It feels like I'm slipping in and out of a waking dream state when I meditate. I've decided to go after that meditation festival. I've been carrying around that flyer long enough. If I want to increase my meditation, devotion and discipline, I'm going to need some help. I'm tired again. I over-slept. I didn't hear my alarm until 8:20. Some discipline. I guess I really need some help.
Here's the problem: My fiancee gets home late. She needs time to wind down. The mantra, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore" has helped me this morning. My thoughts wanted to drift to and lock on to her injustice and insensitivity. But, I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore! I believe she is trying to help me. And, if I look at my part in the dilemma, I realize that I drank coffee (strong coffee) at 10 pm last night so I could stay awake and work until midnight. So, here's a solution: no coffee after 8 pm. I have earplugs. I can wear them to fall asleep. Maybe, I can get one of those face mask things. It's tough and it's only day 2 of this experiment in devotion.
It's funny. I used to begrudgingly wake up at 8 am to go to work. Now, I'm willingly and intentionally trying to wake up at this hour.
I had another Steakhouse dream last night. This time, however, I was a busser. Somehow, I had been kept on the payroll and agreed to cover a busser's shift. And, I couldn't get out of it. And, the General Manager was there, in cooks clothes, as if she, too, was picking up a shift, but behind the line. She was bloated in the face, without make-up and talking the same encouraging b.s. she would talk every time they dropped some unfair and demeaning weight on our shoulders. It didn't help. I was still humiliated. Thank God I woke up. This one was worse than the string of recurring dreams I had last week. I thought I was done with them.
Liz had some funny ideas about how she as a perfect spiritual being should behave: quiet, ethereal. I, too, have had funny ideas on how I as a perfect sober person should behave: wise, loving but stoic, tough and all-knowing. We both wanted to be famous in our behavior, her in her silence, me in my humility. "Look at how wise and humble, yet approachable Scott is. We love Scott!" She wanted to be the quietest girl they had ever met at the Ashram. I want to be the most sober.
But, the Ashram had other ideas . . . for Liz. They made her Key Hostess: "Little Suzie Creamcheese". "Whoever does the job needs to be social and bubbly and smiling all the time.
what could I say? I just stuck out my hand to shake, bade a silent farewell to all my wishful old delusions and announced, 'Madam, I'm your girl.'" p. 193
In other words, "Be yourself." Or, like Polonius said, "To thine own self be true." Or, like she quoted Sextus, the ancient Pathagorian philosopher, "The wise man is always similar to himself." p. 192
So, it's time to let go of this image, this foolish idea of the perfect sober person, this embodiment of perfect sobriety. First of all, there is no such thing. Second of all, like Liz asks, "What's my natural character? What virtues can I hone and what vices can I minimize?" The first virtue of mine that comes to mind is that I'm a good listener. The first vice: I always want to be right.
Virtue: Laughter
Vice: I want to be the funniest guy in the room.
Virtue: Patience
Vice: Slow burn. I bottle things up until I can't take it any more and then explode.
Virtue: I'm kind
Vice: I want everyone to like me. Taking it further: I want all the cute girls and sexy women in the room to want to have sex with me. I know. Fat chance.
So, I can listen more and only talk when I can be helpful, not just right. I can turn off the T.V. at home and listen to my fiancee. That relationship is more valuable than whatever fleeting crap is on T.V. anyway. Nurturing a life-long relationship is more important the talking heads yelling at each other on ESPN. It's tough for a guy's mind to comprehend that. But, would you rather be happy or entertained. I have found that I haven't died if I miss the latest development in the shortened basketball season or in pre-season baseball or the ultra-long NASCAR season. Come to think of it, those are things I really don't care that much about anyway. My song my change, however, once regular season baseball starts. I love baseball. And, so does my fiancee. Anyway, I can talk to others rather than talk at them. I can ask some one how they're doing rather than hiding by focusing on some meaningless thing on my phone (most likely, a game of Jewelquest), thus avoiding an uncomfortable social situation. I can reach out more. I'm a smart guy. I'm a talented actor and writer. Perhaps, I can help others realize their potential.
Then, I wonder: what is my "Little Suzie Creamcheese" job?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Day 36. February 22nd, 2012. 20 Minutes of Meditation
So, I'm trying more devotion. I set my alarm today for 8 am. And, I only hit snooze once. That's better than yesterday when I set my alarm for 8 am . . . then reset it for 9 am. That's progress.
I'm tired. I knew I would be. My fiancee woke me up. What I originally thought was belligerence, resentment and unkindness on her part turned out to be a simple matter of her tearing a few sheets of paper out of a notebook . . . after she had spent an hour in the bathroom waiting for me to fall asleep deep enough to not wake up. She suggested that because I am now anticipating waking up early, it's now harder for me to fall and stay asleep. She might be right. So, instead of grumbling and huffing and puffing about it, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore."
I tried 20 minutes of meditation today as I boldly embark on my new crusade of devotion. It was rough. But, I think I'm going to stick to it. I'm going to shoot for 8 am every day no matter what time I go to bed (I'm recording this 3 days later . . . and I didn't make it. I woke up today at 8:30, then went back to bed).
My coffee inhibited meditation was weird today. And, I forgot to pray before hand. So, as the 20 minute countdown was already running on my timer, I tried to sneak in a quick prayer. I was more interested in my schedule than in my duty, my obligation to God. I certainly did not sincerely ask and I selfishly meditated by my own plan. So, I'll try again tomorrow. I guess it's just going to be clunky and awkward at the beginning. Devotion is a new thing for me. Liz had a whole month of regeneration in Italy. I'm still a nut job stuck in New York taking a real crack at meditation for the first time.
It's going to take time and practice. And, God had human attributes, they would be loving, forgiving and patient. He's certainly not as condescending as my thinking would have me believe. I'm just thankful for the inspiration to try. I'm thankful for God's patience and kindness. May I have an ounce of that today instead of my self-generated grouchiness and resentment.
"It does not say, 'give us this day our daily grudge." p. 186.
The following snapped me out of myself and touched me:
"We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to crate a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don't have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safe keeping. And, I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn't have the specific ritual you're craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your won devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional system with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And, that is why we need God." p. 187
I don't think we have gotten over the miscarriage in December. We've talked about it, but we haven't dealt with it. My fiancee still cries when we talk about it. Who knows what feelings I still have bottle up over it. It's a heavy burden, though dulled with time, we have yet to put down. My therapist has recommended for quite some time that we do something to help up let go. We keep avoiding it. I see the above words at a miraculous, well-timed, gentle nudge from God.
God, please lead me to a ritual that will help my fiancee and me deal with this loss. If there is not a fitting human ritual already, please lead us to one of our own. Give us your strength to overcome our fears about this. Please lead us closer to you and closer to your love.
Thank you.
I'm tired. I knew I would be. My fiancee woke me up. What I originally thought was belligerence, resentment and unkindness on her part turned out to be a simple matter of her tearing a few sheets of paper out of a notebook . . . after she had spent an hour in the bathroom waiting for me to fall asleep deep enough to not wake up. She suggested that because I am now anticipating waking up early, it's now harder for me to fall and stay asleep. She might be right. So, instead of grumbling and huffing and puffing about it, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore."
I tried 20 minutes of meditation today as I boldly embark on my new crusade of devotion. It was rough. But, I think I'm going to stick to it. I'm going to shoot for 8 am every day no matter what time I go to bed (I'm recording this 3 days later . . . and I didn't make it. I woke up today at 8:30, then went back to bed).
My coffee inhibited meditation was weird today. And, I forgot to pray before hand. So, as the 20 minute countdown was already running on my timer, I tried to sneak in a quick prayer. I was more interested in my schedule than in my duty, my obligation to God. I certainly did not sincerely ask and I selfishly meditated by my own plan. So, I'll try again tomorrow. I guess it's just going to be clunky and awkward at the beginning. Devotion is a new thing for me. Liz had a whole month of regeneration in Italy. I'm still a nut job stuck in New York taking a real crack at meditation for the first time.
It's going to take time and practice. And, God had human attributes, they would be loving, forgiving and patient. He's certainly not as condescending as my thinking would have me believe. I'm just thankful for the inspiration to try. I'm thankful for God's patience and kindness. May I have an ounce of that today instead of my self-generated grouchiness and resentment.
"It does not say, 'give us this day our daily grudge." p. 186.
The following snapped me out of myself and touched me:
"We do spiritual ceremonies as human beings in order to crate a safe resting place for our most complicated feelings of joy or trauma, so that we don't have to haul those feelings around with us forever, weighing us down. We all need such places of ritual safe keeping. And, I do believe that if your culture or tradition doesn't have the specific ritual you're craving, then you are absolutely permitted to make up a ceremony of your won devising, fixing your own broken-down emotional system with all the do-it-yourself resourcefulness of a generous plumber/poet. If you bring the right earnestness to your homemade ceremony, God will provide the grace. And, that is why we need God." p. 187
I don't think we have gotten over the miscarriage in December. We've talked about it, but we haven't dealt with it. My fiancee still cries when we talk about it. Who knows what feelings I still have bottle up over it. It's a heavy burden, though dulled with time, we have yet to put down. My therapist has recommended for quite some time that we do something to help up let go. We keep avoiding it. I see the above words at a miraculous, well-timed, gentle nudge from God.
God, please lead me to a ritual that will help my fiancee and me deal with this loss. If there is not a fitting human ritual already, please lead us to one of our own. Give us your strength to overcome our fears about this. Please lead us closer to you and closer to your love.
Thank you.
Day 35. February 21st, 2012. What More Can I Give?
"I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore." p. 178
This is another one of those days where I just want to record here everything that Liz wrote because is has had such a profound impact on me.
I was reading the prayer "The Last Grain of Corn" by Tagore. At at the end of the prayer, he writes: "How great was my surprise when at the day's end, I emptied my bag on the floor only to find a least little grain of gold among the poor heap! I bitterly wept and wished that I had the heart to give you my all." Then, I wondered what more do I have to give.
At the time, I was thinking monetarily, even physically. But, then I read what Liz writes about devotion and faith: ". . . for millennia there have been others who choose instead to get up before the sun and wash their faces and go to their prayers. And, then fiercely try to hold onto their devotional convictions throughout the lunacy of another day." p. 175
"Devotion is dialogue without assurance. Faith is a way of saying, 'yes, I pre-accept the terms of the universe and I embrace in advance what I am presently incapable of understanding.'" That's an accurate description of my experience. I'm doing things in pursuit of a writing career without understanding why. I've seen God's miracles in my life, yet I'm doing things for reasons I have yet to understand. "Writing because I have to" is not measurable. It's not reasonable. Even if I was doing this for fame and fortune, those things come rarely to a writer and, therefore are insane reasons. So, I'm back to answering a call.
And, I'm back to wondering, "what more can I give?"
Then, Liz goes on to write about the deliberateness of prayer. I too have said prayers similar to: "Oh, I dunno what I need . . . but you must have some ideas . . . so just do something about it, would you?" p. 176.
I've said old-hat prayers and tired prayers. I've recited them while my mind wanders, just lazily drifting over words, not really meaning them. I'm just being dutiful. And, lately I've been skipping my evening prayer and reflection over the past day. Sometimes, as I lay in bed, I just lightly touch on or carelessly gloss over the repetitive mistakes I make, not giving any serious regard to letting go of old habits or seriously considering the sacrifices I'd have to make, much less taking any action. I just wait for them to slip away.
"Prayer is a relationship," Liz writes. "Half the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can't even be bothered to articulate what exactly I'm aiming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention. If you don't have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift." p. 177.
If Liz doesn't feel sincere, she stays there until she does. Discipline.
So, again, I've opened Tagore's prayer book, The Heart of God to a "random" page. The idea that I needed to change was planted. Then, through Liz's words, the idea has germinated into action: I have to be disciplined and I have to mean it! And, how about a little more effort? My devotion practices are limp and lazy. For example, last night I set my alarm for 8:00 am and when it went off I reset it for 9:00 am. My fiancee had gotten home late from work and I stayed up with her. I couldn't fall asleep anyway because I was still hungry and caffeinated. Clearly, I'm not taking care of myself the best I can.
Even so, what would have happened if I had gotten up early anyway? Liz is talking about the devotion of getting up before the sun. And, I can't even get up at 8 am! She's talking about the kind of devotion that starts hours before I even stir.
So, I ask again: What can I do? Make the effort. Get up early. Go to bed early. If I'm tired enough, I'll sleep through my fiancee coming home. And, stop with the coffee so late in the evening. What else? Be more specific with my prayers. Then, like today, God will answer in his seeming random, miraculous way. (I've often asked to be shown the truth about myself then be giving the strength and the courage to follow whatever direction I've been given)
I can say, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore". I can do that. In fact, I can write that on a little card and carry it around in my wallet in case I forget. Liz repeats this vow about 700 times a day. When the unhealthy thoughts, the bitterness, the anger, the resentment, the annoyance, the agitation, or the desire to retaliate come to me I can say these words too . . . until they pass.
And, perhaps I can put forth more effort in my half of solving my problems, instead of asking God to do all the work. Thanks, Liz. More importantly, thanks God.
This is another one of those days where I just want to record here everything that Liz wrote because is has had such a profound impact on me.
I was reading the prayer "The Last Grain of Corn" by Tagore. At at the end of the prayer, he writes: "How great was my surprise when at the day's end, I emptied my bag on the floor only to find a least little grain of gold among the poor heap! I bitterly wept and wished that I had the heart to give you my all." Then, I wondered what more do I have to give.
At the time, I was thinking monetarily, even physically. But, then I read what Liz writes about devotion and faith: ". . . for millennia there have been others who choose instead to get up before the sun and wash their faces and go to their prayers. And, then fiercely try to hold onto their devotional convictions throughout the lunacy of another day." p. 175
"Devotion is dialogue without assurance. Faith is a way of saying, 'yes, I pre-accept the terms of the universe and I embrace in advance what I am presently incapable of understanding.'" That's an accurate description of my experience. I'm doing things in pursuit of a writing career without understanding why. I've seen God's miracles in my life, yet I'm doing things for reasons I have yet to understand. "Writing because I have to" is not measurable. It's not reasonable. Even if I was doing this for fame and fortune, those things come rarely to a writer and, therefore are insane reasons. So, I'm back to answering a call.
And, I'm back to wondering, "what more can I give?"
Then, Liz goes on to write about the deliberateness of prayer. I too have said prayers similar to: "Oh, I dunno what I need . . . but you must have some ideas . . . so just do something about it, would you?" p. 176.
I've said old-hat prayers and tired prayers. I've recited them while my mind wanders, just lazily drifting over words, not really meaning them. I'm just being dutiful. And, lately I've been skipping my evening prayer and reflection over the past day. Sometimes, as I lay in bed, I just lightly touch on or carelessly gloss over the repetitive mistakes I make, not giving any serious regard to letting go of old habits or seriously considering the sacrifices I'd have to make, much less taking any action. I just wait for them to slip away.
"Prayer is a relationship," Liz writes. "Half the job is mine. If I want transformation, but can't even be bothered to articulate what exactly I'm aiming for, how will it ever occur? Half the benefit of prayer is in the asking itself, in the offering of a clearly posed and well-considered intention. If you don't have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift." p. 177.
If Liz doesn't feel sincere, she stays there until she does. Discipline.
So, again, I've opened Tagore's prayer book, The Heart of God to a "random" page. The idea that I needed to change was planted. Then, through Liz's words, the idea has germinated into action: I have to be disciplined and I have to mean it! And, how about a little more effort? My devotion practices are limp and lazy. For example, last night I set my alarm for 8:00 am and when it went off I reset it for 9:00 am. My fiancee had gotten home late from work and I stayed up with her. I couldn't fall asleep anyway because I was still hungry and caffeinated. Clearly, I'm not taking care of myself the best I can.
Even so, what would have happened if I had gotten up early anyway? Liz is talking about the devotion of getting up before the sun. And, I can't even get up at 8 am! She's talking about the kind of devotion that starts hours before I even stir.
So, I ask again: What can I do? Make the effort. Get up early. Go to bed early. If I'm tired enough, I'll sleep through my fiancee coming home. And, stop with the coffee so late in the evening. What else? Be more specific with my prayers. Then, like today, God will answer in his seeming random, miraculous way. (I've often asked to be shown the truth about myself then be giving the strength and the courage to follow whatever direction I've been given)
I can say, "I will not harbor unhealthy thoughts anymore". I can do that. In fact, I can write that on a little card and carry it around in my wallet in case I forget. Liz repeats this vow about 700 times a day. When the unhealthy thoughts, the bitterness, the anger, the resentment, the annoyance, the agitation, or the desire to retaliate come to me I can say these words too . . . until they pass.
