the pelican

once more with feeling

not ranting, no

been sort of suffering from blog build-up. excessive rants stewing and brewing and even spewed a couple down in text. but haven't posted ‘em, no sir. just furiously writing these desperate fierce manifesto rants about freedom of speech and using faith as a weapon of mass destruction and the disgust with those doing the lowdown dirty ad hominem bit.

and all around it’s beginning to look a lot like an election year. but this time, it’s politics more than usual. it is all significantly amplified.

these are the times when we say things we wish we hadn’t.

the surge. the tension. and it's spilling everywhere. feel in it the neighborhood, in the place where i work out, at my job. growing doubt and dissent and a very very deep loud polarization going down. never seen it so utterly divided.

there are those who know for certain that they are right and they have the complete and utter righteousness thang going. then, there are those who are questioning, who need more information, who aren’t so sure they understand all that is going on. and they are the targets of the ones who know for certain. the ones who will quite happily tell you precisely what you ought to be doing, rather than encouraging you bother to think it out for yourself. you know the type.

and if you put me in a chocolate or vanilla situation, i am mostly likely to pick rainbow sherbet. but hey that’s just me. just how i am. and if you force me into a wit’ us or agin’ us situation, even though the choice is so obviously both and neither, if push comes to shove, it’s going to be agin you because there’s something about this sense that there are always other options and if you’re going to make me, well, i am just not convinced that some one else knows best what’s right for me. got to have the illusion at least, that the option, the freedom, to at least think for myself is still there. maybe it’s just ego, call it what you will, but it’s a big part of who we are as americans, this ideal of autonomy and independence and individuality and maximum personal choice and freedom.

in other words, we all get to speak, write, practice and vote for what we believe in. period.

so, been writing big long stacks of high hoo-hah about freedom of speech, the state of things, etc. and then deleted it in a fit of exasperation and didn't post it. just didn't do it because it seemed so . . well . . over the top.

have to admit, there is a fear that all this stuff is getting to me a bit. letting too much of the grief and the panic of all the politics in at me. and we all know my screen door is a bit ragged, lets too much in. needs some patching and a finer mesh, maybe.

and of course some people play that self-deluding game of oh they don’t "do" politics. right. uh huh. that in itself, is a very political statement, like it or not, realize it or not. have heard it said that if you don’t do politics, politics will do you. well whatever. the point is, it’s about what we choose to hold to be true and important in our relationship with others and the world. and we hold that stuff quite close to our hearts. politics and religion -- them's fightin' words.

and if you think maybe i believe i'm above it all, let's get it straight. you know my politics. i like to work for good trial attorneys. plaintiffs. that means humans, people. you and me. the side of the common citizen, in civil law. which, incidentally, is also the side of the environment, a necessary condition in which we humans must live.

for me, it's a no-brainer. always end up choosing the human beings over the money, the insurance companies, the drug companies, the oil companies, the big business machines. got to. have to. want to. must. yes those things are all important and necessary and they provide so much for all of us, but they ultimately mean nothing if they aren’t by and for the actual human beings, after all.

in the end, it's about love, people.

love.

it's about caring for each other. it’s about brother what aileth thee and it’s about what can i do to help and it’s about how we’re all in this together and it’s about firemen who rush into burning buildings to save people and it’s about teachers who give and give of their patience and time to help other people understand and learn and it’s about the joy of doing good deeds and the basic feelings that result from this behavior.

yeah yeah bleeding heart and all that and you can say what you will about how there’s always going to be somebody who abuses the charity, someone who doesn’t do his fair share, someone who lives off the system. but you know, there’s so much more to it than that. of course there’s always a darker side of human nature. so? you don’t have to hate all of humanity and hoard your little pennies to yourself and take all you can and get that better thee than me thing going and justify it all on your own isolated pain and suffering. nope. you don’t have to.

