Posts Tagged ‘perception’

watching sports

I never watched sports before as much as I do now.  Baseball is a favorite and I miss, more than I would have imagined, being able to actually go to a game.  The expanse of green, the zen-like progress of the games, rooting for one’s team with cocktail in plastic glass raised high.   Television is a poor substitute but now I am incredibly grateful for the few times a game comes on- no cable here, G.R.  The Partner has now managed to explain golf and football enough that I can actually enjoy watching them, for a minute anyway.  I can appreciate the parameters but not get lost in them, so they don’t really count when things get rough.

Then there’s soccer.  Egalitarian, dramatic, impossibly corrupt.  How many leagues are there? Championships? Organizations? Zillions, it seems.  It’s hilarious to compare the difference between announcers, too.  The English are dry and understated (a murmur of “he’s been badly treated” about someone who’d got very mauled indeed and no foul called) and the announcers on Univision and Telemundo are hysterical.  !!NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! and the endless “GOLLAZO”.  I even recognize their voices now, Bermudez being a sort of favorite.

So while I’m sitting here today, watching Real Madrid and Atletico Madrid duke it out, coloring an impossibly complicated coloring book drawing, I’m trying to recover from the feeling of being a mirror that got a big rock dropped on it from a height.

It’s the usual thing, enduring the losses life brings and the deaths that occur daily in big and small ways.  Soccer makes me think of my dear friend and the ridiculous coffin story she has about her husband.  You can’t imagine, she said.  NOOOOO, I said.  Not one of those FURRY FAKE VELVET COFFINS? Yes! she said. How’d you know???  I covered my eyes and said- it wasn’t day glo orange was it? Fortunately not, it was the other choice, royal blue.( I guess you have to be in Mexico or Central America to get those orange ones, which just seem too shocking to be real.)  They’d asked if green was available, the color of the favored local soccer team, but that wasn’t available for another few weeks.  We discussed the possibility of her getting a future green coffin, and the overall desirability of a “natural” death.  Meaning, at home.  Meaning, so what if the house burns down at some point down the road and one is in it? Clarity there.  No prolonged illness or hospital or any of that.  We agreed that we’d both like that best.  Good, I guess, to get that settled.

It didn’t, however, help at all this week when we found out that a long time friend has a serious illness.  Really serious.  Just a sock in the jaw out of the blue, and I was amazed by how much this news hurt and made the whole world just look so dark.  Of course the important thing is to think positively, be as supportive and helpful as possible.  Yet and still such news inevitably brings up all the old memories of all the other deaths, the residual pain and questions.  Which gets you smack into Your Very Important Story.  Which is not where you need to be.  Maybe ever.  I suppose it is the actual nature of things that one gets flung hither and yon by life, and the sense to be made of that is always in flux, always being revealed.  All you can ever really hope for in a way is to be able to keep the hooks of fear and anger from taking root in your brain and twisting your perception into some fiendish pretzel shape.

This is what makes watching sports stabilizing in a way.  It’s another story, another constellation of moving parts upon which you can focus until the breathing returns to normal.  Especially important now, too, to focus on something that takes one’s mind off the potential disaster of The Trump becoming….fearless leader.  Watching yet another soccer game, we were aghast to see a red baseball cap on a participant that said “Let’s Make America…” on one side.   As we clenched our collective teeth in eye watering horror, the guy turned his head and revealed the rest of the message..”Part of Mexico Again”.    That may wind up not being such a bad idea.  ‘Course what I think? is it should be Native land again, altogether.  But that’s another train of thought and right now? I’m in the switching yard from Purgatory, trying to make sense of things and see which freight to hop.

The Dog, of course, is like salvation on four legs.  After telling the neighboring cat to clear out of the garden in No Uncertain Barking Terms at 4:20 a.m. this morning, he trotted back to bed, laid down next to me and put his head smack on my heart.  Sighed deeply, went to sleep, and snored just the tiniest bit.  It’s like he’s always telling me things are really OK, don’t worry.  And? come out and play with me.  His advice is always stellar.  I guess I should take it.

the dial got stuck

Indeed it did, Gentle Reader.  For the past few weeks the setting has been permanently on CLUSTERF***.

