"The horizons you've promised will be brilliant with signs; I am sick of shadows; Blind me with you!"
Some days, when I'm on track, I begin the day by pulling a card from my Rumi deck. I never quite know what to do with it. There was a time when I used to do a simple three card spread...what brought up the present situation; the present; the future and how to deal with it. Lately though I've just been pulling and seeing, reading and wondering. Today's card seems in line.
I've struggled with sleep. Part of it is the heat. Part of it is anxiety. Its something that used to be such a way of my life, and then it wasn't. Acceptance has become a challenge. Tossing today and tomorrow about in the darkness of my bed has become an almost involuntary excercise; one which leaves me breathless and panicky. That will be a good first place to start.
Today is.
Yesterday is not anymore. Tomorrow is not yet. What can I do with this moment, this singular, individual, perfect, precious moment? I can distract myself from it. I can refuse to look at it.
Why would I do that though? That hasn't worked for me. It has absolutely positively never worked for me. But in absence of conscious choice, it has become my go to.
I have work to do. I will do that, and I will let others do theirs. Really I can't do more than that. I can only imagine that I can do more than that. I can only imagine that I can pull the strings. Life ain't no puppet show though. So I can choose to become tangled, and in that I am choosing to never sleep again.
Not the greatest choice there ever was.
--DC
Last night I was reading about something the Japanese call "Teahouse Practice"---a Zen thing that means you don't explicitly talk about Zen. The book went on to say that "it refers to leading your life as if your were an old woman who has a teahouse by the side of the road. Nobody knows why they like to go there, they just feel good drinking her tea. All she does is serve tea--but still, her decades of attentiveness are part of the way she does it. No one knows about her faithful practice of Zen Buddhism, it's just there, in the serving of the tea and the way she cleans the counters and washes the cups." (From "Fooling with Words" by Bill Moyer...interviewing the poet Jane Hirshfield)
ReplyDeleteThose words just completely made me happy. The simplicity of that way of serving and living. You do the work that you are called to do with clean and quiet and focused mindfulness. Then see what unfolds from that....
I like your honesty, Dan. (I deleted my earlier entry because I realized I'd confused Dan's entry with Donna's, and was thinking Donna was talking about sleep problems.)
ReplyDeleteCont'd & edited: It's a trip watching our thoughts watching our thoughts watching our thoughts. Staying present to present and past and future, well it's a lot to be present to. :-)
One thing I've been blessed with is easy sleep. I like letting go into it. I guess I'm convinced I deserve it after giving my all to the day and all it's business. Maybe I was born with a nature that turns off the chatter easily. I'm not sure how it works. Or maybe I'm delusionally self-contented.
I suspect Life isn't solvable, much as I've often wished it to be. Rather, I keep finding continuous flux that I'm embedded in, like swimming through jello-light. I'm glad in general, even with how uneasy the miracle of getting to participate at all. And once here, wow, so much to contend with. I don't recall being prepared with how complex the playing field would be, or how much time it would take to get some sense of orientation to its full expanse.
I keep thinking the whole of manifestation is in order for no-thing to have have something to relate to. In that way, the experiment has been quite successful as there is SO much to relate to! And much of it can really take itself seriously! Realizing it's all optional, it's all transient, it's all the no-self pretending to be fantastically otherwise, and that it's all bigger than can be fully handled or managed, helps me some.
In terms of restlessness, part of it, I think is that there's a biological queue in us that's always a bit on edge, always watchful for danger, never fully relieved of concern for safety and self preservation. It's a program, a kind of imperative that does serve a purpose, but doesn't have to entirely run the show either. Plus there's the whole ongoing question of one's worth, feeling worthy enough, not only to others but to self. There's a lot of early conditioning that can affect this, but even with lots of introspection, it can still be a guessing game, and eerie in its uncertainty as to where exactly one arrives at full inner acceptance.
I think we're pretty new to this frontal lobe business. And it's not all that well integrated with older nervous system functions. So we keep at it, keep learning, reflecting, integrating among all the systems and messages and special interests. And at any moment, happiness can show up just by our being open for it. We can even be happy at how worried we get. Everything can be seen as amusing, even suffering. Not always and not always easily. But a nod and a grin are often readily forthcoming should we like the feel of them over and above all that looms so serious and disconcerting.
We seem to have found our way to lands of infinite process. The abundance of stuff to pay attention to is exhilarating to the point of indigestion and beyond. And yet, on we go and go and go. It's unrelenting. And so I have to laugh at even that quandary of one damn thing after another. Ask for a process universe and sure enough we got one. And my, the processes are like too many presents to ever be able to open them all.
But happiness can come very easily and very simply when I'm not second guessing what I should be amounting to. The shape of the Hollywood Juniper, the funny clothing cyclists wear, the listing hobble of the Navajo guy wavering down the sidewalk, the fact that I have no idea what I'm going to do next. The world is pregnant with amusements out to deliver. It doesn't take much to note every note of novelty and deft attractiveness of everything showing you its special charms.
Steve