you don’t have to because there’s so much more to being human. there is good in the world and it’s worth saving and working for. there’s this wonderful and most glorious side of human nature that comes just as naturally. there is generosity and kindness, service and aide, healing and feeding and caring and compassion and well being. and there will always be people who are even willing to put themselves in danger, lay their own lives on the line, running to collapsing buildings or diving into roaring rivers under fire or stopping by the side of the road to help others.

but hey, that’s my choice. what’s yours? you get to pick for yourself. you get to present an entirely different perspective and i get to take it or leave it. and see that’s the beauty of it all.

still and yet, if you read the papers, listen to the radio, turn on that horrid box, well, things are starting to get ugly. the first blood has been let in the personal attack vituperative business. and you have to look at what is being criticized, because a personal attack tells you so much more about the person who is attacking, than the actual focus of the attack.

know what i mean? it’s just vicious gossip. someone who is always criticizing and looking down their nose, saying nasty little character assassination snips about others, you know they actually show you their own little mirror of how they’re feeling about themselves. listen to what they’re ripping someone else apart about. when it’s really personal, you’ll hear what they hate about themselves, what threatens them, what triggers their fear and insecurity.

that’s probably why attack ads turn so many people off. make people not even bother to vote. they just get too disgusted with the pettiness of it.

and so well this year the politics are so intense it’s about all a nutcase like me can do to keep from going completely off her rocker.

i mean we’ve got your basic dread and a fear and sense of danger. there is the fear of terrorism. there is the fear of war. there is the fear of violence and rising violence with no way out and no plan to get out and no way to stop the machine that’s already cranking and groaning under its own weight and the fear of poverty and the fear of death and the fear of powerlessness and the fear of little hitlers and the fear of instabilities and the fear of using faith as a weapon of mass destruction and the fear of rising hate and the fear of losing the right to dissent and the fear of meaninglessness and the fear of inaction and indifference to humanitarian crises and and and.

some say that the rest of the world, particularly the europeans, hate the americans right now. moreso than usual. but oh if only they understood how gollum it is to be an american right now. how violently torn in half. how democrat or republican. how utterly split. how strong the surges, the ebbs and flows, the reds and the blues. how driven the sides are and how few people are actually unaffected by the war within and without, whether they are conscious of it or not.

kicking and yelling and screaming and pontificating isn't going to do it though, is it? we're supposed to be the change we want to see in the world, right? and a person convinced against their will is of the same opinion still? coercion doesn't really take unless there is some sort of pain or suffering or death threat attached, right? like imminent terrorism? or hey maybe a good fear of hell would do the trick? oh wait, somebody's already using that technique. has the copyright on that one. smart cookies that bunch was. now they really know how to market. how to peddle their wares.

and so.

what’s a girl to do? what to do oh what to do.

well vote, for one thing. that is a given, no question. definitely going to vote.

see this is the beauty of being schizophrenic. get to be my own coach. oh yeah.

yep. going to vote.

and beyond that, try not to sink into the violence of politics. try to see things for what they are. try to observe. try to help when appropriate and effective.

try to detach. try to stay in the center.

try to reach across the abyss that divides us in this great struggle and understand the other points of view. at least try to understand how they’ve come to believe what they do. what sort of fear and insecurity, what kind of pain they are reacting to. recognize fear and anger and violence and ignorance for what it is and above all above all above all as above so below have patience and compassion for those who are stuck in the throes of their own suffering and delusion unawares.

and wish them well.

and don’t take anything too personally. don’t let ego get all bent out of shape. rise above it. rise above it. rise up. rise up.

and so . . .

oh let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

peace.

within and without.

peace.

posted by: limine at 14:54 | link | comments (6) |

the horror

saw The Village this weekend. it was brilliant.

however, the bloodlust horror movie crowd will not be thrilled. if high action and violence with an ultimate struggle to kill off scary beasties with lots of screaming and blood is demanded for the film to satisfy your definition of horror, you may well be disappointed.

but if you want something to make you think a bit, if you want something like a really good old twilight zone episode, a psychological thriller with great suspense, beautiful filming, a superb twist and some interesting statements, then this is one of the best of its kind.