One tiny example? No internet or phone for a week during which my email “chats” (from my landlady’s where I was perched between a cat litter box and a saddle) with the satellite provider started being all caps. As in, NO.  MY INTERNET ISN’T WORKING AT ALL YOU CAN’T DO A TEST ON THE LINE.  NO.  I DON’T HAVE A PHONE BECAUSE IT’S CONNECTED TO THE SATELLITE. THERE IS NO PHONE WHERE I AM.  WE ARE OFF GRID.  SEND HELP.  That sort of thing.  Finally, after extended misadventures, workability returned to the ethers and the entire system was replaced.  For once none of this was even remotely my fault. This miracle entailed a visit from the person who owns the “dealership” here, who asked me out for a drink with the Partner sitting there and with his wedding ring shining brightly- right after he told me about his private plane.  Are your neighbors 7th Day Adventists with a landing strip? I asked him.  Deflection scored.   I’m telling myself it’s all fine even though all the ideas I was brimming with when this latest crash happened, for the website and whatnot, and of course brilliant blog musings, evaporated like the fog rising from the ground last night after it rained.  Even the part where we ended up dispatching and then cremating a scorpion who’d mysteriously appeared in the middle of the floor with its tail raised ever so adorably (the P: What’s THAT? Oh, SHIT.  Me: What? OH. SHIT.).

In the meantime all sorts of other things have been revealing themselves and it seems clear now that we don’t, in fact, live in Kansas anymore (in both personal AND cosmic ways of course) and none of the people we used to know remember us except in the most fetishized sort of way.  The Giant Finger that is public/government involvement in one’s life (think insurance, and certain other basic things, like registering to vote plus various other matters the County involves itself in) has been showing itself to be ever more puckish, which contributes to 1) A bit of screaming 2) Deep breathing 3) Acceptance that one seriously needs a new map.  It’s a kind of condensed grieving, actually.  Where you grieve for yourself as the human you thought you used to know you were, and the life you thought you used to live.

The truth of course is nicely put by Wendell Berry:

“When I rise up/Let me rise up joyful/like a bird.

When I fall/let me fall without regret/like a leaf.”

It takes some practice but it IS possible to greet all the pits with the stakes and the live tigers as ways to do it differently.  Ways to see it differently.  I’m thinking now that if you can at least catch yourself sometime in the 24 hour period during which these things hit, you’ve got an excellent chance of doable change in circumstance.  The question is, what do you do during that gruesome 24 hours when your stomach is in your toes, your heart is torn and your head aches?  What you do is stop, and breathe, and WAIT.  Let yourself have time to speak.  Then, of course, you have to listen- which doesn’t have to be so bad once you firmly stick to the NO JUDGMENT rule.  You can, and often probably should, decide not to do or feel or think certain things again, but you mustn’t torture yourself for having done them.  Or as the case may be, not done.  It’s all a springboard, weirdly enough.

And in more important news, the Dog is almost a year old.  At 75 pounds he is what a PetCo employee admiringly said, a “tight-looking dog!”.  Even though he has taken to rushing to his bed and pretending to snore when it’s bath time, he’s really VERY handsome. The Partner took him shopping for birthday toys and evidently it was a smashing success, with the Dog investigating all appropriate items, sniffing bones, and even playing with another 11 month old.  mycouch2The romantic hues of this photo show that…well.  He takes up the entire couch now.  It’s admittedly not a big couch but it is about….five feet long? He revels. When we’re out his smile disarms even the crankiest individual. We’re still looking for a chew toy that will last more than 56 minutes and not hurt him if he swallows any of it, but I suppose that is the Quest Perilous in which we try to prove ourselves Worthy.  Prithee, Sir? doth this chew toy ring satisfactory and please thee? Anyway,  I’m making hummus for his birthday next week- it’s his favorite.  So far.  Right after potato curry and home-ground hamburger.  Little nibbles, of course.

Thank you and bless you, ALL!  as we continue on this ever wilder ride.

on the brink

At least that’s how it feels, Gentle Reader.  Recent events have left me feeling both confused and enthused in roughly equal measure.

