Saturday, December 2, 2017
In the interstitial membrane between externally driven activity and internal necessity, I find myself feeling like a new immigrant. Tears come to my eyes in spontaneous fellow feeling for all beings – from the lowliest insect to the most privileged human. All of us are here at the whim of karma, in a maelstrom of events that feels out of control.
I'm not assigning blame. Karma is not a system of punishment, it’s just a neutral system of cause and effect. So probably I shouldn’t say “whim” or even karma. Is it atavistic to speak of God? Or should I just point to the plethora of spirits and god beings that populate all the unseen worlds around us?
Whether or not we label this “all” as God or not, the fact is, we are not the decision-makers ultimately. Not to say that we don’t alter each moment of our existence by our consciousness. But I don’t feel a sense of ownership about the ultimate destination of my being, even if I am the driver. And every time I consider an action, I'm aware of all those beings around me.
This is not to say that our actions can't be meaningful, or that they aren't vital. In this time - perhaps more than ever - we need to act from the levels of our deepest understanding. But what I'm talking about here is the place in between those moments of action.
So, as I said, I find myself in this interstitial membrane. And previously I was always in the hub of activity, driven by plans, goals, and endless lists. And now meditation isn’t just one of those goals. It’s a framework or maybe a vehicle. The “yana” of Vajrayana, Mahayana, etc., becomes quite relatable.
In previous years, this blog has mostly been my poetry, a form of expression well suited to a life whose energy is devoted mainly to working for a living. Now, for some reason, prose feels more appropriate. Not that I won’t jot down something symbolic next time I am alone in a darkened restaurant with background music and a glass of wine. Like so many writers, alcohol loosens my tongue.
But for today, I feel like a child just learning to walk. And an old image comes to mind, of being in a dark tunnel and heading for a faint light in the distance. Except that now the light is everywhere.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Anybody who knows me is aware that I have a phobia about driving in traffic. I'm great alone on a highway stretching into nowhere. Or better yet, a local street like this. But put me in a situation where I have to go somewhere new, be alert to street signs and landmarks, and manage to stay in the proper lane and keep from going too slowly and my heart starts to thump.
So, of course, moving to a new city is a challenge. I've tried to drive somewhere new each day. And it gets easier. Maybe Connecticut isn't quite as pressurized as New York. But my biggest challenge was finding the DMV to register my car and get a new license. After putting it off for a few days, somehow the GPS got me there even though there was this confusing bit where I could swear I went in a circle. I wouldn't have been able to do it again.
The line stretched outside to the parking lot. Well, it was a Saturday. After an interminable length of time, I finally found myself inside holding a numbered ticket and standing in a (still) long line. But eventually someone called my number and I went to the counter. First I had to present the three pieces of identification - my NY license, passport and social security card. The first two were easy. The social security card was not there.
It was not in my folder, my wallet or my purse. The lady behind the counter was kind and said I could sit down and look for it and then come back. So I did that, and finally went out to the car in case it had fallen into the seats. Still no card. I had no choice but to go back home and find it.
So I tapped in "Go Home" on my Garmin because the cell phone had used up the data for the month and the speed was reduced. I continued to follow the GPS directions until suddenly I was in Downtown. And I realized that "Go Home" on my GPS still had my NY address. I looked on the bright side. I could now scope out parking garages and see where the streets were because this was another area that I wanted to explore but had been too chicken.
I drove around a bit and didn't stop because I had an appointment at an open house in the afternoon for a yoga class. But I did pull into a parking lot and tap in my new address on the GPS.
Once I got home, of course, I began the search for the social security card. Not in the kitchen. Not in the office. Not in the files. Not in the office trash. Not in the kitchen trash!
In one last effort, I went back to the wallet (for the fourth time) and dug around in the pockets where you put credit cards. And there it was. Wedged in with a couple of old business cards.
So I took this as a very important lesson that I could trust myself. I'm not going to screw up. At least, most of the time. And if I'm just patient and confident, I'll probably do okay.
So far, I've managed to find two library branches, the grocery, the home goods store, the package store, the DMV, the furniture store, a beautiful yoga studio, a Thai restaurant, the bank, the pharmacy, a good gas station, a place to service my car, the movie theater, a woods with hiking trails, and a walking trail by the river.
Next time I'll go downtown and try out the organic food market, a farmer's market and art galleries. Maybe figure out where to park at the train station. This is only the beginning.
I don't know why I'm writing this. It's not like my usual poetry, but maybe it'll give someone else a dose of confidence.
Tuesday, August 8, 2017
Did you ever notice
It’s not loneliness
It’s not the yearning so much
Or even intimacy
It’s the luxury of having someone
Help you make decisions?
A million decisions
To make in solitary
What to spend the next
Five minutes doing
What needs more time
Whether to meditate
Or go for a walk
Whether to tackle the bills,
The dishes, or the laundry
To binge-watch some Netflix
Or color my hair
Whether to work on the novel
Or this poem
To be honest
I’ve always had a problem
Nobody gets close
And if they do
I banish them all too soon
It must be a shock
It must hurt a lot
To be let in
And then shut out
I used to rationalize it
With an artistic need for solitude
That desire to create without audience
And then I learned to dance
To co-create with a partner
Now I miss that steady hand
At the small of my back