[and, if you think you might want to see this, and you don't want me to spoil it for you, stop reading now.]

the elders of this artificial community believe they are protecting innocence. they believe they have created an idyllic world, free from materialism and greed and crime. they believe they can keep their children pure and innocent through deceit and manipulation.

good intentions, perhaps? do the ends justify the means? the parental desire to protect and keep their children safe is a very natural instinct. and it's that utopian idea that if only we could start over somehow, some place else, some place far away. if only we were God, we would do it all differently. if only things were other than the way they are. if only the world weren't such a violent place. if only there were no money. if only we could get back to some sort of simpler way of life, away from civilization and start over. if only we could run away and live on an island, away from all that is bad and harmful and wrong with the world. to escape, to begin anew, to begin fresh and start over.

if only.

but to do so, would be a lie.

because if God created man in his own image, then man creates his society just the same.

in order to maintain their isolated little society based on false mythologies, they must rule with fear and terror. they must convince their children and the subsequent generations that to leave their community, to venture beyond the borders would meet with certain horrible pain and destruction. to keep everyone believing that their situation is the best situation, to make them all conform, is to fill them with disinformation about the nature of reality and keep them too frightened to deviate.

besides the dishonesty involved, it is also unrealistic. they soon discover they cannot isolate themselves from illness, death, sorrow and despair. nor can they protect themselves from mental illness, jealousy, anger, or murder.

not to mention, it typifies the extreme cowardice of refusing to face reality and the suffering that results. in a society ruled by fear, when the time comes for action, the best and bravest of their youth would abandon a blind girl in the woods to go it alone, just to save their own skin. the elders would watch their children die rather than go back on the ideals that they hold sacred.

they would not only watch their children die, but even send them off to fight for their own deception, which they believe is for the good of the community.

and symbolically of course, it's great because it is nothing less than medicine that the children seek from the outside world. and for which, they are not allowed to venture beyond their borders. it is our most basic instinct to seek healing for ourselves and loved ones beyond the confines of a structured dogma when that dogma no longer helps us but holds us hostage. and to try to grow and learn, to venture bravely into the unknown, threatens those whose power lies entirely in their ability to manipulate and control information.

and the desire of the elders to continue with their charade is based upon their own fear of death and suffering.

the head of the place would even put his own daughter through life threatening perils, send his dearest child into harm, rather than step down from his place of power and control, and admit his own deception.

and justice of course, is blind. and love does conquer the darkness. and when she does finally encounter this horrible deadly outside world of which the elders have denied and censored, she seeks and finds help and kindness and medicine.

and amidst the darkness, there is also light. it is at its heart, a love story. and there is courage and hope and a new awakening generation that will have some knowledge of freedom if they choose to exercise it.

this isn't the sort of scare most people who go to a horror film are looking for. it's much more frightening than that. because it is a statement about the nature of fear itself, and how a small group of elders manipulate information through fear in order to control their society and maintain cooperation, which they have constructed themselves, of course, out of their own ignorance and pain and fear.

they have created this out of their own pain, and the desire to spare their children from it. they would seek to protect innocence, and in so doing, breed ignorance.

it remains a horror film because it continues. their precarious false and superficially idyllic balance is to be maintained and continued. the elders believe that what they have done is actually strengthened by the horror they put their children through. they will tell tales of bravery and a great love story in order to glorify the ignorance, and the terror that they plan to continue to perpetuate in order to protect them from civilization. the death that has occurred will only reinforce the power of the fear they lord over their children. and so their fragile fantasy world is justified for the time being.

so, if for a horror flick, you're looking for some thrills and spills and bloodsport, this is not the movie for you. but for a  whopping heap of philosophical, ethical, psychological, human nature questions about the reality of fear, coersion, power, disinformation and control, see it.