While the outside world continues at its apocalyptic pace, we still know that lots of people try and do the right thing. It is easy to forget that their efforts are probably what is keeping us from spinning off into dissolution altogether, especially when such efforts can be as small as giving someone a smile or a hug or as big as inspiration of some sort.  So when someone goes away who is a kind of support for all those Right Things in a big way, it leaves a gaping hole.   I can’t help asking myself why someone like Prince has to pass on, while Karl Rove, the Koch Brothers, and others who, to my mind, exemplify a sort of evil, carry on in fine fettle.  I realize this is a silly train of thought but nonetheless.  Aside from hurting, it seems grossly unfair.  Yet of course it is life, as it is -and as we don’t find ourselves able to understand all the time.

And, of course, THERE IS SO MUCH I just don’t get.  I’m like an iceberg to myself at times, so much hidden under the water.  I had a few interactions recently that left me feeling unaccountably miserable, and with the sense that my previous life’s behavior had been motivated by what I thought were survival issues, but were actually about maintaining the fictitious world image I retained from my youth.  Which is to say, I abdicated my own authority too often, resisted unthinkingly too often, and felt myself to be unworthy too often.  Adding up just the topical things that have happened, it looked like a breathtaking recipe for disaster.  But what I realized at last was this.  We really DO create our own realities, and often the discomforts we feel are about the collision between our perceived realities and what another person feels to be baseline truth.   Sometimes the best, and only, thing to do is step back, be quiet, and watch the whole thing as though it were a story we don’t know.  Then it is a lot easier to pick up the plot.  If, as we’re told as writers, we should not be overly attached to our words and characters so as to be able to move along properly, then the same should probably be true in our “real” lives.  Just because something has been one way doesn’t mean it can’t change.  When YOU change and other things don’t, it can be kind of shocking to see what you used to be, based on how the interactions with those other things go.  The energy it takes to stay in your current orbit and not get sucked back into the old bad habits can be enormous.  This apparently continues unchanged and apace from birth to death, from what I can see.  There may be some extraordinary individuals who can just wake up and say, BASTA YA, and the old behaviors and ideas are all gone.  Since this whole matter of shift and change is in the anything is possible category, it’s probably best to just say, yes indeed, remain calm, and see what happens.

While I feel yet again that a huge piece of my life has just broken off and fallen out of sight and sound, there are still pieces of the iteration that need work.  Such as The Website.  When I first did the site, I modeled it on others both from my work and just in general.  It looked pretty much like everyone else’s, which was fine.  Now it seems a bit antique, dinosaurish, and with too many words.  Partly that’s because I like words.  Partly that’s because when I embarked on dot com, it seemed that explanation of how things work was needed since, being “alternative”, I couldn’t really just say, this thing works no kidding.  People told me I had to list everything that was in my products, and guess what?  This led to hacking and rip offs.  Weird, but there it is.  I fell into all the predictable deep marketing and entrepreneurial holes, in short, but survived and maybe learned.  The Partner and I met amazing people and learned undreamt of things both on the material and esoteric levels.  And this, in a nutshell, is the current quandary.

It’s like writing, in a way.  You’re taking something intangible (your thoughts) and making it something that everyone can experience (let’s say an essay.)  You’re selling, then, yourself, bottom line.  In this case, I take the intangible of what someone else is experiencing (whatever level it may be on), look at it, and make something to promote harmony for that person.  Just because it hasn’t been replicated in a lab by Exxon Mobil, Monsanto, or whoever, doesn’t mean it isn’t real and doesn’t work.  It also doesn’t mean it can be mass produced and be exactly the same every time.  Given my past habits of mind, it has been challenging to even figure out how to describe any of this.  But acceptance of all that, and simplification thereof, is the new project.  It may not be as daunting as first thought, because after all.  Anything IS possible.  Just because people want to pigeonhole you doesn’t mean you gotta stay there.  You simply fly away with love.  And yes, the Dog taught me that.

love made visible

So yes, Gentle Reader, I do wake up in more or less a state of anxiety every day.  It’s better than it used to be, for sure, and offers AMPLE OPPORTUNITY for re-reading the Dalai Lama (I even understand parts of what he’s talking about now, which amazes me) and pondering the truth of impermanence and the space in things, and how it all interacts with us so that change is possible.  We got change if you want it, in other words.  And even if you don’t, so it’s wise to pay attention.

