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          A      "On Hard Drives, Samnyasa, and the    aNAda #46   A
        A             Future of the Human Soul"                      A
     A                        by Puck                  04/24/00         A
 A                                                                          A
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        I formatted my hard drive last night, and now it's got me thinking a
 lot about the human soul.  In fact, it's got me thinking so much about the
 human soul, that I'm compelled to write a T-file.  And I haven't been
 compelled to write a T-file for years.  Any-hoot.  When I was a freshman in
 college, about five or six years ago, I was enrolled in an Indian Philosophy
 class.  It was taught by a man named Rama Rao Pappu.  We called him Dr.
 Pappu.  Thinking back on this, I'm surprised I hadn't come up with a more
 creative, endearing name for the guy, but I was only a freshman.  I still
 had a degree of respect for authority.  Even robed, thick accented, one-of-
 the-syllables-of-my-last-name-is-pronounced-POO authority.

        Dr. Pappu's class was a very surreal experience on many levels.  The
 class met twice a week for two hours.  The lecture hall was about ten times
 larger than it needed to be for such a small class, so the students were
 spread out.  This was the first class I ever fell asleep in.  Falling asleep
 in this class was magical.  Pappu's hypnotic voice would echo lightly
 through the room.  My eyes would slowly shut, and I would drift off into one
 of those half-dreams where everything, anything, and nothing makes tangible
 sense.  I've tried for years to recapture the serenity that accompanied a
 nap in Indian Philosphy, but have yet to figure out the key elements to such
 bliss.

        On one of the days where I was perhaps too caffeinated for sleep, we
 learned about the Samnyasa - men in Indian, who, upon reaching an old age,
 would shed themselves of all their worldly possessions, don a robe, and
 wander from town to town living off of charity.  The philosophy was this --
 each object that a person owned carried with it a certain gravity.  It would
 bind itself to his soul.  Releasing these objects was a holistically freeing
 experience.  The Samnyasa were no longer chained to their goods.  They were
 free to wander, and enjoy one phatty chunk of happiness before they were
 ashes in a chamber pot.

        As a college freshman, the idea of one day becoming Samnyasa was very
 appealing to me.  I understood what it mean to be bound by ones'
 possessions.  As I moved into my second and third years of college, the idea
 only became more enticing... having moved through countless dorms and
 apartments, I was quick to appreciate the enormous amount of junk I had
 accumulated.  I was looking forward to the day where I could just chuck it
 out the window, pick up some hospy scrubs, sandals, and trot through the
 suburbs as the town Samnyasan.

        Regrettably, the self-realization concerning my attachment to
 possessions that was so powerful in my youth began to fade, along with many
 idealisms.  My fourth and fifth years at college were unwittingly spent
 ammassing an enormous collection of possessions.  My unexpected financial
 success after college only fueled this behavior.  I'm a techno-dependent
 yuppie living on Chicago's north side.

        And so it was that last night, while formatting my hard drive, I
 stumbled upon the future of the Samnyasa.  The virtual Samnyasa.  Formatting
 my hard drive was such a liberating experience, and a perfect metaphor for
 such an unattainable path.  My machine was cleansed.  My soul was cleansed.
 When you format your machine and reinstall an operating system, it's as if
 you dumped a gallon of grease into the gears.  Programs launch quicker, your
 system runs more efficiently.  Pointing and clicking becomes a very holy
 experience.  And so the trend begins... as a person's life becomes
 synonymous with the contents of his hard drive, perhaps there will be
 therapy techniques based entirely on memory formatting.  Support groups.
 12 step programs.  (Step 1:  Admit you have a problem.  Step 2:  Format the
 FUCK out of it.  And so on.)
 
        Sadly, however, formatting a hard drive is a very temporary fix.  The
 permanence of impermanence, the sanctity of chaos and entropy -- my hard
 drive will inevitably become cluttered once more.  I will once again move
 through the day sluggishly, chained to the earth by my dependence on my
 possessions.  When the burden becomes too much, when that last blue screen
 breaks the camel's back, I'll format again.  I'll make sacrifices.  Chuck
 year-old programs out the window.  Get rid of those jpg's of ex-girlfriends.
 Acknowledge that no, I'll never get around to watching that .asf file of the
 Dudley Do-Right movie.  But my computer is going to stay right where it is.
 On my IKEA desk.  Right next to my AIWA stereo.  Holding up my Palm Pilot.
 Underneath my Waiting for Guffman poster.  And so on.  And so on.  And so
 on.

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 {  (c)2000 aNAda e'zine *                            * aNAda046 * by Puck  }
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