And, perhaps I can put forth more effort in my half of solving my problems, instead of asking God to do all the work. Thanks, Liz. More importantly, thanks God.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Day 34. February 20th, 2012. The Mosquitos.
"I was doing something I'd never done before. A small thing, granted, but how often do I get to say that? And what will I be able to do tomorrow that I cannot yet do today?" p. 174
Liz is doing Vipassana meditation, in the evening . . . with mosquitoes. She says to herself, "this is a bad time of day to practice Vipassana meditation." But, she argues, "when is it a good time of day or life to sit in detached stillness? When isn't there something buzzing about, trying to distract you and get a rise out of you?" She goes on to consider, "If I could sit through this nonlethal physical discomfort, what other discomforts might I someday be able to sit through?" p. 174
What are my discomforts right now? My financial burden is one. I didn't prepare to be unemployed. I let the bills pile up and fees accrue, just waiting for the money to come in. Worrying and kicking myself are in full force. At the same time, I feel a small sense of joy. I'm happy when I write. I can welcome that happiness and I can welcome my insecurity, fear, feelings of inadequacy, because both are just feelings. And, feelings are temporary. Like Liz writes, ". . . grief and nuisance are inevitable in life, but if you can plant yourself in stillness long enough, you will, in time, experience the truth that everything (both uncomfortable and lovely) does eventually pass." p. 173.
This is quite similar to that which was taught to me: "This, too, shall pass."
What I'm getting from all this is that if we welcome the painful, the uncomfortable, the inconvenient, the grievous and the troublesome and not constantly chase the lovely, the blissful, the joyous, the fun, the exciting, the pleasurable, we will be slave to none of those feelings. We will be free. Like the 20 mosquito bites, where Liz "allowed the pain to lose its specific associations and became pure sensation - neither good nor bad, just intense", it's our association to our experience, our perception of our experiences, good or bad, which cause to either cling to or run away from.
But, like my spiritual adviser and the Toaists say, "It's all good." It's all part of life. So, I can run away from my financial responsibilities or I can learn from my mistakes and try to deal accordingly. In the meantime, I have to be careful not to be financially irresponsible, using "spiritual detachment" as my excuse for not paying my bills as well as be careful not to chase financial superiority. Perhaps I ought to look further into how much undue pain and nuisance I'm causing myself. It's one thing to endure the natural nuisances of life, it's another thing to cause them yourself. Does the guilt for my financial mistakes help me? No. Does repeatedly making the same financial mistakes help me? No.
While both Liz and I are physically free from a past life (Me: The Steakhouse. Her: Relationships) we still have ourselves to contend with. And, we still have ourselves to be freed from. The other thing we have in common is that, despite where we are in the world, where our life has taken us and what we're worrying about at this very moment, we don't know what's going to happen next. Hell, that's what we all have in common. None of know what's going to happen, despite how much we plan and prepare. Another thing we have in common is that she and I have trouble living in the moment. We regret the past and think too much about the future. We're not yet able to simply enjoy the moment, welcome it, accept it and experience it.
Some day, I'm sure I will learn to just let my mind go where it will, welcome the wandering with loving kindness and then, move on. What will I be able to do tomorrow that I cannot do today?
Liz is doing Vipassana meditation, in the evening . . . with mosquitoes. She says to herself, "this is a bad time of day to practice Vipassana meditation." But, she argues, "when is it a good time of day or life to sit in detached stillness? When isn't there something buzzing about, trying to distract you and get a rise out of you?" She goes on to consider, "If I could sit through this nonlethal physical discomfort, what other discomforts might I someday be able to sit through?" p. 174
What are my discomforts right now? My financial burden is one. I didn't prepare to be unemployed. I let the bills pile up and fees accrue, just waiting for the money to come in. Worrying and kicking myself are in full force. At the same time, I feel a small sense of joy. I'm happy when I write. I can welcome that happiness and I can welcome my insecurity, fear, feelings of inadequacy, because both are just feelings. And, feelings are temporary. Like Liz writes, ". . . grief and nuisance are inevitable in life, but if you can plant yourself in stillness long enough, you will, in time, experience the truth that everything (both uncomfortable and lovely) does eventually pass." p. 173.
This is quite similar to that which was taught to me: "This, too, shall pass."
What I'm getting from all this is that if we welcome the painful, the uncomfortable, the inconvenient, the grievous and the troublesome and not constantly chase the lovely, the blissful, the joyous, the fun, the exciting, the pleasurable, we will be slave to none of those feelings. We will be free. Like the 20 mosquito bites, where Liz "allowed the pain to lose its specific associations and became pure sensation - neither good nor bad, just intense", it's our association to our experience, our perception of our experiences, good or bad, which cause to either cling to or run away from.
But, like my spiritual adviser and the Toaists say, "It's all good." It's all part of life. So, I can run away from my financial responsibilities or I can learn from my mistakes and try to deal accordingly. In the meantime, I have to be careful not to be financially irresponsible, using "spiritual detachment" as my excuse for not paying my bills as well as be careful not to chase financial superiority. Perhaps I ought to look further into how much undue pain and nuisance I'm causing myself. It's one thing to endure the natural nuisances of life, it's another thing to cause them yourself. Does the guilt for my financial mistakes help me? No. Does repeatedly making the same financial mistakes help me? No.
While both Liz and I are physically free from a past life (Me: The Steakhouse. Her: Relationships) we still have ourselves to contend with. And, we still have ourselves to be freed from. The other thing we have in common is that, despite where we are in the world, where our life has taken us and what we're worrying about at this very moment, we don't know what's going to happen next. Hell, that's what we all have in common. None of know what's going to happen, despite how much we plan and prepare. Another thing we have in common is that she and I have trouble living in the moment. We regret the past and think too much about the future. We're not yet able to simply enjoy the moment, welcome it, accept it and experience it.
Some day, I'm sure I will learn to just let my mind go where it will, welcome the wandering with loving kindness and then, move on. What will I be able to do tomorrow that I cannot do today?
Day 33. February 18th, 2012 The Beginning of the Search for the Still Water
"The Zen masters say that you cannot see your reflection in running water, only in still water." p. 171
Richard from Texas says, "you go set your lily-white ass down in that meditation cave very day for the next three months and I promise you this - you're gonna' start seeing some stuff that's so damn beautiful it'll make you wanna throw rocks at the Taj Mahal."
Reading this book has inspired me to seek out meditation, better meditation, actually, than what I've been doing while sitting at my desk. And, all the while, not feeling like my manhood has been threatened. The title to this blog seems less and less apropos the more and more I read. I feel like I need more. I need to go further. While they say, all you have to do is try, that the simple attempt at meditation is enough, I want to reach further. My fiancee may joke, afraid that I will become a spiritual weirdo, but I feel compelled to at least try.
It's my spiritual life after all. It's my spiritual devotion. No harm was ever done by exploring. I've always loved to explore: the woods behind the cabin, the places off the beaten path in new cities. Hell, I'll even try new and exotic food! So, it's in my nature to explore. Sometimes, I have to do it quietly and slowly, because I'm not the leap out of an airplane kind of guy. I'm not a swim down the Amazon, climb a mountain, fight with natives, wrestle a bear, walk across the South Pole unaided and find the Holy Grail kind of guy.
But, I have to throw my hat in the ring of my life, instead of being an innocent bystander or a victim of circumstances. Magical things are happening to Liz, sudden upheavals and transformations. But, that's only because she showed up for her life. She participated in it. I can show up in my own way. I don't have to leap to India, via Italy. But, I could take a small hop over to the Lower East Side where there will be a festival of meditation for a week in March (funny, how I just happened to notice a flyer stapled to a construction barrier while on my walk home). I can call, research it if that will make me feel better. Although I've never been really good, since getting sober, at knowingly duping myself.
I'm at this place in my life, perhaps catalyzed by a book. Everything happens for a reason. There are no mistakes. I've already recounted in previous entries how seemingly coincidental circumstances brought me to this point. All I can do is with a sense of adventure see this thing through. And, perhaps if I promise not to change my name to some Hindu recreation of it, like one of my fiancee's relatives did, perhaps my fiancee will lighten up on the jokes. My fiancee's nickname for me is "Potty" (the English "potty") and we joked that my new Hindu name would be "Onomatopoeia". I guess you had to be there.
Earlier in life, I used to wish I was dumb, naive or simple. I used to liken that simpleness to a farmer. However, I'm beginning to think that a farmer may already have the profound insight into the nature of things that I've been searching for. Perhaps the farmer is not as ignorant as I had once imagined. Perhaps the thing that I have wanderlust over is the thing he finds every day as he goes about in his purpose in life. All the while I'm still searching for mine. He feeds people and I race around wildly in my head looking for answers. I should stop looking. They're never there. That's why I'm starving.
So, the meditation festival it is. Perhaps, I will find the trail head to the path that leads to the still water and the quiet heart. I haven't figured out how to find it myself. It's time to stop and ask for directions. Like the few major actions I've taken in my life (Playing Iago, coming to NYC, deciding to be an actor) I have no idea what I'm getting myself into. But, like those other decisions, it's probably best not to know. Otherwise, I'll turn back.
Thanks for the catalyst, Liz. Regardless of where this thing goes (this writing, expanding my spirituality and creativity thing), at least there's promise in my life. And, hope. Three to four months ago, I certainly wouldn't have considered pursuing a career in writing. However, as time passed and I not only considered it, but gave it some serious thought and now some serious action, I felt bad for acting. I had put all this time and effort into that relationship. I've had a serious love/hate affair with it.
However, I've learned that these two art forms could help each other. And, I've wanted to write since elementary school. I just let that desire get squashed. But, it never died. Here I am, 30 years later and the desire hasn't left me. Clearly, it's not too late. Maybe God wanted it to stay dormant in me until I got sober and gathered some experience and clarity . . . and gratitude. Otherwise, I'd have gone the way of the insane alcoholic writer, taking more from the world than giving to it. Instead, I get the opportunity to be a Renaissance Man (cue the lutes for my heroic theme music)!
My fiancee's dad said that virtuosic people have to practice what they do for 10,000 hours before they become virtuosic. So, I'm logging my hours. If I write four hours a day, seven days a week, I won't be a virtuoso until I'm 45. Well? What am I waiting for? Start writing! One hour at a time.
Richard from Texas says, "you go set your lily-white ass down in that meditation cave very day for the next three months and I promise you this - you're gonna' start seeing some stuff that's so damn beautiful it'll make you wanna throw rocks at the Taj Mahal."
Reading this book has inspired me to seek out meditation, better meditation, actually, than what I've been doing while sitting at my desk. And, all the while, not feeling like my manhood has been threatened. The title to this blog seems less and less apropos the more and more I read. I feel like I need more. I need to go further. While they say, all you have to do is try, that the simple attempt at meditation is enough, I want to reach further. My fiancee may joke, afraid that I will become a spiritual weirdo, but I feel compelled to at least try.
It's my spiritual life after all. It's my spiritual devotion. No harm was ever done by exploring. I've always loved to explore: the woods behind the cabin, the places off the beaten path in new cities. Hell, I'll even try new and exotic food! So, it's in my nature to explore. Sometimes, I have to do it quietly and slowly, because I'm not the leap out of an airplane kind of guy. I'm not a swim down the Amazon, climb a mountain, fight with natives, wrestle a bear, walk across the South Pole unaided and find the Holy Grail kind of guy.
But, I have to throw my hat in the ring of my life, instead of being an innocent bystander or a victim of circumstances. Magical things are happening to Liz, sudden upheavals and transformations. But, that's only because she showed up for her life. She participated in it. I can show up in my own way. I don't have to leap to India, via Italy. But, I could take a small hop over to the Lower East Side where there will be a festival of meditation for a week in March (funny, how I just happened to notice a flyer stapled to a construction barrier while on my walk home). I can call, research it if that will make me feel better. Although I've never been really good, since getting sober, at knowingly duping myself.
I'm at this place in my life, perhaps catalyzed by a book. Everything happens for a reason. There are no mistakes. I've already recounted in previous entries how seemingly coincidental circumstances brought me to this point. All I can do is with a sense of adventure see this thing through. And, perhaps if I promise not to change my name to some Hindu recreation of it, like one of my fiancee's relatives did, perhaps my fiancee will lighten up on the jokes. My fiancee's nickname for me is "Potty" (the English "potty") and we joked that my new Hindu name would be "Onomatopoeia". I guess you had to be there.
Earlier in life, I used to wish I was dumb, naive or simple. I used to liken that simpleness to a farmer. However, I'm beginning to think that a farmer may already have the profound insight into the nature of things that I've been searching for. Perhaps the farmer is not as ignorant as I had once imagined. Perhaps the thing that I have wanderlust over is the thing he finds every day as he goes about in his purpose in life. All the while I'm still searching for mine. He feeds people and I race around wildly in my head looking for answers. I should stop looking. They're never there. That's why I'm starving.
So, the meditation festival it is. Perhaps, I will find the trail head to the path that leads to the still water and the quiet heart. I haven't figured out how to find it myself. It's time to stop and ask for directions. Like the few major actions I've taken in my life (Playing Iago, coming to NYC, deciding to be an actor) I have no idea what I'm getting myself into. But, like those other decisions, it's probably best not to know. Otherwise, I'll turn back.
Thanks for the catalyst, Liz. Regardless of where this thing goes (this writing, expanding my spirituality and creativity thing), at least there's promise in my life. And, hope. Three to four months ago, I certainly wouldn't have considered pursuing a career in writing. However, as time passed and I not only considered it, but gave it some serious thought and now some serious action, I felt bad for acting. I had put all this time and effort into that relationship. I've had a serious love/hate affair with it.
However, I've learned that these two art forms could help each other. And, I've wanted to write since elementary school. I just let that desire get squashed. But, it never died. Here I am, 30 years later and the desire hasn't left me. Clearly, it's not too late. Maybe God wanted it to stay dormant in me until I got sober and gathered some experience and clarity . . . and gratitude. Otherwise, I'd have gone the way of the insane alcoholic writer, taking more from the world than giving to it. Instead, I get the opportunity to be a Renaissance Man (cue the lutes for my heroic theme music)!
My fiancee's dad said that virtuosic people have to practice what they do for 10,000 hours before they become virtuosic. So, I'm logging my hours. If I write four hours a day, seven days a week, I won't be a virtuoso until I'm 45. Well? What am I waiting for? Start writing! One hour at a time.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Day 32. February 17th, 2012. For Myself
Today, I'm just writing for myself. I left all my books and notes back at the writing space. I can only get in during certain hours, this hour not being one of them. So, today's writing is just for me. "What would you like to do today, Scott?"
At first, I was aggravated and frustrated that I couldn't work on this blog (the thing I was just second-guessing yesterday. How fickle!) Angry and dejected, I thought I'd just stay home and do the mound of dirty dishes that had piled up (and, probably, feel sorry for myself). Then, it hit me. I could still go to the library, my old friend the clock-tower library and write. In answer to the previous question is, "I want to write for myself today". I can clear my head, express more fears, or wander along some imaginative tangent until my pages are full. If nothing else, I can do what a writer friend of mine suggested. I can do one thing. I can do one little thing today towards my art.
Today, I got an e-mail inviting writers to submit the writing space's monthly newsletter. I got another e-mail inviting members to participate in their monthly reading series. Eep! I'm not ready for that, yet. Just yesterday, I was writing about how I felt that I was wondering aimlessly. And, here are two "omens" for me to follow and see where they lead.
However, in the face of opportunity, I'm hesitating, unsure what to do. To a sane person, the choice is obvious. For me, I want to turn to my fiancee for guidance and affirmation. But, then I remember I'm a grown man! If I want to write something for the newsletter, then do it! I don't have to submit something right away for the reading series. I can just go and listen. The uncertainty, the hesitancy is actually doubt whether it would be a good idea to write an article for the newsletter or attend the reading. Moreover, it's about whether people will like what I've written and, more important, whether I deserve to submit. Am I professional enough? Am I cool enough? Do I fit in? Do I belong here? Have I earned my place?
I'm asking all the wrong questions. Pride is stepping in and screwing up my perception. It all comes down to, "Am I good enough" and "am I good enough" is really starting to sound like a silly and annoying question. Of course I'm good enough! I'm here, in this world, on this planet, aren't I? I'm a child of God, aren't I? I deserve to be here answering a calling as much as any man. Right here, right now, is 38 years in the making. Anything other issue is just petty.
And, at the end of it all, if I've given it my best shot, I can look back and say that at least I tried. I'll have taken advantage of every opportunity God has given me. I'll have followed his guide posts to the best of my ability as I told him I would.
I made a promise to God. He is fulfilling his end of the bargain. It's time to be a man of my word. The prospect of having to actually put myself out there is profoundly intimidating. I never imagined something would actually happen. I honestly thought I would put it out there and maybe someday, my hopes and dreams would slowly, ever so slowly unfold without me noticing. And, I certainly didn't think it would happen so fast.
