I didn’t know what to expect from Vienna. I had a week in the city attending a work conference, and beyond knowing it was the capital of Austria, and that ‘Before Sunrise’ took place there (I downloaded the movie and have yet to watch it), I came in with fresh eyes.

Now at the end of the week, the whole trip sped by. The greeks have two words for time ; Kronos and Kairos. Kronos being chronological time - that which is captured by the clock and calendar. Kairos being sacred time - everything that is beyond the clock, the timeless. Moments where the very notion of time falls away.

As I sit in the cathedral listening to the tolling bells (pay attention they say), I exist in Kairos. Or better said, the self and all its petty concerns don’t exist there, it’s simply reality. 

I think back to my trip to Japan and see the similarities and differences. They both force you to pay attention but in different ways. The Japanese aesthetic is one of minimalism, an empty room with a tatami mat and vase allows you to bring your entire being to the vase.

In Vienna, beauty is through intricacy and detail. Every nook of a building is laden with design, and the closer you look, the countless of hours of craftsmanship reveal themselves to you. Attention is focused through detail.

Being in the city forces me to slow down. Although I’m perpetually distracted by my phone, I resolve to switch it to do not disturb for most of the trip, and instead take out my paper notebook and kindle. I read ‘Writing down the bones’ - a book that blends together writing and Zen practice. In slowing down and writing by hand, you look more carefully at the passing thoughts. In speaking with a Roshi, he tells the author ‘Why don’t you make writing your practice?”

Pico Iyer says it’s only through stillness and silence, can we make any sense of our experience. Writing is a way to dissect through your clattered mind and solidify passing thoughts in ink. Most of what I write in the notebook touches on the same themes ; how to pay attention, how to live a good life, who to become and how to see. Spilling the internal experience onto the page is the practice, and in the act you transform yourself. 

I write in cafe’s, often at night. I wish more cities had a late night cafe culture I think. The fading light outside casts the sky into a deep blue, contrasting the marble cream buildings. The city reveals hidden dimensions of itself under the night sky, where what was once a bustling city during the day, transforms into a quiet romantic conversation. It feels more personal at night. 

Writing by hand, my thoughts and sentences become more elaborate and meandering. I raise questions but rarely reach any answers. Whilst typing, I race to the point, wanting to bundle every ‘takeaway’‘ into easy to read listicles. I note all my favourite authors write their first draft by hand.

I think about how we capture reality; videos, photos, writing, stories. I love watching vlogs and videos, but they often take the nuance away. Photos introduce a little more nuance, a singular moment upto your interpretation. But writing I think has the most, it’s about the internal, invisible and unseen state. Everything that cannot be captured by the camera. 

I walk through the city in silence, looking. As the sun sets, I stumble upon a lone opera singer in the Park. A mother and daughter walk by, and the child gazes up in wonder, captured by the lilting melodies. ‘Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity’.

Pilgrimage is a word that comes to mind. Travel being less about the destination, but instead as a vehicle to be transformed. 

Paul Graham has an essay where he says that every city whispers a secret message to you. For me, Vienna says : pay attention, it is good to be surrounded by beautiful things.

Amazon just sneakily announced that you’ll soon be unable to download their eBooks to your system from next week onwards.

The catalogue of 500+ books I’ve purchased from Amazon (i.e. worth £4000+ ) doesn’t really belong to me. I’ve already had scenarios where Amazon have removed access to a book that I’ve previously purchased.

One of the key principles of the indie web is owning your data. Take this blog, its just markdown files on my computer, run through a static site generator. I own all of the content.

This should be the same with all of your digital media.

It took about 40 minutes to download my entire catalogue. I’m out!

TLDR: On koans and thinking about connections.

There is a zen koan that goes :

Why did the clear eyed boddhisatva

fail to sever the red thread?

I came across this koan reading a book by John Tarrant called ‘Bring Me the Rhinoceros: And Other Zen Koans That WIll Save Your Life’. Koans are phrases that are meant to be contemplated upon and in doing so ‘short circuit’ logical ways of thinking.

It uses words to point to concepts or insights that cannot be captured by words. Fingers pointing to the moon.

I’ve been pondering this Koan whilst staying in India. In Buddhist philosophy, there is this concept of ‘Indra’s net’. It describes a vast net that stretches infinitely in all directions; a metaphor for the idea of interconnectedness.

Nothing exists in isolation - everything is defined by its relationships with everything else. We cannot exist without a string of causes and effects. The purpose of the koan is to move beyond a conceptual understand of this phenomena to an embodied/experiential understanding.

I want to explore this insight because at least according to Buddhist philosophy, experientially understanding interconnectedness (dependent origination) is a fundamental part of ’liberation/enlightenment’.

Selves

To understand a network of relationships, we first need to understand the individual nodes i.e. the ‘selves’. The Cartesian model ‘I think therefore I am’ denotes the self as only internally created. Philippe Rochat proposes a more social model of ‘selfing’ where each person is crafting multiple selves that operate in different contexts.