posted by: limine at 11:26 | link | comments (5) |

observations

ok so they really aren't opposites, free will and determinism. just words. little tags created by egos to explain away feelings of victimization and rationalize away personal responsibility (determinism) and desire for a sense of power, individuality, creativity, choice and volition (free will).

notions of free will and determinism are, well, just that, really. notions. concepts. thoughts. labels. labels given to emotional states that reflect our fear relative to the level of the awareness of all that is or is not within the realm of what is believed to be personal control.

determinism = hurricane. free will = panic, party, prepare.

supposed to be mutually exclusive, free will and determinism. either the gods just swat us about for their sport, or we create our own reality. 

either we're hapless creatures existing only as the effects of pre-existing causes, or we're driving the cause, making waves, special effects.

can't have it both ways no sir. that would be contrary to the rules of logic. and we’ve got to consider these notions logically. have to speak logically about two conflicting notions that are created in response to emotional desires. as if these labels were actual things in themselves . . . oh but perhaps that’s beside the point. or is it?

two concepts, two completely imaginary mythological states of existence believed to be completely incompatible with one another because logic dictates so. right.

when we get what we want, we congratulate ourselves for being so very powerful. strong-willed. making things happen. will power. all that we do with our magnificent and glorious free will. masters of our own destiny. accomplishment. great works. willing things into being. our magnificent creativity. a product of our freedom. we are artists and great thinkers, doers of deeds and makers of fabulous original and unique inventions. the satisfied glorified ego.

but when we don't get what we want, or we do something we wish we didn't, we are victims of circumstances. unwittingly blind-sided by contingencies that we were unable to foresee or control. our unhappy childhoods, our genetic differences, our chemical make-up. series of events that ping-pong against us and ripple throughout existence from every angle. endless richochets of cause and effect. everything from oppressive governments to foul weather to the color of our skin to our ancestors preference for malt whiskey determine our lack of choice and inability to function as we desire, as fate would have it. ego as victim, bereft of responsibility.

and so it’s back again full circle to that fear and control business.

to function as we desire.

as we intend.

consciously or unconsciously or maybe honestly, it’s always going to be a little bit of both. isn't it?

oh wait. can't have that.

and there's the real battle of wills. not god vs. man. not fate vs. choice. not cause vs. creation.

but desire. as we desire.

desire is where the battle rages. desire is struggle. desire is conflict.

desire is irreconcilable differences between free will and determinism. desire is free will bashing its head against the brick wall of determinism.

desire is wanting something other than what is. desire is grabbing for something beyond the moment. desire is trying to re-write the past and grasp into the future. desire is compelling action. desire is regret. desire does not accept the knowledge of inevitable death. desire creates karma. desire is karma.

as desire, so intention.

intention creates focus.

it's about want vs. what is. it's about knowledge and fear of the certainty of inevitable death and the desire to escape it. free will scrambling against determinism. determinism crushing free will. the ego believing it is in control (free will) and the ego dissatisfied with all that it can not control (determinism).

the closer we are to being in the moment, the more aware we are of the holy now. the more conscious we are, the more options are available. Sartre said the prisoner in chains is always free. each second holds volition.

a choice of focus.

a choice of intent.

a choice of being.

a choice of perspective.

 

posted by: limine at 21:24 | link | comments (3) |

charles

guess one of the hardest things for me to deal with has been the loss of one of my closest friends. still can't really believe he's gone. been over a year now. and most of the time, it doesn't feel like he is gone.

that is, i can't call him at 1:00 a.m. anymore, or hug him or find presents for him, enjoy food with him, or share books and movies with him. still it feels as though he is here with me most of the time.