Like Richard from Texas said, "be careful what you ask for, Groceries." I may have misquoted him. But, my God! It's actually happening. My life is happening. Be gentle, God!
Don't listen to the judgement. Listen to God. He has seen me through a lot of things. He can see me through this. The "funny" ideas are going to keep coming. The opportunities, ever increasing in size and might, will keep coming. Be kind to yourself. God is telling me what to do right now. I ought to do it . . . with love. Remember that: With Love.
At first, I was aggravated and frustrated that I couldn't work on this blog (the thing I was just second-guessing yesterday. How fickle!) Angry and dejected, I thought I'd just stay home and do the mound of dirty dishes that had piled up (and, probably, feel sorry for myself). Then, it hit me. I could still go to the library, my old friend the clock-tower library and write. In answer to the previous question is, "I want to write for myself today". I can clear my head, express more fears, or wander along some imaginative tangent until my pages are full. If nothing else, I can do what a writer friend of mine suggested. I can do one thing. I can do one little thing today towards my art.
Today, I got an e-mail inviting writers to submit the writing space's monthly newsletter. I got another e-mail inviting members to participate in their monthly reading series. Eep! I'm not ready for that, yet. Just yesterday, I was writing about how I felt that I was wondering aimlessly. And, here are two "omens" for me to follow and see where they lead.
However, in the face of opportunity, I'm hesitating, unsure what to do. To a sane person, the choice is obvious. For me, I want to turn to my fiancee for guidance and affirmation. But, then I remember I'm a grown man! If I want to write something for the newsletter, then do it! I don't have to submit something right away for the reading series. I can just go and listen. The uncertainty, the hesitancy is actually doubt whether it would be a good idea to write an article for the newsletter or attend the reading. Moreover, it's about whether people will like what I've written and, more important, whether I deserve to submit. Am I professional enough? Am I cool enough? Do I fit in? Do I belong here? Have I earned my place?
I'm asking all the wrong questions. Pride is stepping in and screwing up my perception. It all comes down to, "Am I good enough" and "am I good enough" is really starting to sound like a silly and annoying question. Of course I'm good enough! I'm here, in this world, on this planet, aren't I? I'm a child of God, aren't I? I deserve to be here answering a calling as much as any man. Right here, right now, is 38 years in the making. Anything other issue is just petty.
And, at the end of it all, if I've given it my best shot, I can look back and say that at least I tried. I'll have taken advantage of every opportunity God has given me. I'll have followed his guide posts to the best of my ability as I told him I would.
I made a promise to God. He is fulfilling his end of the bargain. It's time to be a man of my word. The prospect of having to actually put myself out there is profoundly intimidating. I never imagined something would actually happen. I honestly thought I would put it out there and maybe someday, my hopes and dreams would slowly, ever so slowly unfold without me noticing. And, I certainly didn't think it would happen so fast.
Like Richard from Texas said, "be careful what you ask for, Groceries." I may have misquoted him. But, my God! It's actually happening. My life is happening. Be gentle, God!
Don't listen to the judgement. Listen to God. He has seen me through a lot of things. He can see me through this. The "funny" ideas are going to keep coming. The opportunities, ever increasing in size and might, will keep coming. Be kind to yourself. God is telling me what to do right now. I ought to do it . . . with love. Remember that: With Love.
Day 31. February 16th, 2012. The Geet Part II
Oh, the miracles that transpire when we truly seek! The omens that God lays on our path! The clues! The guide posts on the path we're drawn down, sometimes without our permission.
I related to Liz's anger, the "burning up" she felt while fighting the "Geet". I, too, have bucked. I've fought. I've protested in anger. "Why do I have to do this? I don't understand!" Then, somehow, we come to a place where we must give ourselves over passionately, frantically and desperately. I have to do this and I don't know why. That's where I am as I write this. I am doing this thing, writing this blog and I don't know why. Maybe I could justify it with some self-serving reason, but it wouldn't be a good one.
Now, I'm not jumping out of second story windows or bleeding from my leg, but I keep writing. And, I don't know why! I, actually, don't think this is such a good idea, yet still I write. I can't turn back, now. I'm too far in. I think what I write is dull and un-insightful. I think I'm a self-righteous blow-hard, struck with a little bit of God consciousness. I talk about God sometimes with some sort of authority. I really don't know what the hell I'm talking about. This stuff just comes to me and I write it down.
Maybe the purpose of this blog is to vent all the intellectual or inarticulate crap that's built up in my skull. Still, I think, nobody will ever want to see this. Oddly enough, I'm simultaneously hoping nobody will read this lest I be judged mercilessly and hoping that everybody will see this and celebrate this unique, brilliant and well-executed idea. Then, start the negative thoughts: "Oh please! Somebody else has had this idea, written it already and it's a million times better (maybe only a thousand) than mine.
But still I write! Through all this mental jousting with myself, through all this fruitless searching for meaning and validation, I still write! I have this fear that my fiancee will read this and her reaction will be much like Wendy Torrence's in "The Shining". My writing will be equivalent to "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" written over and over and over. Stupid demons that haunt me!
I'm assuming I'm not the only one who struggles like this. Whatever Liz was afraid of, she got over it by a selfless act of dedicating her chanting of the "Geet" to her nephew. The only way to keep it is to give it away.
She writes, "The little soul I'd wanted to help was actually helping me." p 169
That reminds me of when, in early sobriety, men would say, "You're probably helping me more than I'm helping you." I didn't understand what they were talking about. They said, "don't worry. Some day you will." Now, I say the same thing to guys I'm trying to help. And, they don't understand what I'm talking about. And, I say, "don't worry. Some day you will."
Then, God laid a little affirmation in her path: The phone call with her sister. The story from the book she was reading. Her room mate absent-mindedly and inexplicably locking Liz in their room. Then, her room mates dream! It's all to coincidental to be coincidental. God works through miracles (here I go, again). All we have to do is look for them. They are there to guide us along the way, to assure us in times of trouble, to inspire us to not give up.
Tagore writes: "My Guide, I am a wayfarer on an endless road, my greetings of a wanderer to You." That's how I feel right now, like a wanderer. I'm aimed in what I think is the right direction. I'm wandering down an uncertain path, the rocks and brambles of my mistakes cutting and my feet and shins. I'm not even sure if this is the right path or if I'm even walking the right way. But, still I go.
I try to lift my head up to the world, but I keep getting caught looking at my missteps, seeing where my lack of planning and preparation has dogged my every step. It's like I forgot to bring shoes. However, my journey isn't solo. I have a companion: my fiancee. And, it's like I have to borrow her shoes. Then, her feet get cut up too. She says she doesn't mind, but I hate to ask for them again. I'm afraid of bringing her down.
I must remember the book idea! It was so strong I couldn't sleep. Ignoring that would be like turning from God in fear, not having enough faith that He knows what He's doing. I keep writing almost every day without knowing why. Why not assemble a book without knowing why? The reasons will be revealed later. I know that. I believe the omens have directed me this far. Why not keep following them and see where they lead?
And, as far as this blog? Maybe, somebody, someday will read this and they'll be going through similar troubles, doubts and fears. Maybe it will be a comfort to them to know somebody else has gone through the exact, same thing. Liz has helped me. I could only humbly hope that my words could help some one else.
I related to Liz's anger, the "burning up" she felt while fighting the "Geet". I, too, have bucked. I've fought. I've protested in anger. "Why do I have to do this? I don't understand!" Then, somehow, we come to a place where we must give ourselves over passionately, frantically and desperately. I have to do this and I don't know why. That's where I am as I write this. I am doing this thing, writing this blog and I don't know why. Maybe I could justify it with some self-serving reason, but it wouldn't be a good one.
Now, I'm not jumping out of second story windows or bleeding from my leg, but I keep writing. And, I don't know why! I, actually, don't think this is such a good idea, yet still I write. I can't turn back, now. I'm too far in. I think what I write is dull and un-insightful. I think I'm a self-righteous blow-hard, struck with a little bit of God consciousness. I talk about God sometimes with some sort of authority. I really don't know what the hell I'm talking about. This stuff just comes to me and I write it down.
Maybe the purpose of this blog is to vent all the intellectual or inarticulate crap that's built up in my skull. Still, I think, nobody will ever want to see this. Oddly enough, I'm simultaneously hoping nobody will read this lest I be judged mercilessly and hoping that everybody will see this and celebrate this unique, brilliant and well-executed idea. Then, start the negative thoughts: "Oh please! Somebody else has had this idea, written it already and it's a million times better (maybe only a thousand) than mine.
But still I write! Through all this mental jousting with myself, through all this fruitless searching for meaning and validation, I still write! I have this fear that my fiancee will read this and her reaction will be much like Wendy Torrence's in "The Shining". My writing will be equivalent to "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" written over and over and over. Stupid demons that haunt me!
I'm assuming I'm not the only one who struggles like this. Whatever Liz was afraid of, she got over it by a selfless act of dedicating her chanting of the "Geet" to her nephew. The only way to keep it is to give it away.
She writes, "The little soul I'd wanted to help was actually helping me." p 169
That reminds me of when, in early sobriety, men would say, "You're probably helping me more than I'm helping you." I didn't understand what they were talking about. They said, "don't worry. Some day you will." Now, I say the same thing to guys I'm trying to help. And, they don't understand what I'm talking about. And, I say, "don't worry. Some day you will."
Then, God laid a little affirmation in her path: The phone call with her sister. The story from the book she was reading. Her room mate absent-mindedly and inexplicably locking Liz in their room. Then, her room mates dream! It's all to coincidental to be coincidental. God works through miracles (here I go, again). All we have to do is look for them. They are there to guide us along the way, to assure us in times of trouble, to inspire us to not give up.
Tagore writes: "My Guide, I am a wayfarer on an endless road, my greetings of a wanderer to You." That's how I feel right now, like a wanderer. I'm aimed in what I think is the right direction. I'm wandering down an uncertain path, the rocks and brambles of my mistakes cutting and my feet and shins. I'm not even sure if this is the right path or if I'm even walking the right way. But, still I go.
I try to lift my head up to the world, but I keep getting caught looking at my missteps, seeing where my lack of planning and preparation has dogged my every step. It's like I forgot to bring shoes. However, my journey isn't solo. I have a companion: my fiancee. And, it's like I have to borrow her shoes. Then, her feet get cut up too. She says she doesn't mind, but I hate to ask for them again. I'm afraid of bringing her down.
I must remember the book idea! It was so strong I couldn't sleep. Ignoring that would be like turning from God in fear, not having enough faith that He knows what He's doing. I keep writing almost every day without knowing why. Why not assemble a book without knowing why? The reasons will be revealed later. I know that. I believe the omens have directed me this far. Why not keep following them and see where they lead?
And, as far as this blog? Maybe, somebody, someday will read this and they'll be going through similar troubles, doubts and fears. Maybe it will be a comfort to them to know somebody else has gone through the exact, same thing. Liz has helped me. I could only humbly hope that my words could help some one else.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Day 30. February 15th, 2012. The Geet
Tagore writes: "On many an idle day I have grieved over lost time, but it is never lost, O God. You have taken every moment of my life in your own hands."
Liz is struggling with a particular long and arduous meditation song: The Gurugita. Richard from Texas calls it "The Geet". At 182 verses long "and each verse is a paragraph of impenetrable Sanskrit." p. 161
Out of curiosity, I looked it up on-line. This is one line:
"viçvotkérëamanekadehanilayaiù svacchandamätmecchayä |" (no shit, it's impenetrable!)
And, that's even a continuation from a line before that! I looked up a pdf file which was 43 pages long! Mother of God!
I can completely understand why she goes to a monk to excuse her from singing it! I'm discouraged by just looking at one line! And, that was on page 2 of 43! (Ok, enough exclaiming.)
To what seems to be, on the surface, a reasonable request, the monk replies, "Nobody around here is ever going to make you do anything you don't want to do." p. 163. I've had "old timers" say something similar to me too.
It turns out the Gurugita isn't supposed to be fun to sing. "It's a mighty purifying practice. It burns away all your junk, all you negative emotions," the monk goes on to say. "And, I think it's probably having a positive effect on you if you're experiencing such strong emotions and physical reactions . . ."
That was my experience with early sobriety. The whole process of getting sober is meant to free us from ourselves. The struggle was painful. It was like tearing a prisoner who is in the throes of Stockholm Syndrome away from his cell and his captor. To me, that's what alcoholism is: our own personal Stockholm syndrome.
Then, the monk asks Liz a profound question: "What's the alternative?" p. 164. "To quit whenever something gets challenging? To futz around your whole life, miserable and incomplete?"
That's a good question for me right now. If I pan out, it's always a good question. What's the alternative to sobriety, regardless of the struggles? With a sound mind, I usually need go no further than the question.
So, I'm broke right now. I was fired over two weeks ago and Unemployment hasn't kicked in. I wasn't even able to buy my fiancee a flower for Valentines Day. Actually, let's be honest. I was tired and hungry from a long day of class, therapy, a meeting and eating leftovers. Plus, the few remaining dollars I had in my pocket (which was left from what my fiancee loaned me) I was too afraid to let go of. I don't know what I was saving it for. Perhaps, I was saving it to protect myself from the ego gut-check of having to ask her for more money (get a job you lazy hippie!) The "two" of the "one-two" punch to the body is eating for dinner the other half of my fiancee's sandwich she didn't finish for lunch because she new I would be hungry later. The cross to the head, then, was having to ask for loan for therapy because I discovered my checking account was about to go into over-draft.
So, setting aside my personal condemnation on how much my financial crisis is self-inflicted, I must consider this: Now that times are tough, what am I going to do? Give up, like I've done in the past? Back down? Weasel out? Sneak out? Am I going to stay the course or "let myself off the hook"? p. 164. Am I going to "damn the torpedoes" and go "full speed ahead!"? Can I make this work? Can I swallow my pride, learn from my mistakes, live simply and make this financially work?
I seem to have lost sight of the fact that what I'm doing as a writer is legitimate work. I'm still convinced of what was yelled at me when, at the age of 16, I was hunched over the computer writing short stories - that this is goofing-off, or screwing around and that this won't make me any money.
I'm seeing right now how personal and scary this adventure in writing is. This matters very much to me and, let's face it, I'm scared. I'm scared that what was yelled at me was right (now I'm a whiny, lazy hippie). I'm scared I'll be slave to the inherited idea that I need to be busy, working at a job I hate, struggling to earn money and security; and that equals valid contribution to society and life.
But, through the guidance of my spiritual adviser, I've decided to give this a month or two (Liz decided to give the "Geet" seven more days). I have to try. This is meant to be hard. God has given me gifts. He's given me directions, signs, omens along the way. He gave me "beginner's luck" all the way back in 6th grade (I placed 2nd in a state-wide writing competition). I owe 100% and I ought to accept whatever happens, even in the face of the complete, abject and utter failure I fear. Even if the fears come true, I still can get up, dust myself off, find my bearings and try again. Otherwise, what's the alternative?
Liz is struggling with a particular long and arduous meditation song: The Gurugita. Richard from Texas calls it "The Geet". At 182 verses long "and each verse is a paragraph of impenetrable Sanskrit." p. 161
Out of curiosity, I looked it up on-line. This is one line:
"viçvotkérëamanekadehanilayaiù svacchandamätmecchayä |" (no shit, it's impenetrable!)
And, that's even a continuation from a line before that! I looked up a pdf file which was 43 pages long! Mother of God!
I can completely understand why she goes to a monk to excuse her from singing it! I'm discouraged by just looking at one line! And, that was on page 2 of 43! (Ok, enough exclaiming.)
To what seems to be, on the surface, a reasonable request, the monk replies, "Nobody around here is ever going to make you do anything you don't want to do." p. 163. I've had "old timers" say something similar to me too.
It turns out the Gurugita isn't supposed to be fun to sing. "It's a mighty purifying practice. It burns away all your junk, all you negative emotions," the monk goes on to say. "And, I think it's probably having a positive effect on you if you're experiencing such strong emotions and physical reactions . . ."
That was my experience with early sobriety. The whole process of getting sober is meant to free us from ourselves. The struggle was painful. It was like tearing a prisoner who is in the throes of Stockholm Syndrome away from his cell and his captor. To me, that's what alcoholism is: our own personal Stockholm syndrome.
Then, the monk asks Liz a profound question: "What's the alternative?" p. 164. "To quit whenever something gets challenging? To futz around your whole life, miserable and incomplete?"
That's a good question for me right now. If I pan out, it's always a good question. What's the alternative to sobriety, regardless of the struggles? With a sound mind, I usually need go no further than the question.