The self is spread out within the minds of the people around you, and each person has a different self for each of the people she knows, the cultural context and the environment.

Identity is created in relation to others and the context, and maintaining a coherent internal model is part of ‘selfing’.

David Chalmers takes this further with his “Extended Mind” thesis, suggesting that our cognitive processes and sense of self extend not just through social networks but into our physical environment. We are, in essence, as much our relationships and surroundings as we are our thoughts.

Personally, we overly identify with our individual self, and often ignore the millions of ‘red threads’ that are connecting us with others and the environment. This leads to a fundamental sense of isolation/loneliness, especially heightened in the West.

Understanding Loneliness Through Connection

When we view the self as fundamentally interconnected, loneliness takes on a different meaning. It’s not just an emotional state but a signal - like physical pain - warning us about fraying connections in our social fabric. Just as pain tells us something is wrong with our body, loneliness tells us something is wrong with our web of relationships.

Modern discourse often frames loneliness as an individual problem requiring individual solutions. “Learn to be comfortable alone,” we’re told, or “Find happiness within yourself.” But this advice stems from the Western independent self-construal - it assumes loneliness is a problem of the individual rather than the network.

If we adopt the interdependent view, loneliness isn’t about being physically alone. You can feel profoundly lonely in a crowded room if the threads of meaningful connection are missing. Conversely, you can be physically isolated yet feel deeply connected if your web of relationships remains strong. This explains why technological connection - despite giving us constant contact - hasn’t solved the loneliness epidemic. We’ve substituted shallow, numerous connections for deep, meaningful ones.

When we experience loneliness, we’re often not missing general social contact - we’re missing the experience of being deeply known and understood by others, of having our internal model of self aligned with others’ models of us. This misalignment between our self-image and how others see us creates a kind of cognitive dissonance that manifests as loneliness.

Cultural Lenses of Self

It’s interesting how different cultures handle the self.

These cultural differences in how we construct the self became startlingly clear during my sister’s wedding in India. While in the West, you may introduce yourself as an individual (‘I’m a software engineer from…’), the introductions I received were entirely relational: ‘This is Rajesh’s nephew, who used to play with my daughter when they were small.’ Each introduction was a reminder that in this context, my identity wasn’t just about my personal attributes – it was woven into a complex tapestry of relationships.

There is a framework called the ’’ independent vs. interdependent self-construal theory’ (Kitayama/Markus) which describes how people from different cultures fundamentally view themselves in relation to others.

Independent Self-Construal (typically associated with Western cultures):

• Self is viewed as autonomous and separate from others
• Identity is defined by individual attributes and accomplishments
• Personal goals take priority over group goals
• Success is often measured by individual achievement
• Example: An American might say “I am outgoing, creative, and hardworking”

Interdependent Self-Construal (typically associated with Asian cultures):

• Self is viewed as connected and interrelated with others
• Identity is defined by relationships and social roles
• Group harmony and collective goals are prioritised
• Success is measured by fulfilling social obligations and maintaining relationships
• Example: A Japanese person might describe themselves in terms of their role: “I am a daughter, a team member at work, part of my neighbourhood community”

These different ways of constructing the self influence cognition/emotion/motivation/behaviour. Modern globalisation is also blurring the boundaries between these two leading to hybrid forms of self construction.

TLDR : Selves are simulated in multiple brains at different levels of granularity. Different cultures likely influence how the self is constructed with Eastern cultures having a self that is more socially constructed.

Interconnectedness

The idea of interconnectedness seems heightened whilst I’m here in India for my sisters wedding, particularly in terms of relationships.

Hundreds of people approached me, each weaving their thread into the tapestry. They were at my mothers wedding, or had seen my sister/me grow up, or knew the family in some way. Each introduction wasn’t just information—it was an activation of the network, a strengthening of the red thread.

This bottom-up social organisation stands in stark contrast to Western society, where person-to-person networks are more and more being replaced with person-to-institution relationships. We increasingly interface with corporations and governments rather than neighbours and extended community members. The result? A fraying of the social fabric that has traditionally supported human flourishing.

The transformation of these social networks isn’t limited to the West. South Korea offers a stark illustration: in just a few generations, the country went from deeply interconnected rural communities to a highly digitized urban society. The traditional extended family networks that once provided emotional and practical support have been replaced by competitive individualism and institutional relationships. The result? Despite (or perhaps because of) being one of the most technologically connected societies, South Korea faces an epidemic of loneliness and one of the world’s highest suicide rates.

Even so, the red thread becomes harder to see, but never truly breaks.

Perhaps now we can return to our koan with fresh eyes. Why did the clear-eyed bodhisattva fail to sever the red thread? Because even the attempt reveals a fundamental misunderstanding. The thread—our interconnectedness - is inescapable. It cannot be cut. It is the very essence of reality.

This short post was inspired by reading : The Essence of Peopling. One of the best things I’ve read online recently.