My last two posts (Nos. 462 & 463) have been about my view on our mental perspectives on changes we bring about through our own actions, or that some aspect of the world brings about in such a way to affect our perception. I also dealt with such changes in an earlier post (No. 393). In this post I will conclude my treatment of our human engagement with baseball, leading to our engagement with Roget’s Thesaurus in the coming several posts.

Have I been convincing about time and space in relation to baseball? Perhaps not. But there it is, an idea in one man’s mind, based on his serial linkage of perception, judgment, action, and outward engagement. Blogging requires me to put my ideas on consciousness and mind to the test in every post. That is, put them on the block for you to judge and buy or not as you wish.

I ask you to bounce my ideas on time and space off the walls of your own back box to see what you can make of them in relation to your own life experience of change when you are still, and again when you are moving. Do you see any difference?

Having raised the topic in relation to baseball, I will take a look at my two styles of hiking in the same light. In one, I stride ahead along the trail, concentrating on where to place my next step. Then I stop every few minutes to look around and listen to the new surroundings I have come to. In the first style I move right along with an emphasis on getting somewhere new. In the second, I stay perfectly still in order to appreciate the new place I have gotten myself to.

Go and stop; stop and go. That’s me on the trail, alternating my engagement with my surroundings by adopting two general strategies, one of taking step after step; the other of taking no steps at all. Always staying aware of what’s happening around me, but in two very different ways. Taken together, those alternating means of wayfaring provide me a good sense of the terrain I am passing through, while moving me ahead toward my current destination.

While moving ahead, I appreciate the steepness of the trail, the footing, available handholds, ice, water, and both birdsong and squirrel chatter as I travel. While standing still, I notice vistas of hills, ponds, ridges, treelines, spider webs, roots, brooks, shadows, insects, wildflowers, mossy banks, and other details of a setting I will likely never see in the same way again.

While driving my car in a sitting position, I can fix my attention on one thing (say, the license plate of the car ahead of me) giving me a snapshot in time. Or I can take a much broader view of the roadway ahead sweeping through my field of vision as I speed at fifty miles-an-hour in the opposite direction. In my mind, I discover two different strategies for dealing with change; how about you?

One last word about baseball. As played during the World Series (when skills have been honed for a full season), it is one of the highest forms of performance art. Imagine having to express yourself using only a ball and a bat. Put two well-rehearsed casts of characters (teams) together, playing from identical scripts, but from complementary perspectives, like Yin and Yang, taking turns on offense and defense. One cast limited in one scene to the perspective of time, the other to the perspective of space. Let each cast play at its best.

Then switch them around so Yin becomes Yang, and vice versa. Let them have at it again from where they left off in the last inning. Repeat that cycle for nine acts and see how they stand at the ending in the bottom of the ninth inning (or, if the score is tied, in overtime), how many rounds of the diamond each cast has made.

Award the year’s trophy to the cast that works best together, making the most of their individual talents at shifting from time to space, and back again. Discipline, that is the secret. Aesthetic prowess and discipline. True art for the people. Time and again; space and again. A true celebration of human perception and action, what we know as life itself, both outer and inner.

There you have it, a tribute to creativity under highly restrictive conditions, using only a ball and a bat to stir up almost every emotion humans can bear. Genius, pure genius. It happens every year. And fans love it because it is their show all along.

 

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People love to play games. My partner and I have enjoyed what must be thousands of bouts on opposite sides of a cribbage board over the past twenty years. And hundreds of games of dominoes. We move rival pegs and pieces about board and table in a state of total concentration as if everything hung on our progress as make-believe wayfarers.

Those games are a good part of our mythology as a couple, known only to us.

Such weekend games keep us sane by diverting our minds from concerns that occupy us during the rest of the week. Others play games of cards such as poker or solitaire, bridge or old maid. Many games feature fields, courts, or courses—marked-out territories occupied or traversed by opposing players or teams trading roles as defenders and aggressors. Mythological contests, again.

Humanity spends countless hours each day engrossed in nonviolent contests of skill, chance, strength, speed, and endurance. Ice hockey, boxing, and American football occupy niches close to the edge of being harmful and dangerous physical play, but for the most part sports and games, in their claim to being nonviolent, fall short of battles to the death.

Games are universally played by rules, and are officiated by umpires, referees, scorekeepers, and the players themselves. The essence of games is in the taking of turns so that players alternate in facing more-or-less equal opportunities and conditions.

I bring up sports and games in this reflection because, being governed by rules of play, they are examples of the kinds of engagement I am discussing as fundamental features of mind. Rules of play are rules of engagement are rules of thinking are rules of mythology are rules of the conscious mind.

Games are human activities in which our minds play themselves out in full public view. The game itself is what each player and spectator has in mind at the time. Here we see expectancy, attention, understanding, emotion, motivation, values, the life force, judgment, goals, strategies, and skilled action out in the open for all to see and take part in.

In films and TV programs the action takes place on a set that blocks our view of the chaos behind the scenes, so we are allowed a cut-and-spliced version that makes sense only from the camera’s point of view. That is, we are being manipulated by actors and directors and costume designers and producers and hundreds of others to see what they want us to see.

But in sports and games, we take the leading roles, so put ourselves—our innermost minds—into play, in the company of others who are doing the same thing. Which is fun because risky but safe, each side playing by the same rules of engagement. We are wayfaring in joint engagement together. That is, in friendship earned along the way during the journey at the heart of the game.

The apparent innocence of children is achieved much the same way—by being unreservedly themselves in translating thought into action. Lion cubs, ditto, when they roll about nipping each other’s ears and throats. They aren’t simply playing, they are being fully themselves at their level of development and understanding. Games are mythological enactments of the selves our children want to be.

We love them for being that honest and that free. Qualities rare among the rest of us in defending our private lives and innermost thoughts as we do so others won’t get too accurate a picture of what’s going on inside our private black boxes. In play it is safe to venture forth because we have rules to protect us.