So, I'm broke right now. I was fired over two weeks ago and Unemployment hasn't kicked in. I wasn't even able to buy my fiancee a flower for Valentines Day. Actually, let's be honest. I was tired and hungry from a long day of class, therapy, a meeting and eating leftovers. Plus, the few remaining dollars I had in my pocket (which was left from what my fiancee loaned me) I was too afraid to let go of. I don't know what I was saving it for. Perhaps, I was saving it to protect myself from the ego gut-check of having to ask her for more money (get a job you lazy hippie!) The "two" of the "one-two" punch to the body is eating for dinner the other half of my fiancee's sandwich she didn't finish for lunch because she new I would be hungry later. The cross to the head, then, was having to ask for loan for therapy because I discovered my checking account was about to go into over-draft.
So, setting aside my personal condemnation on how much my financial crisis is self-inflicted, I must consider this: Now that times are tough, what am I going to do? Give up, like I've done in the past? Back down? Weasel out? Sneak out? Am I going to stay the course or "let myself off the hook"? p. 164. Am I going to "damn the torpedoes" and go "full speed ahead!"? Can I make this work? Can I swallow my pride, learn from my mistakes, live simply and make this financially work?
I seem to have lost sight of the fact that what I'm doing as a writer is legitimate work. I'm still convinced of what was yelled at me when, at the age of 16, I was hunched over the computer writing short stories - that this is goofing-off, or screwing around and that this won't make me any money.
I'm seeing right now how personal and scary this adventure in writing is. This matters very much to me and, let's face it, I'm scared. I'm scared that what was yelled at me was right (now I'm a whiny, lazy hippie). I'm scared I'll be slave to the inherited idea that I need to be busy, working at a job I hate, struggling to earn money and security; and that equals valid contribution to society and life.
But, through the guidance of my spiritual adviser, I've decided to give this a month or two (Liz decided to give the "Geet" seven more days). I have to try. This is meant to be hard. God has given me gifts. He's given me directions, signs, omens along the way. He gave me "beginner's luck" all the way back in 6th grade (I placed 2nd in a state-wide writing competition). I owe 100% and I ought to accept whatever happens, even in the face of the complete, abject and utter failure I fear. Even if the fears come true, I still can get up, dust myself off, find my bearings and try again. Otherwise, what's the alternative?
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Day 29. February 13th, 2012. You Have No Idea How Strong My Love Is
I have a difficult time fathoming the following:
"When I sit in my silence and look at my mind, it is only questions of longing and control that emerge to agitate me, and this agitation is what keeps me from evolving forward.
"When I tried this morning, after an hour or so of unhappy thinking, to dip back into my meditation, I took a new idea with me: compassion . . . I began feeling frustrated and judgmental about myself, lonely and angry. But then a fierce response boiled up from somewhere in the deepest caverns of my heart . . . My mind tried to protest, 'Yeah, but you're such a failure, you're such a loser, you'll never amount to anything -"
Here comes the part I can't fathom:
"But suddenly it was like a lion was roaring from within my chest, drowning all this claptrap out. A voice bellowed in me like nothing I had ever heard before. . . And this is what it roared:
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STRONG MY LOVE IS!!!
"The chattering, negative thoughts in my mind scattered in the wind of this statement like birds and jackrabbits and antelopes - they hightailed it out of there, terrified. Silence followed. An intense, vibrating, awed silence. The lion in the giant savannah of my heart surveyed his newly quiet kingdom with satisfaction . . .
"And then, in that regal silence, finally - I began to meditate on (and with) God. p. 157-58
Holy crap! That happens?! It must be true. She wrote about it. And, I don't think you can make that stuff up.
She's been having problems, up to this point, with meditation and devotion and she's at an Ashram. And, I'm stuck in New York City trying to take what feels like a meek stab at a spiritual path. Not only am I boondoggled by the noise in my head, I'm attacked from all sides by the noise of the city, the crowds, the energy, the noise of life for that matter (certainly not like the Eden-like peace of an Ashram).
I've found another thing we have in common. We're both brooders. (I think similarities like this keep me reading). Brooding - those endless, solid trains of thought that invade and vividly play at any given moment of silence. Even moments of meditation get invaded in my thoughts. I here there's a club for that. They've even made jackets. I still judge myself the same way that Liz did.
On her website, she wrote, "Please try, also, not to go totally freaking insane in the process. Insanity is a very tempting path for artists, but we don’t need any more of that in the world at the moment, so please resist your call to insanity. We need more creation, not more destruction. We need our artists more than ever, and we need them to be stable, steadfast, honorable and brave – they are our soldiers, our hope. . . Become a knight, a force of diligence and faith."
I feel like my charge is to bring healing into the world. I could be wrong. Even if I am, what a great mistake that would be to try! But, I can't bring healing to others if I'm not healed myself. There's still plenty to be done. There's still some past harms that need to be mended. I will never be rendered clean as the driven snow, but at least I'll have a cleaner connection with God. Then, maybe one day, I'll have a lion roaring inside me. As long as it's not a monkey laughing or a panda farting, I'll be fine.
It's not a comfort to read that Liz is struggling with meditation while being surrounded by meditation and devotion 24/7 in the middle of Nowhere, India. She meditates a bagillion hours a day and I pray at the toilet in the small bathroom at our cramped apartment. I don't regularly meditate and I write at the library. I catch as catch can. I'm struggling.
The negative thoughts for me are that maybe this writing thing was a bad idea. I feel like my freedom is inhibited by the living situation and I have no money. Somewhere inside me I feel offended that I'm relying on the hand-outs of unemployment. I feel like I'm being dishonest. And, mooching off of my fiancee while I wait for the unemployment money to start coming in makes it worse. I feel like I'm staring in the face of crippling poverty and I'm going to take my fiancee with me. Then comes the voice, "quit your crying, you lazy bastard, and get a job!"
So, God, tell me. How can I write and make a living at the same time? I know I ought to say, "I will gladly go back to waiting tables if you want me to." But, I can't say that. And, I won't gladly go. I'll begrudgingly go. Sure, I'm supposed to be so spiritually fit that I can joyfully go about my day despite the insanity of any given restaurant (I have yet to work in a happy, healthy restaurant in NYC).
So, no, I don't yet know how strong Your love is.
"When I sit in my silence and look at my mind, it is only questions of longing and control that emerge to agitate me, and this agitation is what keeps me from evolving forward.
"When I tried this morning, after an hour or so of unhappy thinking, to dip back into my meditation, I took a new idea with me: compassion . . . I began feeling frustrated and judgmental about myself, lonely and angry. But then a fierce response boiled up from somewhere in the deepest caverns of my heart . . . My mind tried to protest, 'Yeah, but you're such a failure, you're such a loser, you'll never amount to anything -"
Here comes the part I can't fathom:
"But suddenly it was like a lion was roaring from within my chest, drowning all this claptrap out. A voice bellowed in me like nothing I had ever heard before. . . And this is what it roared:
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW STRONG MY LOVE IS!!!
"The chattering, negative thoughts in my mind scattered in the wind of this statement like birds and jackrabbits and antelopes - they hightailed it out of there, terrified. Silence followed. An intense, vibrating, awed silence. The lion in the giant savannah of my heart surveyed his newly quiet kingdom with satisfaction . . .
"And then, in that regal silence, finally - I began to meditate on (and with) God. p. 157-58
Holy crap! That happens?! It must be true. She wrote about it. And, I don't think you can make that stuff up.
She's been having problems, up to this point, with meditation and devotion and she's at an Ashram. And, I'm stuck in New York City trying to take what feels like a meek stab at a spiritual path. Not only am I boondoggled by the noise in my head, I'm attacked from all sides by the noise of the city, the crowds, the energy, the noise of life for that matter (certainly not like the Eden-like peace of an Ashram).
I've found another thing we have in common. We're both brooders. (I think similarities like this keep me reading). Brooding - those endless, solid trains of thought that invade and vividly play at any given moment of silence. Even moments of meditation get invaded in my thoughts. I here there's a club for that. They've even made jackets. I still judge myself the same way that Liz did.
On her website, she wrote, "Please try, also, not to go totally freaking insane in the process. Insanity is a very tempting path for artists, but we don’t need any more of that in the world at the moment, so please resist your call to insanity. We need more creation, not more destruction. We need our artists more than ever, and we need them to be stable, steadfast, honorable and brave – they are our soldiers, our hope. . . Become a knight, a force of diligence and faith."
I feel like my charge is to bring healing into the world. I could be wrong. Even if I am, what a great mistake that would be to try! But, I can't bring healing to others if I'm not healed myself. There's still plenty to be done. There's still some past harms that need to be mended. I will never be rendered clean as the driven snow, but at least I'll have a cleaner connection with God. Then, maybe one day, I'll have a lion roaring inside me. As long as it's not a monkey laughing or a panda farting, I'll be fine.
It's not a comfort to read that Liz is struggling with meditation while being surrounded by meditation and devotion 24/7 in the middle of Nowhere, India. She meditates a bagillion hours a day and I pray at the toilet in the small bathroom at our cramped apartment. I don't regularly meditate and I write at the library. I catch as catch can. I'm struggling.
The negative thoughts for me are that maybe this writing thing was a bad idea. I feel like my freedom is inhibited by the living situation and I have no money. Somewhere inside me I feel offended that I'm relying on the hand-outs of unemployment. I feel like I'm being dishonest. And, mooching off of my fiancee while I wait for the unemployment money to start coming in makes it worse. I feel like I'm staring in the face of crippling poverty and I'm going to take my fiancee with me. Then comes the voice, "quit your crying, you lazy bastard, and get a job!"
So, God, tell me. How can I write and make a living at the same time? I know I ought to say, "I will gladly go back to waiting tables if you want me to." But, I can't say that. And, I won't gladly go. I'll begrudgingly go. Sure, I'm supposed to be so spiritually fit that I can joyfully go about my day despite the insanity of any given restaurant (I have yet to work in a happy, healthy restaurant in NYC).
So, no, I don't yet know how strong Your love is.
Day 28. February 11th, 2012. For Those of Little Dust or Look for God Like a Man With His Head on Fire Looks for Water.
Liz is having an metaphysical crisis, as she has been prone to since she was 9 years old. p. 151. We both seem to want the universe to stop for a second, so we can understand what's going on. However, we seem to differ in that she seems to want to control everything (Apparently, she has accepted that Richard from Texas is right), control her experience, control her destiny. I just want to know what the hell is going on so I know where I fit in, so I can belong somewhere, lest this eternal racing of time passes me buy, leaving me feeling lost and alone crying on the roadside of space and time.
I've always wanted to belong somewhere, to fit in somewhere. My first metaphysical moment wasn't a crisis. It came on the bike ride I wrote about previously. I was on a night time bike ride with my dad and I asked, "Dad? What's really up there? I mean what's really up there?" I don't know if he was more taken aback by the question or the fact that it was asked by a 6th grader.
I want to understand God's universe so I can feel a part of it. I want the play book. If I can't get that (odds are I never will) then I'll settle for the play book on acceptance. Or, the play book on a quiet mind would be nice, too.
I seem to recall having a quiet mind once. I related to her parable about the Irish farmer with an inherent quiet mind gazing peacefully into the fire place. p. 154.
"'Da,' [Sean says] 'this meditation stuff, it's crucial for teaching serenity. It can really save your life. It teaches you how to quiet your mind.'
"His father turned to him and said kindly, 'I have a quiet mind already, son,' then resumed his gaze on the fire.
"But I don't. Nor does Sean." Neither do I.
I used to be able to gaze peacefully into the fire. My family used to have a cabin, built by my dad's parents and uncles. It was a humbled structure that started out as a small caravan. The cabin I came to love sat on a hill, up a winding dirt road from a lake in southern Minnesota. It had a front porch and back porch added on to it. The middle room (with a kitchenette and that magical fireplace I would gaze into) was all what was left of the 1940's caravan. My grandparents handed it down to my dad. He handed it down to me.
I used to be able to go on quiet walks in the woods near the cabin. In my troubled, misfit teen years, I could find solace there. Even though I was lonely. I was peacefully lonely. I could gaze out the screen windows on the front porch, down the hill, towards the lake; or into the dancing flames of a late-night fire, mesmerized and fall asleep peacefully.
Maybe those peaceful moments started to end when my alcoholism was awakened by the few random parties in high school or by the strip clubs when I was 18. Maybe, that's when the chase started. At the beginning, it wasn't as intense as later in life. I grew into my disease slowly. Certainly, however, my inner peace began to waver. My comfort and solace with nature wavered. My ability to find peace in the wind blowing through the trees or in the hissing and crackling of a small fire faltered. And, as I chases and feared and chased some more, the cabin faded and decayed as did my inner peace and my connection with God, until both were eventually torn down.
While what used to be the cabin is an empty plot of land, I'm rebuilding the other. It seems ironic that I'm rebuilding my connection with God by learning to let go. Like Liz, letting go is scary for me. I don't know what it is. I don't know what it means. That place of "active passivity" (as an acting teacher of mine once called it) is evasive.
Afraid of what seeking God's enlightenment "like a man with his head on fire looks for water" (p. 156) will bring, will turn me into, I wonder if I'm even chosen for enlightenment at all. Maybe, because of a hard-wired character flaw, I will never have the placid mind to receive such a gift. That isn't so painful a thought. It would mean I wouldn't have to chase anymore and accept what is. It seems like a cop-out. How long would I be satisfied with that? How long would it be until I'd start chasing again, simply because I inexplicable had to?
Richard from Texas says, "you gotta let go and sit still and allow contentment come to you." p. 155
I see now that I've got it all wrong.
I've always wanted to belong somewhere, to fit in somewhere. My first metaphysical moment wasn't a crisis. It came on the bike ride I wrote about previously. I was on a night time bike ride with my dad and I asked, "Dad? What's really up there? I mean what's really up there?" I don't know if he was more taken aback by the question or the fact that it was asked by a 6th grader.
I want to understand God's universe so I can feel a part of it. I want the play book. If I can't get that (odds are I never will) then I'll settle for the play book on acceptance. Or, the play book on a quiet mind would be nice, too.
I seem to recall having a quiet mind once. I related to her parable about the Irish farmer with an inherent quiet mind gazing peacefully into the fire place. p. 154.
"'Da,' [Sean says] 'this meditation stuff, it's crucial for teaching serenity. It can really save your life. It teaches you how to quiet your mind.'
"His father turned to him and said kindly, 'I have a quiet mind already, son,' then resumed his gaze on the fire.
"But I don't. Nor does Sean." Neither do I.
I used to be able to gaze peacefully into the fire. My family used to have a cabin, built by my dad's parents and uncles. It was a humbled structure that started out as a small caravan. The cabin I came to love sat on a hill, up a winding dirt road from a lake in southern Minnesota. It had a front porch and back porch added on to it. The middle room (with a kitchenette and that magical fireplace I would gaze into) was all what was left of the 1940's caravan. My grandparents handed it down to my dad. He handed it down to me.
I used to be able to go on quiet walks in the woods near the cabin. In my troubled, misfit teen years, I could find solace there. Even though I was lonely. I was peacefully lonely. I could gaze out the screen windows on the front porch, down the hill, towards the lake; or into the dancing flames of a late-night fire, mesmerized and fall asleep peacefully.
Maybe those peaceful moments started to end when my alcoholism was awakened by the few random parties in high school or by the strip clubs when I was 18. Maybe, that's when the chase started. At the beginning, it wasn't as intense as later in life. I grew into my disease slowly. Certainly, however, my inner peace began to waver. My comfort and solace with nature wavered. My ability to find peace in the wind blowing through the trees or in the hissing and crackling of a small fire faltered. And, as I chases and feared and chased some more, the cabin faded and decayed as did my inner peace and my connection with God, until both were eventually torn down.
While what used to be the cabin is an empty plot of land, I'm rebuilding the other. It seems ironic that I'm rebuilding my connection with God by learning to let go. Like Liz, letting go is scary for me. I don't know what it is. I don't know what it means. That place of "active passivity" (as an acting teacher of mine once called it) is evasive.
Afraid of what seeking God's enlightenment "like a man with his head on fire looks for water" (p. 156) will bring, will turn me into, I wonder if I'm even chosen for enlightenment at all. Maybe, because of a hard-wired character flaw, I will never have the placid mind to receive such a gift. That isn't so painful a thought. It would mean I wouldn't have to chase anymore and accept what is. It seems like a cop-out. How long would I be satisfied with that? How long would it be until I'd start chasing again, simply because I inexplicable had to?
Richard from Texas says, "you gotta let go and sit still and allow contentment come to you." p. 155
I see now that I've got it all wrong.
Day 27. February 10th, 2012. Letting Go is Hard.
