I've been foiled again by the common cold. You know the one. It gets me every time.
That strategic phlegm-bot that creeps up on you just as you allow yourself to believe you've gotten away with too little sleep and too much of every thing else. Just as you begin to pride yourself on either your transcendence of a need for pause and stillness, or your ability to self righteously rearrange your hectic schedule and pencil in time to pay money for a space to reflect where people will see you and know that you're spiritual BAM
SORE THROAT IN THE MORNING-->THROBBING HEAD ACHE--> CONGESTION--> COUGH
and of course, there is often an underlying emotional process that progresses hand-in-figurative-hand with the aforementioned physical symptoms:
DENIAL (i'm not sick, it's nothing, I just need some orange juice and I'll be fine. I never get sick.)-->
SELF PITY (why now! this couldn't come at a worse time. life is so unfair.)-->
IRRITABILITY (everyone and everything is so annoying, I know I would be truly happy if I just didn't have this runny nose)-->
ACCEPTANCE (lie immobilized on the couch, indulging in the realization of a freedom to watch endless romantic comedies with a box of kleenex close by so that you can wipe your tears or blow your nose or both at the same time)
Perhaps your process differs from mine, but either way you have to admit that you like those little arrows I made out of dashes and those almost-triangle things that you use in math sometimes. And either way, once the humbling and irreversible steps of the common cold have been set in motion you have no choice but to surrender to the calling of congestion. And the fact that the very ailment that's plaguing you is by its very definition absolutely ordinary, completely commonplace, leaves little room for an egotistical reworking of this phlegmy reminder of the fragility of our daily lives.
After missed connections all over India this summer, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama and I finally coordinated our schedules for a chat this past Friday. The venue was the Rogers Center, and he double booked me with roughly 25,000 other people. Nonetheless, he salvaged the somewhat embarrassing situation in a way only a reincarnation of the deity of compassion could, and I must say he looked very endearing in his maroon visor. Now, I was looking forward to engaging the big ONE-FOUR in existential discussions of emptiness and suffering- the perfect opportunity to fool myself into thinking that the use of Buddhist philosophical terminology naturally locates me en route to enlightenment (if I haven't already achieved it, that is).
Imagine my dismay when my unbelievably generic and conventional common cold cast me in the role of Congested Girl 1. SHIT, I thought as I blew my nose for the infinite time, NOW THEY'RE ALL GOING TO KNOW I'M HUMAN
Are you ever just absolutely struck by the ridonkulous attempts we all make to pretend we're not humans? To pretend we're not fragile, to pretend we're not scared, to pretend we're not uncertain or that we don't care or that we're not vulnerable. Someone told me the other day that a recent survey suggested that 95% of people feel like frauds at their place of work. I know absolutely no details of the reliability or legitimacy of this survey, but I do find the discrepancy between the delineations of a given role (ie. guy on the phone from Rogers, server, doctor, teacher, mother, boyfriend, religious practitioner) and the vastness of a human being to be profound. Not only can the act of squeezing ourselves into these various boxes leave one feeling like a phony, but it also creates an environment in which people relate to eachother as ______ (fill in any designation or label here) before human being. Granted, I realize that our society likely could not function in any other way and at this point I can't even dissolve my patterns of thought enough to begin to conceive of an alternative. For now though, attempted awareness and small acts of defiance (wrong word, but something like that) somehow seem enough for me.
I happened to be given a ticket to the opera last night. The opera! Who would have thought? And you know, what struck me the most was how nice it felt that no one was pretending those people on stage weren't acting.
Afterwards we went out for crepes (I love crepes!) and left a little note for our server with the bill that said,
"Dear human, You're doing great. Love always, human"
I think the gesture was probably quite silly of us, but honestly I was so painfully aware of the restaurant-script we were following and so desperate to crack through it, and just couldn't conceive of what else to do.
But-- bringing it home-- no matter how far we drift from an acknowledgement of the unity of humanity (a concept the big DL spoke about at length, although he managed to do it with a lot of light hearted chuckling and apparent serenity) the common cold will always bring us to Earth and back together again. Unless this ColdFX thing is for real, then I don't know what the hell we're gonna do.