he is/was such a big part of my life. gave me away at my wedding. taught me all kinds of things about living in the mountains. about herbs and mushrooms and trees and rocks. about folklore and mythology, about various ancient traditions and cultures and nature. he had a forge and made swords and hammers. he made incense and candles. he made his own chain mail. he could work leather and he made pouches and bags and shoes. he made jewelry. he made his own runes. he fixed my car. showed me the best way to split wood. one winter he sat up all night with me with a high fever, pouring warm garlic oil in my infected ear.

he was the sort of person who always stopped when people had car trouble and offered to help. he brought people home that he met and fed them dinner and gave them a place to stay for the night. he gave directions. he loved cats. he re-sealed the neighbor's roof. he fixed our wood stove and put a new chimney on. he helped replace floorboards and paint my ceiling. he cleared out the gulch and got the water to run.

he gathered rocks and built circles and spirals and left them in the woods.

and he saved everything. bottles, jars, wood, leather, wool, fabric, metal, rocks, tools, electronic equipment.

and he found stuff. he brought things home from the dump, from the side of the road, from the woods, and he took it all apart and sanded it down and connected its wires and made it work.

nothing was ever wasted. everything was saved, dusted off, cleaned up, and made new again.

and no one was left out of the circle, or went hungry, or didn't have a place to spend the night, or was scared or frightened. he always soothed, calmed, comforted and helped the people he came into contact with.

and lots of people came to him, found him, ran into him in the world, in the store, on the road, on-line. and they all had questions and fears. and he never gave them answers, never told them what to believe or how to be or what to do. never judged them. not ever. he just listened, and smiled and nodded and understood. sometimes he'd give them a special amulet or a stone or piece of wood. sometimes he suggested something to read. but most of the time, he was just there with them. listening. taking care of them. and he put them at ease.

and to me, he was everything. mentor, counselor, big brother, father, holy man, mechanic, cook, chemist, doctor, teacher, friend.

and in some of my darkest moments, he redeemed humanity right before my eyes. he was love. he gave and gave and gave and expected nothing in return. he lived to serve. to be. to just be. he had a serenity about him that we always said was sort of like being around santa claus on vacation. his presence indicated that all was well and everything was being taken care of and the balance of the universe was somehow being maintained and wasn't it great that we were all here together to witness it.

and we had a thing. we had this immediate recognition kind of thing. we held unconditioinal love for each other. we knew we knew each other the moment we met and we stayed in close contact for almost 20 years. we e-mailed and sent instant messages to each other. we talked on the phone for hours and hours at night. we spent many holidays together. we got together for celestial events and gatherings. we went to bookstores and fairs. we went on walks in the woods. we made candles. we gathered herbs. and mostly we just talked about absolutely everything. philosophy, religion, politics, history, meditation, the environment, education, books, news, nature, food, human nature.

sometimes a couple weeks would go by without contact and then i'd call him in the middle of the night and he'd be there, often expecting my call, and we'd talk for minutes or hours. sometimes until the sun came up.

and believe it or not, there was never any jealousy. his wife understood, and my husband understood and nobody had a problem with it because it was something that had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that we were of the opposite sex. it just was. and had to be. and it was such a good thing, everybody knew it was a good thing. it wasn't a threat or a problem or an obligation. it was just good. it was family.

after he died i immediately started scrambling around for stuff from him. wanted to gather together all his old e-mails. copies of things he had written. tried to find things he'd posted in newsgroups. it was a mad scramble to re-connect, make contact somehow, wishing and gripping and grasping and searching and yearning and longing to feel something that was somehow him. wanted some sort of communication from him. wanted to hear from him.

gathered a pile of stuff together that he had given me. a sword. a set of rune blocks. a leather bag. an egg shaped rock with a hammered copper snake coiled around it. a little brass box with a multi-colored shell inside. some polished stones. some crystals. a big feather. a pewter cup. a hammered knife. a rowan branch. a mirror.

one yule he gave me a wish box, carved out of wood with lots of runic stuff all over it with three leaves inside. three wishes to use.