It's hard to pray in the public library. I know I need to do it, to calm my mind, to connect with God. It's been part of my morning "routine" since I stopped drinking and now my morning routine has moved to the public library. There's no room to pray and meditate in the apartment. I suppose I could go to a church or a temple or something, but then I'll be walking all over the West Village and it would be after noon before I could even get my day started! I guess I'll just have to get over worrying what other people think about me. And, I probably shouldn't get on my knees near the teen magazines or pull out a meditation mat right near the graphic novels.
Why does is sound funny when I talk about God, but not when Liz does? Perhaps it's because she's a more practiced and articulate writer. Or, perhaps it's because my pride and ego are worried about sounding like a fool. They certainly aren't going down without a fight!
I, also, don't have the guidance she has. And, she's struggling, too! It's funny, she spiritually struggles at the Ashram in the same way I spiritually struggled to get sober. The similarities run all the way to calling the more experienced individuals, "old timers". p. 147
We both received the same reassurances. "They would say this is perfectly normal, that every one goes through this, that intense meditation brings everything up, that you're clearing out your residual demons. . . but I'm in such an emotional state I can't stand it and I don't want to hear any one's hippie theories. I recognize that everything is coming up, thank you very much. Like vomit it's coming up."
How many times did I rant about a peak or, more often then not, a valley of my emotional roller coaster and an "old timer" would say, "yeah, that sounds about right" or "you're right where you're supposed to be." At the time, it sounded like platitudes to me.
And, then, Richard from Texas says, "Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life . . . [you'll see] that your life was changing and you were in the best possible place in the world for it - in a beautiful place of worship, surrounded by grace. Take this time, every minute of it. Let things work themselves out . . ." p. 149
It reminds me of when some one would ask me, "How are you doing?" and I'd say, "shitty." And, they'd reply with a comforting smile, "Well, you're in the right place". Also, this passage reminds me of, "when we straighten out spiritually . . . " then something abut the mental and the physical falling into place.
Letting go is hard. Changing is hard. They never promised me this would be easy. Just simple. Not easy. Whatever I've lived with for years, even the bad stuff, is familiar. It may have been painful, but it was familiar. I used to say, "the devil I know is better than the God I don't know." Looking back, it's clear to me that I was deathly afraid of the unknown (ironic choice of words, considering that which I was afraid of, has saved my life). The demons were killing me. The "devil" was killing me. But, I knew them. We had been "friends" for a long time. They were predictable in their destruction. And, even though the trajectory of my was life was a slow downward spiral, I was oblivious to it. It was best not to know at the time, to stay deluded. Now, with a bit of an awakening, I seem to be aware of what's going on around me, if not over-sensitized to it by my ego.
I know God is out there. I've seen Him working in my life. But, as God's winds blow, my pride tries to set the sails, steer the boat towards what it thinks are better winds, instead of gliding along with the ones that are blowing right here, right now. So, the massive change that is predicated by God's miracles are met with resistance, fear and resentment. My pride curses the waves for being too choppy or the wind for being too strong. That's a lot to contend with when all you're trying to do is sail.
When Liz was in Italy, she seemed "light". Even her dark times seemed poetic and, somehow, lovely. Right now, she seems dark and heavy in India. Things don't seem beautiful right now. We're both going through some dark times. Isn't that the quality of struggle? Dark and heavy? Isn't that the quality of the burden that blocks us off from God? I guess we have to push through the garbage, the dark, in order to get into the light (I guess that's what a Guru is for: to show us the way through). As an alcoholic, I have to do a thorough cleaning of all that garbage to get free. I have to admit my faults (as Liz had to admit she was a control freak) and then let God remove them.
It's ironic. We cling to some of our most valuable garbage with all of our might. And, we kick and scream as God tries to pry it out of our hands. He sends people to point our the filth that is blocking us, rotting inside us and stinking up the place and we lash out at those agents of mercy, unwilling to see. But, God loves us. He is patient. He lets us have our tantrums, our petty squabbles, our rebellions. But, He won't leave us alone.
Now, that the creative fire in me is stoked, it burns, clean and bright. It may still be a small flame, but it burns with a sense of purpose. It no longer seems to be a wild fire, randomly relighting or bursting into flames at the inspirational strike of lightning. It's there. I can't ignore it. It's alive in me, growing stronger at every word.
Why does is sound funny when I talk about God, but not when Liz does? Perhaps it's because she's a more practiced and articulate writer. Or, perhaps it's because my pride and ego are worried about sounding like a fool. They certainly aren't going down without a fight!
I, also, don't have the guidance she has. And, she's struggling, too! It's funny, she spiritually struggles at the Ashram in the same way I spiritually struggled to get sober. The similarities run all the way to calling the more experienced individuals, "old timers". p. 147
We both received the same reassurances. "They would say this is perfectly normal, that every one goes through this, that intense meditation brings everything up, that you're clearing out your residual demons. . . but I'm in such an emotional state I can't stand it and I don't want to hear any one's hippie theories. I recognize that everything is coming up, thank you very much. Like vomit it's coming up."
How many times did I rant about a peak or, more often then not, a valley of my emotional roller coaster and an "old timer" would say, "yeah, that sounds about right" or "you're right where you're supposed to be." At the time, it sounded like platitudes to me.
And, then, Richard from Texas says, "Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life . . . [you'll see] that your life was changing and you were in the best possible place in the world for it - in a beautiful place of worship, surrounded by grace. Take this time, every minute of it. Let things work themselves out . . ." p. 149
It reminds me of when some one would ask me, "How are you doing?" and I'd say, "shitty." And, they'd reply with a comforting smile, "Well, you're in the right place". Also, this passage reminds me of, "when we straighten out spiritually . . . " then something abut the mental and the physical falling into place.
Letting go is hard. Changing is hard. They never promised me this would be easy. Just simple. Not easy. Whatever I've lived with for years, even the bad stuff, is familiar. It may have been painful, but it was familiar. I used to say, "the devil I know is better than the God I don't know." Looking back, it's clear to me that I was deathly afraid of the unknown (ironic choice of words, considering that which I was afraid of, has saved my life). The demons were killing me. The "devil" was killing me. But, I knew them. We had been "friends" for a long time. They were predictable in their destruction. And, even though the trajectory of my was life was a slow downward spiral, I was oblivious to it. It was best not to know at the time, to stay deluded. Now, with a bit of an awakening, I seem to be aware of what's going on around me, if not over-sensitized to it by my ego.
I know God is out there. I've seen Him working in my life. But, as God's winds blow, my pride tries to set the sails, steer the boat towards what it thinks are better winds, instead of gliding along with the ones that are blowing right here, right now. So, the massive change that is predicated by God's miracles are met with resistance, fear and resentment. My pride curses the waves for being too choppy or the wind for being too strong. That's a lot to contend with when all you're trying to do is sail.
When Liz was in Italy, she seemed "light". Even her dark times seemed poetic and, somehow, lovely. Right now, she seems dark and heavy in India. Things don't seem beautiful right now. We're both going through some dark times. Isn't that the quality of struggle? Dark and heavy? Isn't that the quality of the burden that blocks us off from God? I guess we have to push through the garbage, the dark, in order to get into the light (I guess that's what a Guru is for: to show us the way through). As an alcoholic, I have to do a thorough cleaning of all that garbage to get free. I have to admit my faults (as Liz had to admit she was a control freak) and then let God remove them.
It's ironic. We cling to some of our most valuable garbage with all of our might. And, we kick and scream as God tries to pry it out of our hands. He sends people to point our the filth that is blocking us, rotting inside us and stinking up the place and we lash out at those agents of mercy, unwilling to see. But, God loves us. He is patient. He lets us have our tantrums, our petty squabbles, our rebellions. But, He won't leave us alone.
Now, that the creative fire in me is stoked, it burns, clean and bright. It may still be a small flame, but it burns with a sense of purpose. It no longer seems to be a wild fire, randomly relighting or bursting into flames at the inspirational strike of lightning. It's there. I can't ignore it. It's alive in me, growing stronger at every word.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Day 26. February 9th, 2012. The Silence of the Heart and the Spiritual Universe Summed Up
Thanks to my fiancee's suggestion, I'm at the "clock tower" public library, trying to establish a new routine. I've been away from my journal for six days, if you count the coffee "club" incident; eight, if you count any real writing. It's been challenging. Packing two people into a studio already designed and decorated for one person is a challenge. The last time I lived here permanently, I was drunk.
I'm afraid we're going to get on each others' nerves. In the morning, I try to quietly step, almost Kung-Fu style, around the temporary piles of still-packed boxes, various other things that are still waiting for a place to be stored, bags of trash and recycling, the cat, shoes, errant papers and pens while trying to find my way to the couch without knocking anything precariously perched on a rare piece of flat surface onto the floor, thus adding to the mess. I breath a sigh of relief and exhale the built up tension of the journey to the "couch" as I sit with my bowl of cereal. Then, I have to wiz. Of course.
This is a scary time. Whether or not I am experiencing it, my fiancee sure is. Girls are lucky. They get to vent their feelings and then, they're done. Dude's brood. We (at least I do) hold it all in. We try to "man up" or get busy. Sometimes, I worry that I'm feeling a feeling that I really don't even know I'm feeling and it's going to cause an aneurism or a nervous breakdown or something. It's like I'm afraid and I won't even really admit it to myself.
A trusted friend of mine suggests I give this writing idea a couple of months. This is a leap of faith, then. I will leap and God will show me my wings. I'm going to fall and flap for awhile, but God will be there to either give me flight or show me how to not splat again.
Liz writes, "The other day, a monk told me, 'the resting place of the mind is in the heart. The only thing the mind hears all day is clanging bells and noise and arguments," (I can surely vouch for that! In fact, a lot of my mind's bell-clanging, noise and arguments have been recorded in this blog) "and all it wants is quietude. The only place the mind will ever find peace is inside the silence of the heart. That's where you need to go." p. 141
She was trying a new mantra: Ham-sa. "The Yogis say that Ham-sa is the most natural mantra, the one we are all given by God before birth. It is the sound of your own breath. 'Ham' on the inhale, 'sa' on the exhale."
Ham-sa means, "I am that." "I am divine, I am with God . . ."
"Meditate on whatever causes a revolution in your mind." Powerful words.
It makes me wonder, "how do I find the silence in my heart?" The silence of my heart is where I need to go? How do I get there?
Liz writes about a "blue light" experience in here meditation. I wonder if that's the same as a "white light" experience? In what I've learned while getting sober a spiritual experience is likened to a spiritual awakening. So, is a spiritual awakening like "shaktipat"? p. 145
It seems like every religion of the world has a description of this kind of experience and the kundalini shakti - true union with God - it seems. Another similarity is the "seven mansions" Liz wrote about while relating St. Teresa of Avila's spiritual experience. I assume those "seven mansions" have similarities to the "seven chakras". With just a little google research, I'm already seeing there is. A whole essay could be written about that. Some other time, perhaps.
What I'm getting at is that it just goes to show all the religions are right. They are just different paths to God. It's only the people who practice these faiths have decided that they have found the true path, the truly righteous path to God. Liz recognizes the different words, "ki", "chi", "taksu", "holy spirit" and "the beloved" all pretty much mean the same thing. p. 143
I believe all the regions of the world are as various as the languages of the world. And, as we use different languages to talk to each other, so do we use different religions and spiritual practices to talk to God. Some languages fade away into history. So do some religious practices. Does religion evolve as our understanding of God evolves? Perhaps the only religions that stick around are the ones founded on a true communion with God and his ever growing and ever changing universe; and founded on a true desire to do his work, spread love, kindness, forgiveness, tolerance, joy, healing, harmony and brotherhood in this world. And, maybe, just maybe, you can have a spiritual experience you can pass on to others. Well, I've got the whole spiritual universe figured out in my blog. You're welcome.
I'm afraid we're going to get on each others' nerves. In the morning, I try to quietly step, almost Kung-Fu style, around the temporary piles of still-packed boxes, various other things that are still waiting for a place to be stored, bags of trash and recycling, the cat, shoes, errant papers and pens while trying to find my way to the couch without knocking anything precariously perched on a rare piece of flat surface onto the floor, thus adding to the mess. I breath a sigh of relief and exhale the built up tension of the journey to the "couch" as I sit with my bowl of cereal. Then, I have to wiz. Of course.
This is a scary time. Whether or not I am experiencing it, my fiancee sure is. Girls are lucky. They get to vent their feelings and then, they're done. Dude's brood. We (at least I do) hold it all in. We try to "man up" or get busy. Sometimes, I worry that I'm feeling a feeling that I really don't even know I'm feeling and it's going to cause an aneurism or a nervous breakdown or something. It's like I'm afraid and I won't even really admit it to myself.
A trusted friend of mine suggests I give this writing idea a couple of months. This is a leap of faith, then. I will leap and God will show me my wings. I'm going to fall and flap for awhile, but God will be there to either give me flight or show me how to not splat again.
Liz writes, "The other day, a monk told me, 'the resting place of the mind is in the heart. The only thing the mind hears all day is clanging bells and noise and arguments," (I can surely vouch for that! In fact, a lot of my mind's bell-clanging, noise and arguments have been recorded in this blog) "and all it wants is quietude. The only place the mind will ever find peace is inside the silence of the heart. That's where you need to go." p. 141
She was trying a new mantra: Ham-sa. "The Yogis say that Ham-sa is the most natural mantra, the one we are all given by God before birth. It is the sound of your own breath. 'Ham' on the inhale, 'sa' on the exhale."
Ham-sa means, "I am that." "I am divine, I am with God . . ."
"Meditate on whatever causes a revolution in your mind." Powerful words.
It makes me wonder, "how do I find the silence in my heart?" The silence of my heart is where I need to go? How do I get there?
Liz writes about a "blue light" experience in here meditation. I wonder if that's the same as a "white light" experience? In what I've learned while getting sober a spiritual experience is likened to a spiritual awakening. So, is a spiritual awakening like "shaktipat"? p. 145
It seems like every religion of the world has a description of this kind of experience and the kundalini shakti - true union with God - it seems. Another similarity is the "seven mansions" Liz wrote about while relating St. Teresa of Avila's spiritual experience. I assume those "seven mansions" have similarities to the "seven chakras". With just a little google research, I'm already seeing there is. A whole essay could be written about that. Some other time, perhaps.
What I'm getting at is that it just goes to show all the religions are right. They are just different paths to God. It's only the people who practice these faiths have decided that they have found the true path, the truly righteous path to God. Liz recognizes the different words, "ki", "chi", "taksu", "holy spirit" and "the beloved" all pretty much mean the same thing. p. 143
I believe all the regions of the world are as various as the languages of the world. And, as we use different languages to talk to each other, so do we use different religions and spiritual practices to talk to God. Some languages fade away into history. So do some religious practices. Does religion evolve as our understanding of God evolves? Perhaps the only religions that stick around are the ones founded on a true communion with God and his ever growing and ever changing universe; and founded on a true desire to do his work, spread love, kindness, forgiveness, tolerance, joy, healing, harmony and brotherhood in this world. And, maybe, just maybe, you can have a spiritual experience you can pass on to others. Well, I've got the whole spiritual universe figured out in my blog. You're welcome.
Day 25. February 3rd, 2012 The Dance Club Coffee Shop
Well, I started this day off with acceptance and a sense of adventure. I tried to make the best of this new life in the cramped, little West Village apartment. Today, I did my daily reading on the "couch", which is more like a love seat and can fit two people uncomfortably when it's not cluttered. However, today various fertility and wedding books, magazine clippings and my daily reading books were edging uncomfortably close to me, sliding into my personal space as my weight concaved the cushions like a sink hole drawing them near me. I, in the meantime, was hunched over Eat, Pray, Love with my plated sandwich perched on the left arm of the couch and the cat perched on the right. My corn chips were on the floor between my feet, held upright with my legs. I had to be careful while reaching down for a delicious, lime-flavored chip, lest I knock my sandwich over, not to mention the bottle of coke which was sitting on top of a match box (the only flat surface on a cluttered coffee table).
I was hopeful, even after my painful, cumbersome and amateur attempt at meditation. I tried the ol' cross-legged on the floor approach. My inflexible hips did not like that as any attempt at focusing on my breathing or any sort of mantra was met by painful protests. I was still hopeful that I could find a nice, quiet, artsy coffee shop to write. Nope! I sat down at the one that played dance music, loudly. Just what I wanted on a sunny afternoon: a cup of coffee and The Party Rock Anthem! Who wouldn't want to have a pleasant conversation, work on some school work, rehearse a scene or do some writing with Nicki Minaj in the background? "Hey! Where's the dance floor!" Am I getting old?
Needless to say, I was a little pissed. I couldn't even focus on writing about what I read today. The repetitive thump of the base drove out the peace and serenity of the Ashram.
