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The most basic thing of all is one that we consider so little: the very feel of life and how deeply it touches us. Are we embarrassed by the fact we tremble at our own existence; that in our secret selves life is so delicate, delicious, exquisite; that we thrill to the life we feel and cherish the thrill of experience?
Violence obscures the delicate fabric of self. Violence and desire are powerful forces in public life. Flashy, showy, pushy—they hide the quiet underside that fulfills in other ways. How odd it is that violent desire often augments hunger, whereas quiet pleasures satisfy us.
We should be moved by the feel of life as such and not just by its extravagant forms. What a relief to come upon a soul who cherishes this precious sense. And not only cherishes it but works with it as it evolves throughout a lifetime. A parson's son, wading in the field of the psyche via autosuggestion (the Nancy School), tasting psyche, tasting spirit. Quakers, Krishnamurti, holistic thought, Bohm, Bion, the list keeps growing.
In a recent talk, Jan Stensson speaks of the Mima, the intuitive function, in Harry Martinson's poem, Aniara (Martinson, 1999). The Mima is akin to the baby's openness to the world, a way of tuning into life, of finding out how life sounds and tastes and gives itself to us—what I call ‘psychic taste buds’ (Eigen, 2005, 2006a, b).
The mima tuned us in to signs of lifespread far and wide.But where, the mima gives no word of.We pull in traces, pictures, landscapes, scraps of languagebeing spoken some place, only where?
Where is the where of intuition, the sense that feels but cannot be seen or touched? I believe it tastes and can be tasted. Some of us are devoted to tasting the psyche and letting others know that the Mima is there, tuning in to life as a whole, with special tastes and feels.