Morning Trip (310)

“The kinds of stories we tell about ourselves can also vary greatly across cultures. Along some dimensions, Asians, on average, do less self-inflating than Westerners; along other dimensions–notably ‘collectivist’ virtues, such as loyalty to the group–Asians tend to do more self-inflating than Westerners. Still, the basic pattern of self-inflation holds worldwide, and that’s particularly true when it comes to ethical virtues such as fairness; on average, people think they’re morally above average. This is an especially important piece of self-flattery, because it helps fuel the self-righteousness that starts and sustains conflicts, ranging from quarrels to wars.”
–Robert Wright, Why Buddhism Is True

Enthusiasm and Life On Life’s Terms

“Think on This…
. . . to meet the disturbing factors with as much joyousness as if they were bringing pleasure in the material sight, will alter . . . much in the heart and mind of the seeker. For that which is is a result of the thinking of individuals as related one to another.
Reading 610-1”

Hmm. I remember when I could do this and I could say this and I could really mean it!! I truly lived it. It wasn’t fluffy self-help garbage nor delusion. Today, as I read this in my inbox, part of me said, “YES!, Remember that!?! Yes! Do that!” Another part said, “Oh Bullshit!” It also muttered some choice curses. A part that I think is probably closer to the truth recalled how such things termed heavy now were pretty much the same, though different and I had that Joy, I wasn’t tired, I wasn’t as afraid. I wasn’t clinging with my teeth gripped onto a last shred of stability. I am smiling to have shared a few of these views today, out loud. I think that being positive also means sharing how things really are. I think that many of the nudges over the last few days from friends, strangers, and even enemies are my Higher Power nudging me a bit. I notice in my now kvetching to God about fruffy messages and all the hard work I’ve done meaning shit, IS AN ATTEMPT AT COMMUNION with my God. I am at my worst when I am out of that communion. I avoid it as I do not seem able to do it ‘properly’. THIS AVOIDANCE AND PERFECTION are danger signs for me. The invisible police attack and fine me. They tell me not to bother, and that I have other, perhaps better, or worse things to attend. I think God knows what I am screaming inside in frustration and in despair. I also think that I forget to ask. Forget to share–ok avoid sharing that which will seem like a rant, but is truly my real life. I can’t survive pretending it’s ok. I can’t survive by moving back toward the If Only This or That, THEN I will have joy, be ok, be grounded, have balance, find things that please me, fill in the blank.

The joy of seeing the nudges in the things that others write, allow me to borrow them, when I cannot do it myself. They remind me of what I did do, what I CAN do. They provide me with an open window that I cannot notice because I feel trapped inside a ‘house’ where I insist that the doors are all closed. I thank one and all for this sounding spark.

Morning Trip (112)

“I am not I.

I am this one
Walking beside me whom I do not see,
Whom at times I manage to visit,
And whom at other times I forget;
The one who remains silent when I talk,
The one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
The one who takes a walk where I am not,
The one who will remain standing when I die.”
– Juan Ramon Jimenez

Am I Going?

Somewhere, in the middlin-end of the night, a light shadow flicked across the surface of my brain and I knew it was light moving through legs and calves and feet. Feet wearing oxford shoes, manly-type oxford shoes. Flexed a toe, to feel for new, inflexible and squeaky hard bottomed platforms. Flexed a toe to feel for the groove, a careful bend and give, familiarity, soft scuffles and the touch of the earth terrain–lumps and bumps and LIFE!

I heard rain. Gentle drips and splatters sneaking through the canopy of trees, making the slow motion crash from surface to surface slowing down until at last perching upon the perfect tip with minute point awaiting(of course)the touch of my finger that mine eyes might glorify such perfection in drop, for an hour or two minutes, whichever comes first to mind.

To lick manly fur or drop? My mouth IS dry! I neeeeeed a drink! Such treasure hunts for dew, endling-walks at night. Manly fur it is, good choice, thirst quenched. Now.

I contemplate opening one eye. I practice. Definately NOT the left one first today. Where am I going? I am going to open the right eye, just to see. And then, close it again. And be distracted by the manly scent of fur. And pine a moment for the going, and the coming back again. This moment is sublime. What does sublime mean?

Ah! Too late, I am already going down the stairs and making tea as my feet hit the floor and I sigh and I stretch. And I make the tea, and I check the mail, and I see Janet, asking me if I am going…someplace, somewhere. Janet? I am always full of ING things. I do not at this moment know how to provide a more accurate accounting. I will try to shorten it to, I am always going. How can one NOT be always going?