I can try to gather a little perspective. I'm in transition now. I have no footing, yet. I have yet to establish a routine. Perhaps, with the money I get from my ex-roommate, I can get a membership at that writing space on 14th street. Because coffee shops like that one just won't work! Then, I had to wiz. I just wanted to gulp down the rest of my coffee and get out of there.
On the bright side, I do get to spend more time with my fiancee. I could look at this aggravating experience at the coffee shop as part of a Thomas Edison approach: I've eliminated one place to write. And, the right place will come along if I'm patient.
I'm afraid that I may have to jump right back into a new job. I dread that because to me that spells death for my creativity. And, why would I go right back into an industry that keeps firing me (I've been fired from three restaurants)? Why does this seem a sign to me and no one else? Men who have that many ex-wives just stop marrying, right? Of course, then I could be assuming too big of a role in controlling my future. This could be my ego stepping in and trying to run the show. So, instead of risking the tantrum of a red-faced, stomping child, I'm just going to call it a day.
I was hopeful, even after my painful, cumbersome and amateur attempt at meditation. I tried the ol' cross-legged on the floor approach. My inflexible hips did not like that as any attempt at focusing on my breathing or any sort of mantra was met by painful protests. I was still hopeful that I could find a nice, quiet, artsy coffee shop to write. Nope! I sat down at the one that played dance music, loudly. Just what I wanted on a sunny afternoon: a cup of coffee and The Party Rock Anthem! Who wouldn't want to have a pleasant conversation, work on some school work, rehearse a scene or do some writing with Nicki Minaj in the background? "Hey! Where's the dance floor!" Am I getting old?
Needless to say, I was a little pissed. I couldn't even focus on writing about what I read today. The repetitive thump of the base drove out the peace and serenity of the Ashram.
I can try to gather a little perspective. I'm in transition now. I have no footing, yet. I have yet to establish a routine. Perhaps, with the money I get from my ex-roommate, I can get a membership at that writing space on 14th street. Because coffee shops like that one just won't work! Then, I had to wiz. I just wanted to gulp down the rest of my coffee and get out of there.
On the bright side, I do get to spend more time with my fiancee. I could look at this aggravating experience at the coffee shop as part of a Thomas Edison approach: I've eliminated one place to write. And, the right place will come along if I'm patient.
I'm afraid that I may have to jump right back into a new job. I dread that because to me that spells death for my creativity. And, why would I go right back into an industry that keeps firing me (I've been fired from three restaurants)? Why does this seem a sign to me and no one else? Men who have that many ex-wives just stop marrying, right? Of course, then I could be assuming too big of a role in controlling my future. This could be my ego stepping in and trying to run the show. So, instead of risking the tantrum of a red-faced, stomping child, I'm just going to call it a day.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Day 24. February 1st, 2012 "Like, Love, Groceries. Pure, Divine, Love."
I don't know where to start today. My mind is so frazzled by the move, wedding stuff, my fiancee's bad mood. She can get pretty angry when she's frustrated. And, I can get pretty sensitive when I'm sensitive . . . and needy. Yeah, that's right. Dude's get needy, too.
I guess I'll start my writing about something I found in one of my morning meditation books: "You're so omnipotent [God], you take care of it. He did. I began to receive answers to my deepest problems, sometimes at the most unusual times."
Then, I turn to Tagore's Prayer Book:
"Stand in my lonely evening when my heart watches alone;
fill her cup of solitude and let me feel in myself the infinity of your love (I made it bold because those words have "with a little pin bore[d] through [my ego's] castle wall, and . . ." - Richard II)
Then, there's Richard from Texas, who talks about the ego: "Your ego's job isn't to serve you. It's only job is to keep itself in power." (A spiritual guide of mine once told me, 'your ego is not you amigo') "And right now, your ego's scared to death 'cuz it's about to get downsized. You keep up this spiritual path, baby, and that bad boy's days are numbered." (I guess if I keep up my spiritual path, my ego's days are numbered, too!) "Pretty son your ego will be out of work, and your heart'll be making all the decisions. So, your ego's fighting for it's life, playing with your mind, trying to assert its authority, trying to keep you cornered off in a holding pen away from the rest of the universe. Don't listen to it." p. 140 (". . . good bye, [ego]" - Richard II)
Later, he says, "Instead of trying to forcefully take thoughts out of your mind, give your mind something better to play with, something healthier."
"Like what?" Liz asks.
"Like love, Groceries. Like pure, divine love." p. 141
Earlier, Richard had talked about prayer and being careful what you ask for. He had prayed to God for an open heart. God gave him open heart surgery. After that, he asked God to be gentle with him.
So, everything I've read today seems to somehow tie together, but I can't quite make the connection.
Let me go back to the conflict with my fiancee. Some one pointed out to me that by engaging in fights with her, I'm giving my power away. For example, she snaps at me about something. I snap back. Now, we're engaged in bickering. I'm still making sense of it. In the meantime, I can ask God to "take care of it" and to hold me in and teach me the "infinity of [His] love". I can ask Him to help me not give my power away and then let him decide how that will manifest itself. I can ask him to clearly show me what giving power away looks like in my life and then help me to clearly see it in the moment (as heated as it can get). Then, I can ask to be shown the right action to take.
I, obviously, can't figure this out on my own. That's why I'm so befuddled. And, when my ego steps in and gets all reactionary it makes things worse. Fights get worse. Then, it becomes about defending the ego instead of solving the problem or finding a common solution. Now, I see how Richard's advice is helpful and applicable to my life. Letting my ego run the show will cause nothing but problems. This is where I need to turn to God and His infinite, pure, divine love, remembering that I'm only asked to seek God. I'm never asked to find Him.
I was talking to a buddy of mine the other day. We were talking about what happens after we get sober. We both crave a sense of purpose. He wants to be a stand-up comedian. I want to be a writer. All I could encourage him to do is was what I was encouraged to do: something, one little thing, every day towards your goal. That got passed on to me from another friend, who got it passed on to her. And, I guess, tracing it all the way back, that kind of love really just comes from God. All we can do is share it. All we can do is carry out the divine inspiration in our own lives then pass on what we've learned to others.
We ought to be the messengers of hope and change. Let our own lights shine so that others may have the courage to shine theirs', (borrowed from Marianne Williamson) to make manifest the Glory of God that is within them. And, then, we can be agents of change, positive change. We can be agents of humble growth. That's the way we can better the world, one generous act of love and kindness at a time.
Pointing out what's wrong with the world is easy and alluring. It feeds our need to feel superior. But instead of being the critic, be "the man in the arena" (Teddy Roosevelt). Effect change in the world. But, do it with love. When we lead with anger and fear, well, that's when the bad things happen. When people lead with love, that's when good things happen. We live in an age of miracles.
I guess I'll start my writing about something I found in one of my morning meditation books: "You're so omnipotent [God], you take care of it. He did. I began to receive answers to my deepest problems, sometimes at the most unusual times."
Then, I turn to Tagore's Prayer Book:
"Stand in my lonely evening when my heart watches alone;
fill her cup of solitude and let me feel in myself the infinity of your love (I made it bold because those words have "with a little pin bore[d] through [my ego's] castle wall, and . . ." - Richard II)
Then, there's Richard from Texas, who talks about the ego: "Your ego's job isn't to serve you. It's only job is to keep itself in power." (A spiritual guide of mine once told me, 'your ego is not you amigo') "And right now, your ego's scared to death 'cuz it's about to get downsized. You keep up this spiritual path, baby, and that bad boy's days are numbered." (I guess if I keep up my spiritual path, my ego's days are numbered, too!) "Pretty son your ego will be out of work, and your heart'll be making all the decisions. So, your ego's fighting for it's life, playing with your mind, trying to assert its authority, trying to keep you cornered off in a holding pen away from the rest of the universe. Don't listen to it." p. 140 (". . . good bye, [ego]" - Richard II)
Later, he says, "Instead of trying to forcefully take thoughts out of your mind, give your mind something better to play with, something healthier."
"Like what?" Liz asks.
"Like love, Groceries. Like pure, divine love." p. 141
Earlier, Richard had talked about prayer and being careful what you ask for. He had prayed to God for an open heart. God gave him open heart surgery. After that, he asked God to be gentle with him.
So, everything I've read today seems to somehow tie together, but I can't quite make the connection.
Let me go back to the conflict with my fiancee. Some one pointed out to me that by engaging in fights with her, I'm giving my power away. For example, she snaps at me about something. I snap back. Now, we're engaged in bickering. I'm still making sense of it. In the meantime, I can ask God to "take care of it" and to hold me in and teach me the "infinity of [His] love". I can ask Him to help me not give my power away and then let him decide how that will manifest itself. I can ask him to clearly show me what giving power away looks like in my life and then help me to clearly see it in the moment (as heated as it can get). Then, I can ask to be shown the right action to take.
I, obviously, can't figure this out on my own. That's why I'm so befuddled. And, when my ego steps in and gets all reactionary it makes things worse. Fights get worse. Then, it becomes about defending the ego instead of solving the problem or finding a common solution. Now, I see how Richard's advice is helpful and applicable to my life. Letting my ego run the show will cause nothing but problems. This is where I need to turn to God and His infinite, pure, divine love, remembering that I'm only asked to seek God. I'm never asked to find Him.
I was talking to a buddy of mine the other day. We were talking about what happens after we get sober. We both crave a sense of purpose. He wants to be a stand-up comedian. I want to be a writer. All I could encourage him to do is was what I was encouraged to do: something, one little thing, every day towards your goal. That got passed on to me from another friend, who got it passed on to her. And, I guess, tracing it all the way back, that kind of love really just comes from God. All we can do is share it. All we can do is carry out the divine inspiration in our own lives then pass on what we've learned to others.
We ought to be the messengers of hope and change. Let our own lights shine so that others may have the courage to shine theirs', (borrowed from Marianne Williamson) to make manifest the Glory of God that is within them. And, then, we can be agents of change, positive change. We can be agents of humble growth. That's the way we can better the world, one generous act of love and kindness at a time.
Pointing out what's wrong with the world is easy and alluring. It feeds our need to feel superior. But instead of being the critic, be "the man in the arena" (Teddy Roosevelt). Effect change in the world. But, do it with love. When we lead with anger and fear, well, that's when the bad things happen. When people lead with love, that's when good things happen. We live in an age of miracles.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Day 23. January 30th, 2012. Beginner's Luck and Bonked Over the Head by God
It's hard to focus on Liz's writing today. I just cleaned out my locker at work and collected the last of my tip money. I still need to start packing so I can move out by February 2nd. I have to file my taxes, too. So, I have to rent a truck, get storage, move into a small West Village apartment with my fiancee, all while planning a wedding (we're meeting with the caterer tomorrow, by the way)! Those are a lot of reasons to feel stressed out.
"Ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strain)" Bowie. It's all happening at once and I'm not ready for it. This is where I need God to take over. In times of great strain, I usually get overwhelmed and retreat into myself. And, it's easy to have a relationship with the Almighty when things are going great. How about now? Now's a good time to work on that relationship with God. What do they call these? Luxury problems? It doesn't feel to luxurious right now.
Liz writes about a beautiful, powerful and moving New Years meditation, a ". . . blue string of song. And, I drift into such a state that I think I might be calling God's name in my sleep, or maybe I am only falling down the well shaft of this universe." p. 129
And, the next day she goes to work scrubbing floors. She also goes to work meditating. And, it doesn't go well. I'm reminded of a passage from a favorite book of mine, The Alchemist (p. 139):
"'What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up. It's the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one `dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon.'
'Every search begins with beginner's luck. And every search ends
with the victor's being severely tested.'
The boy remembered an old proverb from his country. It said that the darkest hour of the night came just before the dawn."
The powerful New Years meditation was, it seems to me, her "beginner's luck". Then, the universe or reality, if you will, stepped in to challenge her, to make her stronger by the pain of spiritual growth. the beginner's luck was to show her she was on the right path. The challenge and the discipline of deep and devoted meditation is to build her worthiness and ability to recieve the gifts from God that are coming, to humble her to receive such gifts so they can be appreciated, honored and treated with dignity and respect.
It's funny how, in the face of fear, Liz reverted to an old habit: an academic approach. The funny part is that she attempted to approach meditation academically. She tried to understand the peaceful mind with the monkey mind. However, the pain and frustration it caused was NOT, I'm sure, funny.
Don't we all have our own tricks and habits that we fall back on in the face of change, newness and fear. I have them. I'll quietly hide in myself, try to figure the situation out (all by myself, while Liz, on the other hand was asking a lot of questions), wait for some one to appear who is obviously worse at this new thing than I am and then I'll simply try to be better than this person. I'll then be comforted and given confidence by the fact that at least I'm not as bad as that person.
I try to sneak into the new thing, edge into, ease into it, while seeking from others their encouragement and approval (and their recognition of my super-human, magical as of yet unseen talent). Then, I'll beat myself up for not being the greatest there ever was at this new thing I've only tried a few times at the most. The cards I stack against myself! These expectations I set on myself and others only lead to disappointment, forfeit and failure.
That, however, has been changing, slowly but surely. Realizing now that it is all in God's hands, there is no longer any crippling or terminal defeat. If I'm here to do his work, then it's not my failure. It's just a learning and growing experience, to better learn how to use my God-given talents. I am simply here to serve God. Now, this is all easier said than done. This could all happen easily if my monkey mind would just shut the hell up! But, it doesn't. It yaks away, describing things to me, judging myself and others. Then, it's either (1) Bored, (2) Angry, (3) Depressed or (4) Anxious, just like Liz. p. 132. Although, mine doesn't seem to care whether I'm mad at it. p 136.
I actually used to call my alcoholic thinking the Poop Monster. It stomps around in my head, roaring grouchily, complaining acidically and the pooping in the corners. And, any attempt to clean up said thinking was met by menacing growling and the gnashing of teeth.
The monster is quieter these days.
I'm horribly undisciplined when it comes to meditation. I'm envious that Liz made it 17 minutes before her brain started blabbing. I don't think I can make it 17 seconds. An eight-second pause in thinking sounds about my speed. p. 136. And, sitting cross-legged on the floor?! I'm a very old and inflexible 38.
My meditation usually consists of a little focus on my breathing and a lot of day dreamy thoughts that lead me off into imagination play land, or fight club, or debate club whichever the case may be. But, see or feel God? I think not. I just think God randomly bonks me over the head with divine inspiration when I'm not looking.
"Ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strain)" Bowie. It's all happening at once and I'm not ready for it. This is where I need God to take over. In times of great strain, I usually get overwhelmed and retreat into myself. And, it's easy to have a relationship with the Almighty when things are going great. How about now? Now's a good time to work on that relationship with God. What do they call these? Luxury problems? It doesn't feel to luxurious right now.
Liz writes about a beautiful, powerful and moving New Years meditation, a ". . . blue string of song. And, I drift into such a state that I think I might be calling God's name in my sleep, or maybe I am only falling down the well shaft of this universe." p. 129
And, the next day she goes to work scrubbing floors. She also goes to work meditating. And, it doesn't go well. I'm reminded of a passage from a favorite book of mine, The Alchemist (p. 139):
"'What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up. It's the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one `dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon.'
The boy remembered an old proverb from his country. It said that the darkest hour of the night came just before the dawn."
The powerful New Years meditation was, it seems to me, her "beginner's luck". Then, the universe or reality, if you will, stepped in to challenge her, to make her stronger by the pain of spiritual growth. the beginner's luck was to show her she was on the right path. The challenge and the discipline of deep and devoted meditation is to build her worthiness and ability to recieve the gifts from God that are coming, to humble her to receive such gifts so they can be appreciated, honored and treated with dignity and respect.
It's funny how, in the face of fear, Liz reverted to an old habit: an academic approach. The funny part is that she attempted to approach meditation academically. She tried to understand the peaceful mind with the monkey mind. However, the pain and frustration it caused was NOT, I'm sure, funny.
Don't we all have our own tricks and habits that we fall back on in the face of change, newness and fear. I have them. I'll quietly hide in myself, try to figure the situation out (all by myself, while Liz, on the other hand was asking a lot of questions), wait for some one to appear who is obviously worse at this new thing than I am and then I'll simply try to be better than this person. I'll then be comforted and given confidence by the fact that at least I'm not as bad as that person.
I try to sneak into the new thing, edge into, ease into it, while seeking from others their encouragement and approval (and their recognition of my super-human, magical as of yet unseen talent). Then, I'll beat myself up for not being the greatest there ever was at this new thing I've only tried a few times at the most. The cards I stack against myself! These expectations I set on myself and others only lead to disappointment, forfeit and failure.
