shown when the two skulls are held side by side.  The cranium of the opossum is noticeably smaller.

    To test the opossum further I reached over and squeezed its nostrils closed.  The creature seemed unfazed, but it did begin to breath through its mouth which remained open.

     Anyway these behaviors and others got me to thinking about consciousness.  It seems to be assumed that creatures such as insects and other invetebrates have no consciousness, but are in essence little organic machines, and that in order for an organism to be conscious it has to have at least some sort of complex central nervous system.

     There are many definitions of consciousness with entire books being written on the question of what it is exactly.  One of the components of consciousness seems to involve behavior that is performed with an awareness of the action as opposed to actions that are performed without the awareness of the individual, being involuntary–no volition involved.

    This is an area that fascinates me, and as I research the subject further, I hope to write further on it.