ANYWAY.  Today, after such a morning’s brain trajectory, it was another breakfast with the Partner and the Dog.  The Dog has recently been Saved by Benadryl and is quite bouncy now that he’s over his massive allergic reaction to grass. (WE, however, are still exhausted from the stress.) Even though he is not a small individual, he is totally confident that he can sit on your lap and crawl up on your shoulders.  While this is not a completely pain free experience for the sittee/the Partner, I can tell it’s fun because of the huge smile on the sittee’s face.  This morning was extraordinary because, as I sat with my tankard of coffee and the Dog stretched up and over the Partner’s back, suddenly I saw an incredible glow and the Partner looked twenty years younger.   I mentioned it and he said he reckoned it was from all the licking he’d received a few minutes earlier- the saliva acted like super serum.  He can be very funny that way.

But what I saw was, in the Partner’s words, the Dog laying a lot of love down on him.  I actually SAW love, and boy is it beautiful. Golden, light, happy.  Really, it is about the only thing worth focusing on, because it can do anything- and we have to learn to allow such things to happen instead of, as so often happens, wondering what will happen when a winged pig flies into the house brandishing a super soaker.  Apparently having a dog is one of the basic elements in that Instruction, which seems to be: You’ll never understand it all, but you can, and should, enjoy it all more often than not.

the roller coaster of learning

I’ve been having all sorts of thoughts and realizations of late, Gentle Reader.  Naturally they flow most when I’m not able to write them down, but that is the way of it.  Sometimes, or usually, I think, that’s OK because those ideas, or whatever they are, are rolling around in the ethers of my brain.  Sooner or later there will be a report from the front.

And whaddaya know? A report materialized.  My birthday was on Easter this year, so aside from the frivolity (cake!!! EXTRA wine!!! ASPARAGUS!! STEAK!!) (and, I believe we saw not one but FOUR Easter Bunnies) I found my thoughts revolving rather depressingly around 1) the past and 2) the future.

Not much can be done about the past, or about the fact that each birthday moves us closer to a time when we’ll be in something we have no truthful idea about before we get there.  While this is always true to a certain extent, of course what I mean here is: death.  On top of the unknown future itself.  Which, if  you want to be happy,. you stay out of until you arrive.  Thus always being in the NOW.

While I mulled over the dawning realization that I found the above stuff more than somewhat upsetting, the Report started to be broadcast on the cranial speakers.  You’re just afraid, it said.  There is no room in your head for that fear, and besides it’s giving you a headache.  (Certainly it wasn’t All That Cake…..) And while we’re on the subject? The fact that you have beings you love madly in your life is leading you to fear their loss.  NOT VERY EVOLVED YET ARE WE?  (My broadcaster can be less than tactful.) And then, of course, the triple whammy was revealed.

I was watching something on PBS about James Randi, a magician who “debunked” psychics, in particular a man who seemingly could bend spoons telekinetically (Uri Geller). I got to thinking about the whole idea of magic and psychic things and suddenly it hit me.  And no, it wasn’t that I could’ve had a V8.  It was that perhaps the biggest obstacle to, we might say, realizing my dreams, was me being strung on the line between truth and apparency.  What we’re told is true vs. beyond what we KNOW, ultimately, is true.  It’s very easy for people to dismiss “magic” and the psychic realm because, sadly, there are many practitioners who don’t function with integrity.  It’s another case of external authority being swallowed whole with no critical thinking, things are either black or they’re white.  People are very willing to give up their sovereignty if they think someone will give them the answer they want to hear.  Whether or not it’s true doesn’t seem to matter much.

