Most things make sense to me only in the context I have created. This is what I have been doing since I was born. I shape the context so that I can relate to what I experience.
I noticed that when I dictated a text message to someone last evening, Siri wrote down a word both I and the recipient knew was not correct. We each inserted the meaning of the correct word. We knew to do this only because of the shaped context both of us brought to the reading of the text message. We both knew what I meant, even though a literal reading of the written world was something else.
This happens constantly. It happens when I am interpreting, actually deciphering the meaning of something I have earlier written in longhand. My handwriting is notoriously hard to read, even for me. My scrawl is more like shorthand and is only remotely accurate in forming enough letters to spell out words. But I am still consistently able to understand the meaning of the partially-written words because I am aware of the context. My mind supplies all the form that the lines on paper only suggest or remotely represent.
This is like most of my life. Things I experience typically make sense to me because of the context I supply. I often see what I expect to see. When I notice a neighbor in their yard, I typically see whom I expect to see. This happens spontaneously until I become aware of information that contradicts what the context provides. I might realize that the person I noticed actually isn’t my neighbor but someone else.
When I visit with a neighbor or other friend, our whole conversation is awash in the context of our past association. We each bring context to a conversation that could be very brief in duration. Context fills in many gaps and expands the meaning of much that is said.
I am increasingly aware how my body brings context to most of what I encounter. It is a context built out of many years of experience and practice. A body that has learned to be anxious or cautious shapes my experience of people I don’t know, especially people of color. A relaxed and receptive body creates a whole different context when I meet friends or walk through my garden. The context shapes the experience.
The world I walk in every minute has meaning because of the context my life has shaped. Learning to see things as they really are requires that I be able to somehow put most of that context aside. It demands that I quiet a body and a mind that is eager to provide an abundance of context and meaning.
Learning to shed the habit of context comes from practice. Learning how to quiet my body and mind is neither easy or rapid. Learning to shed my habit of creating context happens slowly, but it requires surprisingly little effort. That is the way that letting go of habits is for me. Letting go is not effort. It is not acting.
I think it helps when I have the intention of creating a different kind of context. Sometimes that means creating a context of no presumptions. It helps to have the intention of living in a daily world of unlimited possibilities. This is a context I find attractive. This is a context I would like to live in.