just before he died he gave me a spiral purple bottle with a little cork sealed with beeswax, and a small scroll attached with twine, written in his ink pen script which reads "aqua vita."

and last night, was talking to his wife on the phone and she's getting rid of stuff. they have always lived in small places, like little hobbit holes. tiny cabins, small apartments. and since he saved everything, she's got a lot to let go of. sort of like living in a closet filled with books and bottles and gargoyles and dragons. clothes. blankets. boxes and boxes of bottles. rocks. lots of rocks. bags of leather scraps. boxes and bags and jars and jars of herbs. pieces of wax. his chair. his cabinet. his chest. old radios and computer parts and pieces of wire and metal. lots of the stuff he collected and saved and stored and rescued.

and i started to say NO you can't get rid of that, you might NEED that. WE might need that. HE might need that. and she laughed and said i could have it all, come and get it and bring the truck and stuff it all away somewhere in my tiny house. right. and so we laughed and cried a little bit.

and she's right. it's time to let go. it really only hurts when i don't. when i grasp and struggle and scramble for him he's nowhere to be found. he's gone and he's never coming back. and it's not fair it's not fair and it's too much it's all too much and the hole in my chest is the size of a basketball.

but when i do let go, there's nothing to be sad about. when i let go, he's with me. in my heart. in my thoughts. in my smile.

when i let go i can feel him everywhere.

posted by: limine at 16:37 | link | comments (5) |

spew

went to the bookstore on my lunch hour today and picked up a couple good usedies to tide me over for a while. no matter that there are still stacks of unreads piling up in more than a couple corners, see a good used one and just have to splurge for it. bought a novel and a biography.

oh so many words, so little time to read them all.

much less write them.

and i stand amidst the new books and lust after all the new hardbacks out -- new hunter s. thompson out to read, new ken wilbur, new stuff in paper out . . and i lurch for them, read the covers, stare lovingly into them, absorb their new book look and feel their new book vibe and breathe in their new book smell and then head over into the used section to curtail my spending. saw a hardcover of "the death of vishnu" and wanted it, lusted for it, but have read the paper, have the paper, no need for sheer accumulation but there is this greed this need this appetite to feed to take it all in to read it all. the books call me, the words scream at me to take them in and breathe life into them, all of them all of them calling out from the shelves read me read me read ME.

and can't stop from thinking about so much to take in, so much to read, the hunger the appetite for written words is so strong and yet there are several stacks of unread books in corners at home that need to be addressed. there are stacks by my chair, stacks on the table downstairs. not to mention one room of shelves and shelves of books gathering dust and still must have more books.

and probably more than half of the reading i do right now is on-line.

and what if i were to write. really write. just put it all down out there. jump into the sea of all of it. what would i say? where would i start? would it just be lost in all of it? one soft little ghosty voice in a loud crowd of interesting voices? or would it be some shrill note screeching out into the void only to irritate and scrape against the other words? would it soothe and calm or create fear or violence? would it really have anything to say or would it just blither endlessly about its own miserable predicament? would it have to dive back down into the pit of endless schizophrenia or could it finally manage to find another song?

oh sure there is writing going on in my head all the time. yeah, maybe that's what the voices are, just writing, really. heh heh. voices you say. oh dear.

well there's monologues and dialogues, short stories, lots of poetry, blithering rants and descriptions and turns of phrase and cliches and thoughts and chatter. and plays. oh i see plays all the time. in my head, that is. start to hear them talking, making up their words or just hearing them not quite sure, up pops some characters and the dialogues begin and often at some point in the midst of this there is a part of me that actually sees a script with character names followed by colons and words words words on a page. as if it's actually happening somewhere at top speed. or has happened. or could happen if i just did it. 

and had started my bloggy to have an outlet and a place to continue to write out loud and here i barely touch it.

starting now, i will write here everyday. famous last words, famous old words, famous cliche, not-so-famous as common place cliche perhaps, but must do it. even if it is utter drivel. still it must be blithered and typed and delivered into word form.

