Tuesday, April 22, 2014
It's so easy to cling and believe what I can manage to hold onto becomes mine. Everything can be lost. It all is in the process of passing away.
Kissing this moment in a tongue lashing frenzy is the only solution.
This person I think I am is a myth, a collection of stories and faulty memories. Lashing oneself to being a brother, a sister,a mother, a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker is an act fraught with ignorance. I am nothing- an event, a passing bit of dust.
Today I open the mouth of this moment and plunge my tongue into its sweet maw.
Monday, April 21, 2014
The number of people I know, or the length of time I've known them, means nothing to me. It's the quality of a person, their intellect and their heft as humans that matters.
Those who root like mushrooms to the decay of their lives will never know the taste of new ground or self discovery. Clinging to the desire for a clear identity it is easy to forgo genuine existence in favor of seeking to be understood, loved or appreciated.
Waking in the morning without frustration and the urge to poke and prod others is a joy. When I first recounted the feelings I was having in the morning to a mentor he asked me if I'd always had them.
I hadn't except in periods of time where I was clearly in the wrong place, such as teaching in public school. So, we began a chain analysis and I realized I was frustrated with people in my life. Two friends in particular drove me nuts with false bravado and empty words about the values in their lives. They were shells of human beings. People who bailed on hikes due to weather and were forever getting ready to "get serious" although I was never able to determine what they planned to get serious about.
Like Androcles and the lion removal of the thorn brought relief. What I learned was never go back. Each of the involved parties I had left in the rear view mirror only to return out of something bordering on pity, never a good impetus for action.
Trying to encourage and support people who don't care about themselves is useless. Pretending I had magic powers to help natural sad sacks who had engrained ruts and patterns deep into their existence was vain and conceited.
My dad used to always say, " sometimes you have to leave the wounded behind..."