Stream of Consciousness - Part II: Letting Go

In contrast to what I have seen as a driving force in my culture, I have sought for most of my life not to acquire what I do not have, but to progressively shed the things I carry with me. Over the years, I have derived less and less value from the nonessential material things that I own, as they sit collecting dust in a storage unit across town. Except for 2-3 brief visits to collect climbing gear and blankets, I have not touched most of my possessions in over two years since leaving for Zambia. Instead, their growing weight seems to defy the laws of physics, becoming increasingly more burdensome to my nomadic lifestyle.

I have sought to shed unnecessary emotional baggage -- to relinquish jealousy, anger and "blind" ambition. I used to think that these would always be inevitable forces in my life; however, I have discovered that they are simply the only option that I was explicitly given to deal with situations in my environment. My transformation arose from the realisation that emotions like jealousy are truly optional, unnecessary, and universally detrimental. This awareness has served as an impetus to seek truer and more progressive ways to react to my environment, in other words: to develop my response-ability.

As someone whose early life was strongly influenced by the values of academia, I have sought to shed my western preconceptions about learning and knowledge, which are dominated by deductive reasoning based on theoretical assumptions. Research is conducted in controlled, isolated environments, where results that do not conform to a specific hypothesis are often thrown out. In addition to contributing to the validation of misconceptions, this type of knowledge acquisition can often miss the larger picture or obscure the actual underlying influencing factors. Academics tend to reject more holistic approaches, which encompass non-traditional types of information, as "subjective" and therefore unreliable. However, a deeper examination of phenomena--especially social issues--reveals that human actions are inextricably linked to emotion.

If events are only reported in an objective context, the true "occurrance" may never be unearthed--only the physically manifested effects. For example, in war reporting, the number of casualties and the damage to infrastructure do not reflect the event from the perspective of individuals involved, but rather from the perspective of a bird flying high overhead, able to see only the sum total of physical collateral damage. If we view the war from the perspective of anyone on the ground, we see that their experiences are largely dominated by anxiety and the desire for survival. They may not remember "bird's-eye" facts with accuracy, but their collective depictions form a clearer picture of what actually happened: the rapid proliferation of acute fear and paranoia. The specific casualties and infrastructural damage are given more weight as the primary "occurance" in western reporting, even though they materialise as a product of the underlying phenomenon and the opportunity to manifest as such. I have been trying to let go of traditional ways of understanding situations so that I can get closer to the truth than a bird flying overhead ever could.

 

In my photography, I employ a minimalist approach regarding the use of lenses and other equipment. Unless I have a specific reason not to do so, I use a pocket-sized Canon Powershot SD 880 for the majority of my work. I understand the value of different types of lenses, filters, and camera bodies. However, I will still try to get the shot I want with my little guy first, even if it requires more effort and creative manipulation. Only in situations where the shot calls for something truly outside the gamut of my pocket camera's capability will I pull out my SLR, tripod and assortment of equipment, such as for the long exposures required in sidereal photography. Photography has always been a way for me to connect to my environment, my images depicting the interaction of something that has happened and my primordial response to it. Fumbling with gear and debating over camera settings detracts from my ability to capture that spontaneous exchange. I rarely think about how to frame an image, what exposure and aperture settings to use, and how I should portray a subject. I see or feel something that compels me to lift my camera; the shot has already been taken before I even realise what my fingers had been doing to capture it. I let go of focusing on technique and allow my environment to pull me in; my image serves as a product of our ephemeral union.

 

Letting go of the things I hold creates a space for opportunities to appear organically--that is, instead of pulling, I allow the beautiful forces already present in my environment to direct my way. It has always led me to experiences that have provoked personal growth and kept me in touch with the wonders of life. This force lies waiting for everyone -- but it requires letting go of the notion that specific institutions, equipment, prerequisites, or credentials will bring you where you want to go. You do not need permission to do something great, nor do you need nearly as many resources as you think. This is both a liberating and startling realisation -- for it implies that the potential has always been there but the path must be forged through intuition each step of the way.