and i need practice and i need to start letting it leak out a bit so that it will start the flow going again. must overcome fear and self-censorhip and the endless panic associated with the onset of insanity looming at the edges leering in ready to pounce and push me off the cliff into the abyss once more.

must try to let it out and be what is somehow. oh this makes my heart pound. tears well up in my eyes. slight tingling just under my scalp. fingers twitch and some trembling in hands. knees go jelly. stomach jumps. head pings.

oh this is not the place. i am at work and need to concentrate and get more done. and i will.

perhaps i will be able to get more done if i do let it out the rest of the time and don't live in this endless constipated anticipation of trying to hold back a flood with a plastic tupperware lid.   

why you may ask? you may ask, you may, but there is no real answer. if there is, i don't know it. just this endless aching discontent that feels it must have voice, have wings, make noise, say something, scream into a barrel or shout across a chasm even if just to hear its own echo. can't say where it comes from but it does. it just does.

oh look out.

 

posted by: limine at 15:34 | link | comments (5) |

trying to breathe

just back saturday night from a great road trip to jackson hole, wyoming. the cats are very glad i am home. they immediately dashed out the back door and flopped on the grass to breathe the free air once again after being stuck in the house for four to five days, but they keep running in to check on me, to make sure all is well and i am still here.

the whole house stank with such a noxious cloud of poisonous spoiled gasses, it took a while to figure out what it was. unfortunately, the person taking care of the cats didn’t spend very much time here, and for good reason because he couldn’t take the smell. apparently, he doesn’t recycle, and although you would think it would be fairly obvious, i failed to spell out in the instructions that he needed to rinse out the cat food cans before placing them into the recycle bag that hangs on the closet door. oh what fetid fumes of rotten fish remnants slowly baking in the warm kitchen in a plastic bag. opened all windows and doors, fan blaring, incense burning, still it permeates and lingers.

the good news is all five appear to be fine and none the worse for wear and tear. except for poor old Dante. he gets so worried he starts to shed heavily. last night when we got home he was losing hair in clumps but now he’s calming down. he’ll be back to normal in a day or two. poor old guy. Dante has seniority and he takes care of things. he’s my guardian orange. he sleeps up above my head at night to guard me from bad dreams. if i leave the kettle boiling, he’ll come to let me know. if dinner is baking in the oven, he’ll tell me when it’s done. if one of the other cats is about to get into a cat fight or scared up a tree, he’ll come and get me. and probably, he was sure something terrible was going on, that wasn’t being taken care of, when the cat food cans started to wreak.

getting ready for the trip in an attempt to be spontaneous and not managing to be so, is what helped bring on my great moment of control freak-out lost wandering hopelessly in samsara suffering moments. been so wrapped up in work, frantic pace of paralegal double-checking and worrying about co-counsel not keeping us informed, making deadlines, trying to get clients to cooperate and provide information and keep them from stressing out and making lists and giving instructions for being gone a few days, and just kept right on doing that, making more lists and double-checking details and then worrying about the cats and the house and pretty soon everything was panicking me and it seemed like too much work to try to get away. got so wrapped up in taking care of everything and forgot to take care of self.

and it seems sometimes that there is a great crack that runs through my brain. a crack that seems to heal up over time but that allowing myself to stress out and panic will crack it open and it can widen into a chasm of insanity where i teeter on the edge. the harder i try not to fall in, the more i have to scramble and dangle from its cliffs before dropping into an abyss of fear.

it is quite clear that when not meditating regularly, not making the time to remember remember remember and return return to the place of silence, it seems to get further and further away as i fall back into old ingrained behavior worn grooved patterns of judgment and criticism of everything and control freak behavior. lose patience with self and everything out of my control. just plain lose sight and stumble in the darkness. little bursts of anger. might start with a snap at someone. a harsh word. a judgment. it is as if patience starts to leak away, drip by drip. then more judgment sets in. nothing is good enough, nothing is going to be OK, fear starts the ball rolling downhill, picking up speed, crashing through and crushing everything in its path.