That, however, has been changing, slowly but surely. Realizing now that it is all in God's hands, there is no longer any crippling or terminal defeat. If I'm here to do his work, then it's not my failure. It's just a learning and growing experience, to better learn how to use my God-given talents. I am simply here to serve God. Now, this is all easier said than done. This could all happen easily if my monkey mind would just shut the hell up! But, it doesn't. It yaks away, describing things to me, judging myself and others. Then, it's either (1) Bored, (2) Angry, (3) Depressed or (4) Anxious, just like Liz. p. 132. Although, mine doesn't seem to care whether I'm mad at it. p 136.
I actually used to call my alcoholic thinking the Poop Monster. It stomps around in my head, roaring grouchily, complaining acidically and the pooping in the corners. And, any attempt to clean up said thinking was met by menacing growling and the gnashing of teeth.
The monster is quieter these days.
I'm horribly undisciplined when it comes to meditation. I'm envious that Liz made it 17 minutes before her brain started blabbing. I don't think I can make it 17 seconds. An eight-second pause in thinking sounds about my speed. p. 136. And, sitting cross-legged on the floor?! I'm a very old and inflexible 38.
My meditation usually consists of a little focus on my breathing and a lot of day dreamy thoughts that lead me off into imagination play land, or fight club, or debate club whichever the case may be. But, see or feel God? I think not. I just think God randomly bonks me over the head with divine inspiration when I'm not looking.
Day 22. January 29th, 2012 The Truth Hurts, So Get Used To It
I was right! Or, at least I was given clarity of sight. I had written earlier that Italy was preparing her for India.
Liz writes, "Far better to have rested first in Italy" (rested? she grew . . . and I don't just mean a couple of dress sizes) "gotten my strength and health back, and then showed up. Because, I will need that strength now." p. 129
Apparently, they want you strong at the Ashram because life there is rigorous in all senses of the word. I recoil at the thought of that kind of life, because I wouldn't be ready for that kind of devotion. Or, at least, I'm not ready for that kind of devotion, yet.
"My Guru always says that only one thing will happen when you come to the Ashram - that you will discover who you really are." p. 128-29
Self-discovery. How many of us really want that? How many of us truly seek it? How many of us would rather not, because our basic, well-structured, well-manicured (or, otherwise), well-fabricated and acceptable lives are safe. When trying to get sober, I used to say that the devil I knew was better than the God I didn't know. We're all afraid of change. We're afraid of the uncertainty that growth brings. We'd rather live in the illusion of comfort, safety, control and manageability.
Liz will discover who she really is. Then what? I guess I'll have to keep reading to find out. there's still a lot of praying to do and just as much loving. She has yet to meet the alcoholic from Texas!
I hope I won't throw up a block while reading this section. But, hell, I had all kinds of prejudice coming into reading this book. I judged the hell out of Liz during the first few weeks in Italy. Yet, here I am, reading with an open mind and, funny enough (considering how clamped shut it was at the beginning), hoping that my mind will stay open. And (don't tell anybody) the book has actually had a profound effect on me.
As far as reading about the devotion Liz writes about, I think I'm experiencing a natural reaction to something new. I don't understand it and it sounds hard. I think I'd rather compartmentalize it, put it on an academic shelf, look at it and examine it from a safe distance instead of step into it and experience it. However, I've learned that experience is the greatest teacher. Whatever happens, at least you've learned something. Maybe, I'm afraid of what I'll learn about myself. Maybe I'll have to face something uncomfortable or something I'm not willing to accept. The truth is a hard thing to accept often times. My best friend used to joke, "the truth hurts, so get used to it."
But, then again, "the truth will set you free." Jesus said that.
Liz writes, "Far better to have rested first in Italy" (rested? she grew . . . and I don't just mean a couple of dress sizes) "gotten my strength and health back, and then showed up. Because, I will need that strength now." p. 129
Apparently, they want you strong at the Ashram because life there is rigorous in all senses of the word. I recoil at the thought of that kind of life, because I wouldn't be ready for that kind of devotion. Or, at least, I'm not ready for that kind of devotion, yet.
"My Guru always says that only one thing will happen when you come to the Ashram - that you will discover who you really are." p. 128-29
Self-discovery. How many of us really want that? How many of us truly seek it? How many of us would rather not, because our basic, well-structured, well-manicured (or, otherwise), well-fabricated and acceptable lives are safe. When trying to get sober, I used to say that the devil I knew was better than the God I didn't know. We're all afraid of change. We're afraid of the uncertainty that growth brings. We'd rather live in the illusion of comfort, safety, control and manageability.
Liz will discover who she really is. Then what? I guess I'll have to keep reading to find out. there's still a lot of praying to do and just as much loving. She has yet to meet the alcoholic from Texas!
I hope I won't throw up a block while reading this section. But, hell, I had all kinds of prejudice coming into reading this book. I judged the hell out of Liz during the first few weeks in Italy. Yet, here I am, reading with an open mind and, funny enough (considering how clamped shut it was at the beginning), hoping that my mind will stay open. And (don't tell anybody) the book has actually had a profound effect on me.
As far as reading about the devotion Liz writes about, I think I'm experiencing a natural reaction to something new. I don't understand it and it sounds hard. I think I'd rather compartmentalize it, put it on an academic shelf, look at it and examine it from a safe distance instead of step into it and experience it. However, I've learned that experience is the greatest teacher. Whatever happens, at least you've learned something. Maybe, I'm afraid of what I'll learn about myself. Maybe I'll have to face something uncomfortable or something I'm not willing to accept. The truth is a hard thing to accept often times. My best friend used to joke, "the truth hurts, so get used to it."
But, then again, "the truth will set you free." Jesus said that.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Day 21. January 28th, 2012. India "Congratulations to Meet You"
What Liz has written in her introduction to India is so profound, so impactful, so challenging, so full and wondrous - a simple and academic into to Yoga and Gurus and such - that I don't even know what to say. All I want to do is rewrite everything she's written, just copy it all here, so it's recorded perfectly, stamped permanently in me. Because, now that I've read about this, now that I know that this Yoga thing exists in a more meaningful sense than a westernized, sweaty Bikram Yoga class on the Upper West Side; and now that I have the pangs of desire for it, I can't unread it. I can't un-know it, or un-desire it.
I yearn for a fragment of the understanding she talks about. I think I've yearned since I was a child on those late night bike rides with my dad when I'd look up into the night sky and ask, "what's up there, Dad? I mean, what's really up there?" As if a mass of stars and planets was not enough for me. Or, as if to know that there were stars and planets and even more galaxies up there was not enough. What is past all that? What is more infinite than that? What's beyond all that? (I think, even then, I was curious about more than what was physically beyond, but metaphysically beyond)
Liz records: "The classical Indian sages wrote that there are three factor which indicate whether a soul has been blessed with the highest and most auspicious luck in the universe:
1. To have been born a human being, capable of conscious inquiry. (Me)
2. To have been born with - or to have developed - a yearning to understand the nature of the universe. (Me)
3. To have found a living spiritual master." (Not Me . . . yet?) p. 124
This is a jumping off point. I stand at the edge of devotion. I know all I have to do is ask and really mean it and God and the Universe will conspire to help me. But, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the unknown. The same way I was afraid of a life without drinking. I couldn't imagine it. I can't imagine this new life in pursuit of enlightenment from which I couldn't turn back. As I was afraid that getting sober would ruin my creativity, so am I afraid this will. I'm afraid my creativity will become all ethereal, God-like and uber spiritual, inaccessible and aloof. I'm afraid I'll lose touch with the language of the common man. Liz didn't. She kept her feet on the ground and wrote a best seller.
I'm in transition now. I've lost my job (for what I assume is a good reason). I can try trusting God. Or, at least, I can try being fearful and do what He'd have me do anyway, even though I don't know what that is right now. I can't help but feel a little screwed spiritually right now.
Perhaps I can "enjoy the view". I can live in the free fall, live in the uncertainty. Like Liz did in Italy, I could look around in it, make a map of it, learn from it and grow because of it. I could learn about how I act in the face of uncertainty and fear. What can it teach me about old habits and how to let go of them? I can learn about letting go of the clinging to others, for I'll drown them too. My fiancee is the person I'm really clinging to right now. I put too much reliance on her for a sense of well-being, of "ok-ness". Hell, I even need her to tell me I'm a good writer, just so I won't dive head-long into the pits of self-pity.
"The Amazing Grace of Sanskrit," p. 120. "I adore the cause of the universe . . ." Perhaps I can find the whole song and use it in my morning prayer and meditation. "I honor the divinity that resides within me." That reminds me of "Deep down inside every man, woman and child, there is an understanding of God." I'm misquoting.
"The Yogis say that human discontentment is a simple case of mistaken identity." p. 122. This is where I could just copy everything she's just written. Let me try a meager try to sum up: We have a divine self. God resides within us as He resides in everything. Better yet, He is part of us and we are part of Him, as is the grass, the moon, the stars and the space between all things. We've just been given the gift to understand Him, but only if we choose to see.
"That supreme Self" (makes me think of "The Glory of God made manifest within us" Marianne Williamson) "is our true identity, universal and divine. Before you realize this truth, say the Yogis, you will always be in despair, a notion nicely expressed in this exasperated line from the Greek stoic philosopher, Epictetus: 'You bear God within you, poor wretch, and know it not'." p 122.
A loose translation of the word Guru is "out of the darkness and into the light". Attraversiamo Guru.
I feel like God is waiting to see what I'll do. Nothing for right now? First things first: I have to move out of my apartment and in with my fiancee. She's dedicated, in a way, to my writing, too. Perhaps it gives her hope for herself and her creativity? Inspiration? She's found a writers loft near her apartment.
I have to transition out of the restaurant, though. I do, in fact, need closure. My stuff is still there. My pay is still there. I'm not fully detached, yet. So, transition me, God. You answered the first half of my petition. All I had to do was sit there and accept the firing. What do I have to do for the second half?
I yearn for a fragment of the understanding she talks about. I think I've yearned since I was a child on those late night bike rides with my dad when I'd look up into the night sky and ask, "what's up there, Dad? I mean, what's really up there?" As if a mass of stars and planets was not enough for me. Or, as if to know that there were stars and planets and even more galaxies up there was not enough. What is past all that? What is more infinite than that? What's beyond all that? (I think, even then, I was curious about more than what was physically beyond, but metaphysically beyond)
Liz records: "The classical Indian sages wrote that there are three factor which indicate whether a soul has been blessed with the highest and most auspicious luck in the universe:
1. To have been born a human being, capable of conscious inquiry. (Me)
2. To have been born with - or to have developed - a yearning to understand the nature of the universe. (Me)
3. To have found a living spiritual master." (Not Me . . . yet?) p. 124
This is a jumping off point. I stand at the edge of devotion. I know all I have to do is ask and really mean it and God and the Universe will conspire to help me. But, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the unknown. The same way I was afraid of a life without drinking. I couldn't imagine it. I can't imagine this new life in pursuit of enlightenment from which I couldn't turn back. As I was afraid that getting sober would ruin my creativity, so am I afraid this will. I'm afraid my creativity will become all ethereal, God-like and uber spiritual, inaccessible and aloof. I'm afraid I'll lose touch with the language of the common man. Liz didn't. She kept her feet on the ground and wrote a best seller.
I'm in transition now. I've lost my job (for what I assume is a good reason). I can try trusting God. Or, at least, I can try being fearful and do what He'd have me do anyway, even though I don't know what that is right now. I can't help but feel a little screwed spiritually right now.
Perhaps I can "enjoy the view". I can live in the free fall, live in the uncertainty. Like Liz did in Italy, I could look around in it, make a map of it, learn from it and grow because of it. I could learn about how I act in the face of uncertainty and fear. What can it teach me about old habits and how to let go of them? I can learn about letting go of the clinging to others, for I'll drown them too. My fiancee is the person I'm really clinging to right now. I put too much reliance on her for a sense of well-being, of "ok-ness". Hell, I even need her to tell me I'm a good writer, just so I won't dive head-long into the pits of self-pity.
"The Amazing Grace of Sanskrit," p. 120. "I adore the cause of the universe . . ." Perhaps I can find the whole song and use it in my morning prayer and meditation. "I honor the divinity that resides within me." That reminds me of "Deep down inside every man, woman and child, there is an understanding of God." I'm misquoting.
"The Yogis say that human discontentment is a simple case of mistaken identity." p. 122. This is where I could just copy everything she's just written. Let me try a meager try to sum up: We have a divine self. God resides within us as He resides in everything. Better yet, He is part of us and we are part of Him, as is the grass, the moon, the stars and the space between all things. We've just been given the gift to understand Him, but only if we choose to see.
"That supreme Self" (makes me think of "The Glory of God made manifest within us" Marianne Williamson) "is our true identity, universal and divine. Before you realize this truth, say the Yogis, you will always be in despair, a notion nicely expressed in this exasperated line from the Greek stoic philosopher, Epictetus: 'You bear God within you, poor wretch, and know it not'." p 122.
A loose translation of the word Guru is "out of the darkness and into the light". Attraversiamo Guru.
I feel like God is waiting to see what I'll do. Nothing for right now? First things first: I have to move out of my apartment and in with my fiancee. She's dedicated, in a way, to my writing, too. Perhaps it gives her hope for herself and her creativity? Inspiration? She's found a writers loft near her apartment.
I have to transition out of the restaurant, though. I do, in fact, need closure. My stuff is still there. My pay is still there. I'm not fully detached, yet. So, transition me, God. You answered the first half of my petition. All I had to do was sit there and accept the firing. What do I have to do for the second half?
Day 20. January 27th, 2012 Out of Italy
It's dreary here, cold, rainy and wet.
So, I ask myself, "what would you like to do today, Scott?" I'd like to go back to bed. But, I must write. I must, at least, honor this painful, depressing gift of freedom from the restaurant. That's what getting fired was: a gift, even if I can't see it right now.
As I was reading about Liz's last week in Italy, her week-long exploration of the dreary, broken Sicily, I was looking for something connect to, something to hold on to. I feel like I need some sort of connection while I'm in this free fall of a new life (not even knowing what this new life is). As I read on, I begin to lose faith that even Liz will offer me some breath of hope. And, then it hits me, touches me more like, as a welling up in my chest that's climbs into my throat and mists up my eyes": ". . . and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times" (IN dark times, the way I'm feeling right now) "you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt - this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also you entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight." p 115
Maybe my situation isn't as bad as a debilitating divorce and an equally debilitation depression (though, in my drinking days, I did experience such depression) as much as those things aren't as bad as the blight and morass of Sicily. In the midst of all this comparing and contrasting, I have responsibilities. I need to get boxes. I'm out of my apartment in 5 days and I haven't even started packing!
I must look for the joy and the pleasure in today. I must find something today or I'll go crazy! I'll get debilitatingly depressed in this new gift. Funny, I don't know what to do with it in the same way I didn't know what to do with Mom's gift of Eat, Pray, Love. Yet, here I am. A few days after I received the book it hit me. Perhaps, the same will happen a few days after I received the firing.
My therapist and a close friend suggest that I get another job waiting tables. I feel the same resistance I did the last time I got fired. I've been fired from two restaurants in a row. I'm sensing a pattern. However, I was miserable at the previous restaurant and I was miserable at the last restaurant. Who's to say I won't be miserable at the next place? So, where can I go to work and find joy? I guess I could look all over the world only to discover that the joy was already inside me. I, then, could do any job joyfully, couldn't I? Oughtn't I?
Perhaps I ought to write another petition to God. Something like:
"God, it is clear that you have had a hand in all this. I humbly and respectfully request you clue me in on what you're up to. Right now, I'm unable to see the signs clearly. So, if you could see fit to give me some sort of clue, I will gladly follow, as I would greatly appreciate said "clue". However, if I'm required to blindly, yet faithfully walk through this fear and uncertainty, I will do that too . . . as willingly as I can. We are both participants in my life and I am not yet well-versed in our language. So, a little more clarity would be appreciated . . . if you see fit.
Humbly, Sincerely, Faithfully, Respectfully, Truly and as Lovingly as I can muster Yours,
Scott
I will know the answer in God's time. Now, I must start looking for the clues. Who knows what the search will bring? I certainly don't. I still need to go back to the restaurant to clean out my locker and get my last pay check and tips. While the gut-check to the ego that was the firing still aches, perhaps what I need is some closure; a clean break (as a write this, it begins to rain. A cleansing rain?) before I can move on. Perhaps I'll see that this is a gift from God. Right now it hurts. But, someday, hopefully soon, I'll be thankful.
I feel the pain lifting as I make a plan for the future, sustained by my writing. Now, what shall I do today? Get some boxes. Rent a truck. And, be happy, because the grace of God goes with me.
So, I ask myself, "what would you like to do today, Scott?" I'd like to go back to bed. But, I must write. I must, at least, honor this painful, depressing gift of freedom from the restaurant. That's what getting fired was: a gift, even if I can't see it right now.