The thing of it, for me, is this.  Everything I do is, in a sense, based more on magic than anything else, years of study and work notwithstanding.  Magic, to me,  is actually a system of interactions and flow and pattern, and the world as it is being viewed carefully and responded to.  There’s a hell of a lot more to it all than we generally know, or can ever hope to.  And, really? We don’t need to know it all. When I started getting deeply into energetic medicine, I tried very hard to not be one of those individuals in flowing robes laying down gnomic concepts, or being someone who “knew it all”.  Or knew anything, really.  It isn’t about what you KNOW.  It’s about what you are and how that interacts with everything around you- that is magic.  It’s not about manipulation or trickery.  It IS about opening a line of awareness so that whatever is happening can be seen.  Then you are in a much better position to make a decision about how to RESPOND.  I see more and more as the remedies come together for people, how elegant and focused they are, far more than they would be if I just thought about what to do from the perspective of what I’ve studied.

This also means, on some level, that the things I do aren’t replicatable on a big scale- not, let’s say, very commodifiable or prone to being monetized.  I’ve also worried in an ongoing sort of way about just how crazy people thought I was.  Very, probably.

But.  You know what?  Finally, at long last, all that is just fine.  It’s OK.  It is what it is, and the truth is we really don’t need to make choices about believing in magic or not, or worrying whether people don’t like us because they don’t understand us.  It’s enough to know that there is truth in our awareness if we are willing to do the work to develop the muscles.  Truly not about what others think.  Not even about what we think of ourselves.  But very much about what we DO as we go along.  So I’m now on a new project: no grousing around.  There’s a blueprint out there somewhere, and we’re all equally flawed and perfect- but the quest is of paramount importance.  Not a bad birthday!

 

all russian roulette, all the time

Cosmically, Gentle Reader, things are heating up just as much as they are environmentally, and we seem to have the same level of denial all round on both fronts.  It seems that human beings are stuck on thinking they have a lot more time than they really do to get and maintain the togetherness of their shit, across the board.

The cosmic level has been rocky up here as usual.  We’re perhaps too close to the heavens  and seem to get the double whammy no matter what happens- and all these eclipses are NOT HELPING.   First, one of the dearest people to me in this life who lives at the opposite end of the earth? called me and our electric got overloaded, blew, cutting off the phone altogether.  At that moment the Dog returned from his morning constitutional, INCOGNITO.  Which is to say, totally covered in thick mud.  The Partner, after recovering from the phone/who’sthatdog episode, sallied forth in search of some electrical thingummy that would, in theory, prevent future flameouts.  I’d like that, let’s just say.  Anyway, totally thwarted there as well because?  There was a BOMB THREAT in RED BLUFF.  The poster child, or one of them, of lovely one horse towns, gets shut down because someone left a mystery box somewhere.  Home Depot was totally off limits as a result.

Then, in a moment of brainlessness, we turned the tv on and saw Brussels airport.

Between wanting to crawl into a deep hole from the simple overwhelming pain of it all, there’s wanting to crawl into a hole after hearing what the…I don’t even know what to call them, but we’ll be polite and refer to them severally as The Last Season of America Republicans, or TLSOAR. ( Rhymes with dinosaur?) Anyway I can’t believe anyone with a functioning brain could say the things they all say.  Patrol Muslim neighborhoods? (And where exactly pray tell are those,  in the US?)  Torture? The usual beyond cringe inducing bloviation? It’s so frightening to see these guys and even more so to realize there are people who “agree” with them.  Which leads us to….

How are any of these people different from each other? How is Trump really different from whoever the titular head of ISIS is at this point?  They’re both concerned with money and power and not much else, far as I can see. How are the rabid  people who support Trump really different from the rabid people we see chopping the heads off those who disagree with them in the middle east?  The restoration of the Caliphate has to do with ancient, we might say chthonic, issues, the driving of Islam from Europe.  It also has to do with the fact that the diaspora is not a place of rewards for most, and hopelessness and ignorance and poverty are generally not good ingredients for a positive outcome.  None of this is rocket science, is it?  It’s just the same old thing:  We all want the same things- we want to be happy, for God’s sake, and basic equity would go a lot farther toward making earth a harmonious place for all of us than pitting us against each other.  Happiness isn’t about what you can buy.  It’s about how you FEEL and how you are able to live in the world.  We’ve had centuries of doing it this top down, patriarchal, fear based way, which by any measure is not working.  It’s enough already.