heard somewhere recently that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but really fear. fear breeds hate. this makes such sense. acting out of fear is violent behavior. and when that happens, taking care of things is no longer loving care, but instead becomes an attempt to control things to my will. and that is the essence of ignorance and darkness. to try to force things through an act of will. and this is not love. it is only anxiety. grasping at results. attachment to outcome. judgment, selfish misguided effort, conflict, struggle, suffering, pushing, violence, and . . more judgments.

see it for what it is, and it disappears in one conscious return to the breath, in and out and in and out and back to aaaahhhhhh. oh yeah. mmmmmmm.

guess this is why practice is on-going and continual. maybe one day meditation will become so natural that it will be incorporated into everything and that space that place that part that knows that sees and smiles and loves will shine through stronger and more brightly, like a smiley night-light to light my way through the darkness. but guess it won’t happen without effort and practice. must remember to take care with loving kindness, not with force and judgment.

well anyhow, the trip turned out to be brilliant. tetons of course is/are absolutely one of the most magnificent and striking magical  mountain ranges to be experienced. a great privilege to be in their presence. the pause that takes the breath away for a moment brought me back even more to the power of returning to the breath and the stillness and the peace and inherent bliss of existence and the beauty of all things. felt embraced and surrounded with love and peace.

no doubt the natives lived so well there before the place was exploited by trappers. it was once just teaming with elk and deer and there were bison and antelopes and moose and beaver and bighorn sheep and plenty of water and fish. paradise in the lap of the gods of the mountains. 

and the trip was quite serendipitous. everything seemed to work out and point out just why we had gone. turned out that the Indian Arts and Dance Show was there, and do have that sort of indian love thing going on, and got to see lots of dancing and great stuff at a small fair at the base of the mountains. felt drawn into a tea painting (yeah! he uses tea to stain the paper and create an environment, almost like a form of divination, revealing itself to him and then he sees where to paint in oil) and decided to splurge on a print. love how indians don’t accept credit cards but will take personal out of state checks from strangers. and, turns out they were also from colorado and only live a few miles away. had to go all the way to jackson hole and happen upon the indian show to meet our own neighbors.

just happened to walk into good food, too. found lovely version of a greek salad with seared scallops on a bed of fresh spinach and red onions with olives and grape tomatoes and gorgonzola. also had incredible hot and spicy chipotle sauce with fresh warm homemade tortillas at traditional family mexican restaurant. lovely green chile potato casserole with fried eggs for breakfast one day, homemade sourdough biscuits with butter and honey on another. nice garlic pesto gnochi with fresh asparagus. homemade huckleberry and blackberry jam.

and the place was absolutely lush with wildflowers. blues and violets, yellow and purple daisy bunches, bright red indian paintbrush.

also turned out that the Robert Cray Band was playing a small venue in the ski lodge and managed to get a couple general admission tickets at the last minute and then also got some great seats in the upper level of the bar looking down onto the crowd with a perfect view of the band and excellent acoustics. a great show, hot and bluesy and jazzy and of course simply superb and amazing guitar and phenomenal keyboards with rock steady bass and tight drums. Robert Cray's style is almost ethereal blues. and though he was mostly playing his strat, he switched over and got some amazing sitar sound out of a telecaster. other worldly. 

and so a long days drive home into night and back home and all is well and good with only the stench of cat food cans baking in a closed house in the summer to remind me again of the stink of anxiety in a closed mind. just the smell of the grasping attachment to the results of actions. anxiety and fear and judgment and the endless self created hell of a control freak trying to fight off fear with violent behavior.

acting out in anger stinks, but it’s amazing what a bit of fresh air can do.

 

posted by: limine at 09:17 | link | comments (3) |

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