In his Autobiography  LP Thoon explains, “The term moha, or delusion, is the mind that is deluded by sammuti (supposed form). Avijjā, or ignorance, is ignorance of these sammuti (supposed form).” this one line — and his explanation that sammutti operates hand-in-hand with the 4^th aggregate of immagination —  has really been weighing on me. It makes some sense though; for our imaginations to function, to fabricate imaginary futures, imaginary belongings, and imaginary identity — imaginary stillness in an actually ever-shifting world —  we need form to peg our concepts to. I need an Eric to peg my concept of partner to, and I need a Platonic Partner to peg my abstract ideals and imaginings of what a happy, meaningful, fulfilled life with some partner will be like.

As part of that larger, more systematic, consideration of sammuti, I did go back and plug-in my Ubai of bubbles and it proved to be deeply revealing: What we call a bubble arises when 4es come together in a bubble-y shape. There is a duration, where it maintains that shape that we continue to call it bubble –it has the sammuti of bubble. And then, the elements disaggregate and we can no longer credible call the thing a bubble, quite literally the sammuti bursts. The truth is, even when the bubble has its basic bubble shape, it is continually shifting and changing and sliding over itself. It isn’t really the same object from one instant to the next, it is just close enough –contiguous enough –that our minds can still it, fix it, with the name ‘bubble.’

Of course, bubble is a simple and straight forward thing. Most sammuti –mother, partner — are more complex, heaped with additional meaning and expectation. But mechanistically, they are the same: I want to fix things — make them still — hold them in a state I like, with characteristics that I like, even though they are ever-changing, multi valiant, arising/ceasing based on causes and acting in accord with those causes. Both the physical form of Mom, and Eric change, and their traits/characteristics (manifested through behaviors/actions that are physical), change and move outside my fixed supposition of what they should be.  Both sets of changes –when they get far enough outside of my standards of acceptable — are daggers through my heart. And let me tell you something, a sick, cancer ridden, dying Eric that is waaayyyy outside my standard of acceptable.

Why? Well, obviously, because I love him, because I have pegged the meaning of my life, and the future I imagine, to him as an embodiment of my Platonic Partner ideal. Seriously, I draw a big ole blank when I try and imagine a future without him: Proof that #4 and sammuti are peas in a pod.

What then does it precisely mean that the mind is deluded by sammuti? That ignorance is ignorance of sammuti? Stay tuned, because I am not ready to conclude yet, clearly this is some pretty nuanced shit. But –when I think of the delta between what Eric is, and how I view him, I can’t help but observe that the same exact mechanics are at work with Alana — a continually shifting heap of happenings and a form, that I clobber onto and use to try and fix, to define and hold onto. Ugh shifting sands (nama), set upon more slowly shifting sands (rupa), that I try to thingify… which brings me to the observation that  Atta has gotta be just one more glorified sammuti, and clearly that lil ole’ misconception there is at the heart of my super-delusion.

Anyway, to sorta end (more like till next time) this email where I began, there is suffering. Years ago, I asked Mae Yo the relationship between impermanence and suffering. Her reply, “suffering comes from something stopping..it’s anything that you need to tolerate. impermanence is continuous movement, not stopping. suffering is like you want it to stop but it moves. it’s putting a stick in the water and causing ripples.” Back then, the response was totally impenetrable. Frankly, it is still somewhat impenetrable, but one part is so very very clear: Through samutti, I am always trying to stop what keeps moving, and man oh man do I suffer every time that fucking stick fails to stop the river.

And so, my life is literally on a loop of dissatisfaction — I want things to be what they are not — I want to freeze them and hold onto the concepts I have supposed them to be. I either try and force shit to fit my concept (like my mom), or I endlessly chase down objects that, at least momentarily, align with my belief of what they ‘should’ be. And when those objects show themselves to be what they are, not what I want — sometimes through the inescapables of aging, disease and death –I am devastated. No object is what I think it is. No object is what my concept of it is.