Meanwhile we have a splendid crop of tiny red romaine, which since  it is outside the garden fence will probably provide a few moments of bliss for the rabbits.  I figure the birds dropped the seeds, thus helping the rabbits.  See how easy?  Really.

slippery streams

There’s something about blogging that is, naturally, just like real life.  The important thing is to do it, be it, not overthink or overreact, and to be, as Einstein suggested, free of the opinions of others- all without becoming an asshat in the process.

Of course that brings up the pernicious influences and backsliding sorts of things, like wow, people like this! I’m OK! or, oh no! no one likes this and I’m not OK!  Perfectionism creeps in, elongating into procrastination and nothing doing.  Like it all is so important on the opinion level.

I’m coming to the realization that the opinion level is where we get sick, get stuck, get distracted and removed from purpose.  It’s kind of like the monetization of your hopes and dreams, wherein for the most part they get crushed and you forget what time it really is.  This can be in the form of working at a job you hate, or becoming overly focused on “being successful” in whatever thing you’re doing and turning it into a carrot on stick scenario.  It can be about sticking to a paradigm or mindset, and insisting others do as well,  because you’re too afraid to step outside of what you think your safety level is.  In any event, all of this tends to separate you from your true self.  Without connection to your true self, what can you really do?

The use of one’s will is an interesting thing.  Too much focus on that and you’re stuck in an egoic quagmire, not enough and you’re without boundaries.  Religion, and actually? advertising, both attempt to define what will is and how it is to be used, but that’s just more of the imposition of external authority we’re all so used to, instead of doing the thinking for ourselves.  Life could be a whole lot easier if one were able to drop the opinions and external controls and just get in the flow of what is actually going on, respond to it, and go from there.  It changes the nature of pain completely, for one thing.  You’re not clinging to it like a burning spar in a shipwreck.  You feel the pain, for sure.  But if you’re moving in harmony with what is around you- and however inharmonious it may be you can do this- the overall field of energy can be seen for what it is, which is? LOVE.  With that awareness one is, somehow, able to continue, to go on, to proceed and succeed.

It is probably no mystery that this precise issue has been turning me into a bit of a couch potato of late. ( The weeds in the garden think they’ve won the battle, hands down. But.) There’s something to do, but it’s raining.  I have an idea, but I just forgot it.  How much energy is there to use today? What the heck was I doing before now? I almost feel like someone who’s been brought back to life as I look at the tools of my existence, realize I’m quite able to use them but don’t necessarily connect any more with the steps that got me to technical proficiency.  The big thing is ALWAYS not to run away from feeling.  Not to wallow in it either, but to simply look and experience and see it as truthfully as possible.   This process is leaving me with an interior that feels scrubbed and empty and ready for the next life to come in.  It is leaving me with the ability to focus more on what IS and not what I think I may have LOST.  The pain is still there; sometimes I feel my heart literally contract and bleed when things pass across my mind’s eye, as well as when I just look at what is happening right in front of me.  But the important thing is that our isolation from each other is an illusion.  Our thoughts do create tangible results.  The rest of it is, actually, pretty straightforward. If it is challenging in terms of implementation when we think of things like, say, Trump,  or Syria, or the gas leak in southern California, or bees or plant seeds, that is the point where we step back, take a breath, and apply ourselves to how we can cooperatively re-do our reality, shaping it in balance, not in fear.  The challenge is to find a substitute for violence and constriction, isn’t it?  That certainly seems like it might well start with observing our own, true, inner spaciousness.

Meanwhile, I was gently lured into the day by the Dog, who woke me up by first belching quietly in my ear, then beginning to hiccup into my neck.  Reminder, if one were needed, of how much I have to be grateful for, not the least of which are YOU, Gentle Readers!  I am always humbled and surprised and happy that you are out there.  Let us go forth, yes?

something, and more of it

A bit of a rocky start today, Gentle Reader.  Notwithstanding first crack out of the bag chest pain which I chalked up to…oh, reality? it was dicey.  The french press plunger decided to spray boiling hot water and coffee grounds all over a fresh loaf of bread instead of plunging down and keeping it in the pot as per usual.  The Dog went out and rolled, quite comprehensively, in Shit. This caused The Partner to blow a tiny part of a gasket and *I* did not take it as well as I might’ve.  Probably I was still reminding myself not to get a big head about just proceeding with the coffee, smarting burn and smile in place.  Sometimes hissy fits are unavoidable, sadly.