As I was reading about Liz's last week in Italy, her week-long exploration of the dreary, broken Sicily, I was looking for something connect to, something to hold on to. I feel like I need some sort of connection while I'm in this free fall of a new life (not even knowing what this new life is). As I read on, I begin to lose faith that even Liz will offer me some breath of hope. And, then it hits me, touches me more like, as a welling up in my chest that's climbs into my throat and mists up my eyes": ". . . and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times" (IN dark times, the way I'm feeling right now) "you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt - this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also you entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight." p 115
Maybe my situation isn't as bad as a debilitating divorce and an equally debilitation depression (though, in my drinking days, I did experience such depression) as much as those things aren't as bad as the blight and morass of Sicily. In the midst of all this comparing and contrasting, I have responsibilities. I need to get boxes. I'm out of my apartment in 5 days and I haven't even started packing!
I must look for the joy and the pleasure in today. I must find something today or I'll go crazy! I'll get debilitatingly depressed in this new gift. Funny, I don't know what to do with it in the same way I didn't know what to do with Mom's gift of Eat, Pray, Love. Yet, here I am. A few days after I received the book it hit me. Perhaps, the same will happen a few days after I received the firing.
My therapist and a close friend suggest that I get another job waiting tables. I feel the same resistance I did the last time I got fired. I've been fired from two restaurants in a row. I'm sensing a pattern. However, I was miserable at the previous restaurant and I was miserable at the last restaurant. Who's to say I won't be miserable at the next place? So, where can I go to work and find joy? I guess I could look all over the world only to discover that the joy was already inside me. I, then, could do any job joyfully, couldn't I? Oughtn't I?
Perhaps I ought to write another petition to God. Something like:
"God, it is clear that you have had a hand in all this. I humbly and respectfully request you clue me in on what you're up to. Right now, I'm unable to see the signs clearly. So, if you could see fit to give me some sort of clue, I will gladly follow, as I would greatly appreciate said "clue". However, if I'm required to blindly, yet faithfully walk through this fear and uncertainty, I will do that too . . . as willingly as I can. We are both participants in my life and I am not yet well-versed in our language. So, a little more clarity would be appreciated . . . if you see fit.
Humbly, Sincerely, Faithfully, Respectfully, Truly and as Lovingly as I can muster Yours,
Scott
I will know the answer in God's time. Now, I must start looking for the clues. Who knows what the search will bring? I certainly don't. I still need to go back to the restaurant to clean out my locker and get my last pay check and tips. While the gut-check to the ego that was the firing still aches, perhaps what I need is some closure; a clean break (as a write this, it begins to rain. A cleansing rain?) before I can move on. Perhaps I'll see that this is a gift from God. Right now it hurts. But, someday, hopefully soon, I'll be thankful.
I feel the pain lifting as I make a plan for the future, sustained by my writing. Now, what shall I do today? Get some boxes. Rent a truck. And, be happy, because the grace of God goes with me.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Day 19. January 26th, 2012. God Answered My Petition
God answered my petition from January 5th. I was "let go" from my job yesterday afternoon. God answered my petition, just not the way I had planned it (or at least not in a way I was comfortable with). The seeming randomness of it, the way the dismissal seemed to happen out of the blue, the way they had no reason for dismissing me, leads me to believe (and I can't help but believe) that God did this.
I can't help but think, "why me? Other people weren't happy there. I do a better job than others." They may not have had an answer for that. The general manager simply said that she felt it was time for me to move on. And, nobody can explain that or accept that except for those who have faith in a higher power.
I can't help but feel like I've lost, or failed, or failed to measure up. My morbid thoughts wonder if God is going to take my fiancee next. The fear and the pain which those thoughts cause, the heart and the soul sickness . . . I try not to stay there too long.
In tracking the confluence of seemingly tragic or hardship-causing events over the last month and a half (the miscarriage, my giving notice to my room mate too soon, the inability of my fiancee and I to find a suitable apartment, and now this) I can't help but sense that God has had something else in mind all along. Perhaps he is telling us "not yet". "Not yet" for a child because Scott is about to get fired and you won't have the income right now to support a child (Plus, you're planning a wedding, for crying out loud). "Not yet" for a new apartment because, again, Scott is about to get fired and you won't be able to afford it. And, the job? Well, perhaps God is telling me I've given it my best shot. I did the best I could in a miserable situation. Perhaps God has had something else in mind for me all along. He couldn't make a writer out of me if I hadn't started writing.
Of course, I can't guess to know the mind of God. Who am I to do so? However, He did bless us with a $5,000 + settlement from a lawsuit from a previous employer. Maybe, He planned it for February so I couldn't use the money to get an apartment we later couldn't afford. Maybe, He knows I'm going to be out of work for awhile and we'll need this cushion later. Maybe, God wants us to just focus on the wedding. Again, I can't know the mind of God, but I think I can see the pieces being put into place. Perhaps, I'm seeing the clues, the omens. I need not fight, or worry, or scramble. However, I do need to keep writing.
Liz talks about gratitude. During Luca Spaghetti's American Thanksgiving-style birthday party, they went around the dinner table to give thanks.
So, in a moment of calamity, I can find serenity through gratitude. For, even though I can't see it right now, this thing is a gift. A former co-worker of mine who is also a photographer said he was envious of me. He is just as miserable as I was. But, he's trapped. They won't fire him and he won't quit.
I feel right now that I've jumped out of an airplane (or I've been pushed out) with no skydiving training at all. And, God is the tandem instructor strapped to my back, though I don't feel him there. I don't feel like God is that close to me right now. And, I'm free-falling.
"When do I open the chute?" I scream.
"I'll let you know," God replies gently.
"Where is the rip-chord, for that matter?!" I scream again as I grope about in panic.
"I'll let you know," He replies kindly.
"What happens next?"
"I'll let you know."
"Well, what do I do now?!"
"Enjoy the view."
"Mother Fucker! Ahhhhhh!"
"I know," says God. "I know."
Tagore writes:
"I know that the flowers that fade in the dawn,
the streams that strayed in the desert, are not altogether lost.
I know that whatever lags behind, in this life
laden with slowness, is not altogether lost.
I know that my dreams are still unfulfilled, and my melodies still unstruck, are
clinging to Your lute strings, and they are not altogether lost."
It gave me a little comfort to read this. Everything is not lost.
However, my thoughts turn again towards morbidity; that God will take my fiancee next. In this darkness, he seems to be slowly picking things off: a child, an apartment, a job. What's next?
Of course, I'm looking at this all wrong. Only an alcoholic would look for a curse in the face of a blessing. But, I can't help fear that.
I petitioned God and he answered my request, however, not in the way I wanted (how arrogant of me). But, what if this was my opportunity to write? What would I do to become a professional writer? Well, I'd write. A lot. Friends have been offering suggestions about workshops and contests. All I can do is follow those leads.
God will provide. I must keep the faith. The fears will come and the fears will go. I ought to love my fiancee, then; love her generously, like she was going to be taken away. But, who wants to live in fear? I lived in fear at the restaurant and that sucked. I can keep trying to build and improve my relationship with her until the fear and the pride and the stupid, stupid ego goes away.
And, when I wake up tomorrow, I can ask myself again, "What would you like to do today, Scott?"
I can't help but think, "why me? Other people weren't happy there. I do a better job than others." They may not have had an answer for that. The general manager simply said that she felt it was time for me to move on. And, nobody can explain that or accept that except for those who have faith in a higher power.
I can't help but feel like I've lost, or failed, or failed to measure up. My morbid thoughts wonder if God is going to take my fiancee next. The fear and the pain which those thoughts cause, the heart and the soul sickness . . . I try not to stay there too long.
In tracking the confluence of seemingly tragic or hardship-causing events over the last month and a half (the miscarriage, my giving notice to my room mate too soon, the inability of my fiancee and I to find a suitable apartment, and now this) I can't help but sense that God has had something else in mind all along. Perhaps he is telling us "not yet". "Not yet" for a child because Scott is about to get fired and you won't have the income right now to support a child (Plus, you're planning a wedding, for crying out loud). "Not yet" for a new apartment because, again, Scott is about to get fired and you won't be able to afford it. And, the job? Well, perhaps God is telling me I've given it my best shot. I did the best I could in a miserable situation. Perhaps God has had something else in mind for me all along. He couldn't make a writer out of me if I hadn't started writing.
Of course, I can't guess to know the mind of God. Who am I to do so? However, He did bless us with a $5,000 + settlement from a lawsuit from a previous employer. Maybe, He planned it for February so I couldn't use the money to get an apartment we later couldn't afford. Maybe, He knows I'm going to be out of work for awhile and we'll need this cushion later. Maybe, God wants us to just focus on the wedding. Again, I can't know the mind of God, but I think I can see the pieces being put into place. Perhaps, I'm seeing the clues, the omens. I need not fight, or worry, or scramble. However, I do need to keep writing.
Liz talks about gratitude. During Luca Spaghetti's American Thanksgiving-style birthday party, they went around the dinner table to give thanks.
So, in a moment of calamity, I can find serenity through gratitude. For, even though I can't see it right now, this thing is a gift. A former co-worker of mine who is also a photographer said he was envious of me. He is just as miserable as I was. But, he's trapped. They won't fire him and he won't quit.
I feel right now that I've jumped out of an airplane (or I've been pushed out) with no skydiving training at all. And, God is the tandem instructor strapped to my back, though I don't feel him there. I don't feel like God is that close to me right now. And, I'm free-falling.
"When do I open the chute?" I scream.
"I'll let you know," God replies gently.
"Where is the rip-chord, for that matter?!" I scream again as I grope about in panic.
"I'll let you know," He replies kindly.
"What happens next?"
"I'll let you know."
"Well, what do I do now?!"
"Enjoy the view."
"Mother Fucker! Ahhhhhh!"
"I know," says God. "I know."
Tagore writes:
"I know that the flowers that fade in the dawn,
the streams that strayed in the desert, are not altogether lost.
I know that whatever lags behind, in this life
laden with slowness, is not altogether lost.
I know that my dreams are still unfulfilled, and my melodies still unstruck, are
clinging to Your lute strings, and they are not altogether lost."
It gave me a little comfort to read this. Everything is not lost.
However, my thoughts turn again towards morbidity; that God will take my fiancee next. In this darkness, he seems to be slowly picking things off: a child, an apartment, a job. What's next?
Of course, I'm looking at this all wrong. Only an alcoholic would look for a curse in the face of a blessing. But, I can't help fear that.
I petitioned God and he answered my request, however, not in the way I wanted (how arrogant of me). But, what if this was my opportunity to write? What would I do to become a professional writer? Well, I'd write. A lot. Friends have been offering suggestions about workshops and contests. All I can do is follow those leads.
God will provide. I must keep the faith. The fears will come and the fears will go. I ought to love my fiancee, then; love her generously, like she was going to be taken away. But, who wants to live in fear? I lived in fear at the restaurant and that sucked. I can keep trying to build and improve my relationship with her until the fear and the pride and the stupid, stupid ego goes away.
And, when I wake up tomorrow, I can ask myself again, "What would you like to do today, Scott?"
Day 18. January 25th, 2012. Rome's Word is "Sex". What's My Word?
Rome's word is "sex". p 103 Make's sense. I wonder what New York's word is. Then, Liz answers it: "Achieve". p 104. In the meantime, she suggests that if that word didn't have any meaning to you or any application to your life, then maybe you're in the wrong city.
So, does "achieve" having any meaning in or application to my life? Is it a word I can at least identify to some part of my life? I am trying to achieve something: a goal to become a writer. I'm trying to achieve the role of husband and a stable living environment with my fiancee. But, somehow, it doesn't quite seem to fit. However, I'm also trying to achieve peace. I'm trying to achieve sobriety (one day at a time). Really, though, that's not my achievement. It's Gods.
So, what's my word? If I asked people to use one word to describe me, what would it be? Hope? Seek? Create? Grow? Learn? Those words seem to indicate moving towards something . . . trying . . . accomplishing . . . achieving. But, achieving seems one-sided or one dimensional. It seems superficial in a way. It seems selfish. To me it describes a person who's sole purpose in life is to achieve something. This ambition defines that person.
Well, maybe that's where I am right now. I'm trying to make my mark. I'm trying to establish myself as a writer. I'm also trying to grow up, act like an adult, an accomplished man, a loving man, a supporting man and a helping man.
Can success really be attained? Isn't it fleeting? It's like the crest of a wave. It may be the highest at its crest and majestically foamy. But, it then crashes on the shore. And, sooner or later, another wave will come along that is higher and more majestically foamy.
So, what am I really searching for? I am an alcoholic. But, does that define me? Is that my word? I guess not, not while God is in my life. So, what am I seeking now?
I'm reminded of "The Noiseless Painted Spider" by Walt Whitman.
"And you, O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaseless musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridges you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul."
I feel that's me right now. My soul too is a noiseless painted spider. I question whether I'm that contemplative and it quickly comes to me that I am. I'm trying to make sense of it all in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. I'm soul-seeking . . . into space, into the universe and out towards God in all His cosmic mystery. I'm seeking understanding, seeking a clear path, though I may never truly see it. It calls me and I answer. I walk in the calling's direction, in the black of the night, through the still forest, despite the noise in my head and in my life.
Where's the still water? The babbling brook? Where is the calmness in the trees? Where is the gentle breeze, the fresh moonlight through the tree tops. With a gentle padding of my feet through the twigs, the leaves and the soft, rich earth, I venture off. I may step in brambles or on sharp stones. But, I follow the clear, unmarked, gentle path and I venture forth unharmed. I may get bumped and bruised along the way, but those are the lessons of life.
We are not meant to venture through this life unscathed. Where would the growth be then? Where would the learning be? Perhaps that is what our bodies are for: To mark the growth and the learning of our souls. Our bodies house the quiet voice, the homing beacon.
But, what new energies were given to our bodies when we were conceived? A combination of old energies and new? Recycled? Reassembled? Re-matched? Am I part of many others that have gone before me? The new souls that are growing and multiplying - where do they come from?
I think my word is seeking, right now. Or, asking. I have a lot of questions.
So, does "achieve" having any meaning in or application to my life? Is it a word I can at least identify to some part of my life? I am trying to achieve something: a goal to become a writer. I'm trying to achieve the role of husband and a stable living environment with my fiancee. But, somehow, it doesn't quite seem to fit. However, I'm also trying to achieve peace. I'm trying to achieve sobriety (one day at a time). Really, though, that's not my achievement. It's Gods.
So, what's my word? If I asked people to use one word to describe me, what would it be? Hope? Seek? Create? Grow? Learn? Those words seem to indicate moving towards something . . . trying . . . accomplishing . . . achieving. But, achieving seems one-sided or one dimensional. It seems superficial in a way. It seems selfish. To me it describes a person who's sole purpose in life is to achieve something. This ambition defines that person.
Well, maybe that's where I am right now. I'm trying to make my mark. I'm trying to establish myself as a writer. I'm also trying to grow up, act like an adult, an accomplished man, a loving man, a supporting man and a helping man.
Can success really be attained? Isn't it fleeting? It's like the crest of a wave. It may be the highest at its crest and majestically foamy. But, it then crashes on the shore. And, sooner or later, another wave will come along that is higher and more majestically foamy.
So, what am I really searching for? I am an alcoholic. But, does that define me? Is that my word? I guess not, not while God is in my life. So, what am I seeking now?
I'm reminded of "The Noiseless Painted Spider" by Walt Whitman.
"And you, O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaseless musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridges you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul."
I feel that's me right now. My soul too is a noiseless painted spider. I question whether I'm that contemplative and it quickly comes to me that I am. I'm trying to make sense of it all in my mind, in my heart, in my soul. I'm soul-seeking . . . into space, into the universe and out towards God in all His cosmic mystery. I'm seeking understanding, seeking a clear path, though I may never truly see it. It calls me and I answer. I walk in the calling's direction, in the black of the night, through the still forest, despite the noise in my head and in my life.
Where's the still water? The babbling brook? Where is the calmness in the trees? Where is the gentle breeze, the fresh moonlight through the tree tops. With a gentle padding of my feet through the twigs, the leaves and the soft, rich earth, I venture off. I may step in brambles or on sharp stones. But, I follow the clear, unmarked, gentle path and I venture forth unharmed. I may get bumped and bruised along the way, but those are the lessons of life.
We are not meant to venture through this life unscathed. Where would the growth be then? Where would the learning be? Perhaps that is what our bodies are for: To mark the growth and the learning of our souls. Our bodies house the quiet voice, the homing beacon.
But, what new energies were given to our bodies when we were conceived? A combination of old energies and new? Recycled? Reassembled? Re-matched? Am I part of many others that have gone before me? The new souls that are growing and multiplying - where do they come from?
I think my word is seeking, right now. Or, asking. I have a lot of questions.
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