I am sitting here in the dark, and I am writing even though I don’t want to. Someone told me to…Someone wise, and with a mind as big as the sea, told me to just sit down and write, keep writing for 900 words, no matter what you say, doesn’t have to make sense, just write 900 words. And share them.
So 900 words isn’t that many words. I have lots more than that stuffed inside of me, struggling to be one of the lucky 900 that make it into this post.
Struggle. I am impatient, I want to know what comes next. I want it to all be happening now, and I want to be delighted by it all. I want it to be perfect. I want to be perfect. Perfect as imagined by ME. Me being that person who is truly never satisfied, just for teeny tiny moments not counted is she ever fulfilled…then she starts seeking, and it’s back into the fiery cauldron of dissatisfaction and what’s nextness. I want to know RIGHT NOW what to do next. But I don’t, and that pisses me off. That makes me spend hours indoors on screamingly bright cool sunny California days, trying to figure it out. I haven’t figured it out. But I have come to the conclusion, ( again) that it’s none of my business. But still, I try to know cause, I’m no quitter. Yawning yet? 224 words down….
I’ve been having a sexy affair with carbohydrates. They are all I really want. Pasta, bread, pizza, bread, cereal, bread., bread ,bread, all meals must have some bread, dig? I haven’t an ounce of guilt around this, I want them, so I have them, we are a very lusty couple, well suited for each other, they are always available…all they ask of me is to keep consuming them. So I do. Last night I made a sexy shepherd’s pie with sweet potatoes and ground turkey, the night before it was brown rice pasta….cereal for breakfast, toast for snacks, chocolate covered whatever for desert. It’s palliative care. I’m nurturing myself. For now I am allowing this naughtiness to just be. 352 words down!
I feel guilty for not going out and living bigger. I have this sense that I’m supposed be doing more. LOTS MORE, and NOW. But the thing is, I don’t know what that bigger thing is, so I’m just waiting…..eating bread, and waiting. If I slow down long enough, I know. This is a time of waiting. It’s obvious, really, but there is a large part of me that is raging against this reality. It makes it worse that there is an incredible city outside just waiting to meet me, but I’m not sure I’m ready to meet it. I suddenly feel ambivalent. I’ll just stay in this apartment, and look out the window at the lake. What’s wrong? Shouldn’t I be filled with wonder, and light, and energy? Instead I’m full of bread and chocolate, and more questions than answers. Funny.
I’m not sure this is where I belong. I’m not sure about anything. 389 words to go….
I’m sure I did the right thing leaving Phoenix.
No, I’m not. Yes, I am. Yes, I am….Okay….whatever “SURE” means….I most definitely was being pulled….some chocolate filled croissant disguised as a life full of passion and adventure….So, now I’m here.
I still don’t know what’s next….of course, none of us know what’s next, but I don’t even have the yummy illusion of knowing. Cause nothing looks the same, there is no job, home, or group of friends to boost up my sense of self. To remind me of my ME-ness. I am empty. I recognize the radical opportunity being presented to me…..But I am here to say….
This is painful.
And it’s okay.
Who ever said life wasn’t painful? Was it The Buddha? oh, no…of course not…..silly. He said something else completely. I seem to recall…..
It’s our society. Keep busy! Make money, have children, buy a lot of stuff, work hard, get married, watch TV, exercise, do yoga, whatever it is…DON’T STOP DOING. KEEP DOING. If you keep yourself distracted then you won’t have to feel that stuff underneath…you know what stuff I’m talking about. The agitation, the emptiness, the sensation of recklessly spinning around in outer space. It’s there…I promise.
And I’ve stopped. Doing. Not everything, but my life is feeling a bit like Vippassana. long hours of emptiness, just me and my thoughts, not much to take me away from the intensity of being alive, and the insanity of my mind. I’m sitting, not 10 hours a day, but a bit. I’m still talking to people, writing, reading. But not much. I’m trying to keep busy, but I’m not. I’m spending hours staring out at the lake, watching the wind make tiny wavelets on the water, watching lovers kiss each other goodbye as they step into separate cars, smiling at pelicans, and remembering being a child in Florida. I am being flooded with sensations, and my mind is trying to make sense of the chaos that is life.
61 words left!
There is no sense. it’s all NON-sense. Ken Wilber says that from some perspective everything makes sense, and I agree, I can easily see all colors in the universal box of crayons….but one would have to be attached to a perspective about how things are for this to make sense. Maybe not. I just don’t know how things are.
I don’t know anything.