So, what is it? that keeps us from staying on an even keel.  Some days the quotidian pile up of whatever it is, be it dishes, vacuuming, armed struggle with the phone company AND the post office (come out big, right?) just gets to be like noxious fumes that remove one’s ability to concentrate on the task at hand and perhaps lapse into total stupor.  No, No! Just do it, I say to myself. Like what you do, and all that.  For the most part I do, but on days like today when it seems like the last bit of wherewithal has been drained from me, like from a car up on a  mechanic’s rack, I can’t figure it out.  Ah well.  Now, the Dog is muscling up on the keyboard, because he has something to say.  Which is, as usual from Dogs, sage advice about how enjoyable things really are if you just play a little bit, then take a nap.

The days when I have no certitude about what I doing, or  want to do, are the days when I don’t want to play, exactly, OR take a nap OR cook anything because why? Too anxious.  And that means I am not in the now, which pretty much always leads to problems.  Thank goodness this Highly Intelligent Dog came to live with us and point such things out.  I just wish it could happen less frequently right after Shit has been Rolled In.  Then again, when better?  I’m now going to go and thank him properly, which will no doubt involve his favorite treat.  And since they’re all favorites, see how easy?  All better.

 

 

uncharted waters

I had a horrifying moment earlier when it appeared that the Trusty Laptop was not going to function.  At all.  This would, to put it mildly, NOT BE GOOD.

But, as is so often the case with what appear to be looming disasters, there was food for thought.  For once I was able to relinquish my normal fears and sense of not knowing what to do which generally leads to Massive Floundering and Potential Crying.  For once, I didn’t immediately go to, and stay at, the nightmare thought of how another laptop might be procured.  No, Gentle Reader.  I simply plugged it in to a power source, and pressed the button I think of as “on” for several seconds.  I listened to the laptop, so to speak.  Repeating to myself that there is, after all, no crying in baseball.

What there is? though, is macrocosm in microcosm.  The ongoing dog “training” hits many and various snags even though the Dog and Trainer in question are  stellar sweethearts.  It’s just the way of things, however: one person wants one thing, another wants something different.   The Dog wants to roll in horseshit and eat dead mice, which we reluctantly had to use poison on lest they eat our car wiring.  We Humans want him not to do that, and also to come when we call in a reasonable time frame. Harsh words may be uttered and there might even be a bit of spanking.  Clearly the Partner is the patriarchal figure here and *I* am like the closely aged sibling.  We often, the Dog and I, get stern warnings to STOP THAT, just like kids do.  I’m both happy that I can be that way and not happy that I’m not mature enough at all times to properly Deal with the Dog.  This appears to be the way things are in the outside world as well.

It seems to be somewhat a matter of putting yourself in another’s place.  What is perceived, felt, thought, believed? And why?  Is it lifetime conditioning, pure laziness, evil, fear, awareness, or what?  I mean, really.  Why DO dogs like to roll in disgusting substances? Straying into politics for a moment, we see that Justice Scalia who was touted as a conservative which in today’s parlance is supposed to translate into “good” it seems, was on a little trip with someone who wasn’t his wife when he died.  How honorable and good is that?  Trump picks a quarrel with the Pope, for God’s sake, when his deplorable behavior is described, accurately, as generally un-Christian.  How does this mental desuetude happen?  And more importantly, why are people in this condition running things?  I of course then relate this to my own inability to keep things always running smoothly in my little world.

That line of thought may be where we go astray.  Things CAN’T run smoothly all the time and it isn’t our job to cram them into position one way or the other.  We go forth, do what we do, experience consequences.  It is to be hoped we learn from the consequences but this seems to be an often missing piece.  Maybe it is our fear of consequences that keeps us from embracing them as the learning tools they are.  But fear never really works as a positive motivator and avoiding things, resisting them, turns out to be a massive waste on every level.  Some days, accepting this concept this seems like a daunting challenge. Others it’s like a get out of jail free card.  Today I’m swinging between those poles; the dog is snoring, sleeping off his post-bad-dogness, and my stomach is making I’m-getting-upset-noises.  Time to remember there isn’t any shape here except the one there always IS, which is the shape of things as they are, even if we can’t see that all the time.

But before I forget? thank you all, so much, for reading, and liking, and being.

 

back, forth, back again

In and among all the dizzying occurrences of late, some actual exciting news happened:  We now have internet in the yurt, Gentle Reader.  Yes.  No longer do I have to trek to coffee and tire repair shops, nor engage in armed struggle with my landlady’s cat while freezing in the dark.   Never mind that the wi-fi doesn’t extend to my tablet, upon which I have the perhaps fantastic notion of posting pictures of the things I make (tonics, tinctures, potions and the occasional tamale) on Instagram.  Since it requires a wireless phone connection I still get to go to town for those truly modern communiques, but.  Running my little non-profit on line as I do just got a bit easier.  And blogging.  Who’d a thunk? Six years at the mast and at long, long last I don’t have to go anywhere else to write.   Thinking of it, i.e. content, all remains elusive, as per usual.

Interestingly it is just as hard to get anything done at home as it was anywhere else.  There must be something about having your laptop lid flipped up while your fingers clatter across the keyboard.  It must make people think: Why, I should TALK to/at this person! They’re obviously not doing anything!  The Dog also feels entitled to put paw to keyboard for some Dog of Mysterious Origin Musings.  Still, it’s to learn from.  Scheduling, GR, that’s what it’s about.  Maybe.

It’s kind of the classic conundrum.  When I was elsewhere, I had specific blocks of time in which to get things done.  It didn’t lend itself to thoroughness, or backing up the hard drive, but the distinct boundaries helped.  At home, there’s always something that needs to be done and jeesh, woman! You’re just SITTING there STARING at that screen.  A revisit to the ongoing challenges of being a woman, trying to do anything that, being largely personal, has no importance to anyone else.  What interests me about this is how the issues morph and come along with you as you morph and go along yourself.  It’s largely about keeping up with the cleaning and honesty, so that when these questionable patches come up there’s no internal static about what is what.  And having clarity which one can express without pettiness, irritation, victimization or aggrandizement of any sort.  Which means on some level that you yourself value what you are doing, just for itself.

This seems to be rather key for all sorts of stuff.  I had some interesting conversations about motivation in healing work lately.  It kind of boils down to you do it because it’s what you ARE and there’s really nothing else to do.  Even if it doesn’t lend itself to monetization.  Doing it because you THINK you should do it, or you want something out of it, or for any kind of power or influence, really doesn’t work. Moreover, it still has to be balanced out with the necessity of making a living, and it seems to me that people often take a rather superior attitude of you-shouldn’t-charge-for-This, or else charge really rather a lot of money because This is So Special.  Perhaps our world is not set up for right livelihood but it still seems to be something worth striving for.  We all need help at times and it shouldn’t be all about the money or the idea that You are Important because You Do X, Y or Z.

Maybe it boils down to our old friend Doubt.  Many teach what they need to know themselves-which may or may not be what you need.  Others are unsure of their own worth and thus tentative about what they offer.  In both cases doubt exists, and the fundamental doubt is about whether there is anything other than oneself to accomplish things with, to be helped and supported by, to provide guidance and acknowledgement.  And, there is, of course, but it takes some time to really be able to rest in that awareness.  Then you have to forget all about it, and just BE.   So much of everything is about just that: BEING.  Funny that it’s so hard to do. Like listening.

Anyway mysteries abound, especially here.  Lettuces are coming up in the garden, and my fennel has become a perennial, even in all this climatic weirdness.  There’s a sign, (which has been up since we came here)  on the road coming home that always catches my eye.  A crudely hand lettered sign on wood, exactly like the many other crudely hand lettered wood signs all over the place here, it says this:

CALLMENOW

IAM

HOME

So.  Is, or is not, the truth out there?  This sign’s a perfect example, to my mind, of the many levels to every single thing.  Or perhaps just a small monument to the lack of awareness thereof.  It leaves a mark, this stuff.