So anyways, all that to say that I was recently humbled by the common cold and forced once more to acknowledge:
a) my fragile and fleeting human state
8) that I live on a planet filled with other humans who have also had a cold and can therefore relate
r) the beauty of hot tea and honey.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
SelfleS
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSAD;FLKJAS;LDKFJLAS;DKJFASL
....
as;dfasldfkj;l/
OK. good.
You should know that I'm drinking a generously poured glass of red wine right now. And that I was the one who poured it. And that I probably got the idea from some conglomeration of classic films in which the protagonist, feeling angsty but looking GREAT, pours her heart out online (or on paper, era-dependent) . And that my father just burst on the scene and although he had the best of intentions, it frustrated me because I had already grown so attached to my carefully calculated contemplative atmosphere (can't find a 'c' word for atmosphere...) And that he just held the puppy atop my head as she licked my ears. Do they not understand the artistic process?
Transitions are a funny thing.
I realize that is an incredibly vague statement. Substantiation can be made available upon request, I just don't feel like it right now
Even funnier is the fact that we spend "our" whole lives with (as?) ourselves and yet it is still virtually impossible to predict how we're going to react to any given change. Throw menstruation into the mix and it's a complete crapshoot. Speaking of which, I think it would be really romantic- in terms of my relationship with the universe- if the lunar cycle and my own were completely in tune, and I always got my period on a full moon.
But I think for me, at the moment, it is funniest of all when we assume we have a Self* at all. This statement I will happily substantiate although it is certainly not an original thought of my own, but merely one I have been flirting with for the past little while- depending on the phase of the moon of course.
*by Self, I am referring to some essential, intrinsic, independent, identity. something that is not subject to change.
To be clear, I don't think it's funny when one considers the existence of the Self seriously and ultimately concludes that there is in fact a fundamentally unchanging element to his or her being. I only think it's funny when such a colossal statement is simply accepted as a given. Or when one's decision on the matter, in either direction, is attributed with the status of absolutes.
As far as I know, the engagement of humans with their universes is necessarily dynamic, and our existence is in a constant state of evolution (I don't mean that evaluatively). On the behavioral level, we are interactive social beings. We exchange ideas, enter and exit and try to exit relationships, and conform and resist and challenge and accept. We adapt to our environments, we establish order and we form attachments. We change. Granted, some seem to more than others.
On the cellular level too, things are always changing within us, for better or for worse. We metabolize we metastasize, we mutate, we amputate and we vaccinate. Every single cell in the body is eventually renewed over a span of seven years, at least that's what I heard on Grey's Anatomy. Whatever, you get the gist.
There is a Buddhist parable that tells of a chariot. The wheels are changed, one at a time. Several planks of wood that make up its floor are replaced, and it is repainted. Some time passes, and the seats are redone. At what point in this process of change does it become a new chariot, and how many times? What is it that could possibly serve as the determining factor for establishing the discrete quanta of different chariots? Like the chariot, we too are always changing, but I bet you spotted that parallel being drawn from a mile away. Certainly some things for some people change more quickly, dramatically, and irreversibly than other things for other people. But we are all always changing.
My senses seem to indicate that permanence is an illusion. I suppose my sensory perception is an illusion too, considering the subjective nature of my experience and my inability to see the old woman in that optical trick, so I'm not really sure where that leaves me....
The point is that (perhaps) implicit to our incessant attempts to predict is a belief that our 'self' is a constant, and therefore a phenomenon we can understand and maybe even control.
My own experience with the myriad of transitions that surround graduating university (including but not limited to switching cities, moving back in with my parents and leaving a lifelong structure of quantified excellency) is that my "self" exists only in a constant state of flux, that I am always changing, and that I can in fact be quite unpredictable even to myself.
Lately, I've often perceived my behavior as erratic, but maybe that's because my assumptions of how I will react are based on a simplistic understanding of who I am, or even of who I was last week or last year. Needless to say, this can be a bit disconcerting.
My discomfort with the discrepancy between expectations of myself and the reality of my behavior are fundamentally rooted in an attempt to crystallize who I am, and thereby predict my behavior. I think.
Far more comfortable, it seems, would be to make peace with the impermanence of all things- MYSELF INCLUDED- even though that would seriously mess with my superior knack for gross self absorption (hence this blog... how about if I shut it down you'll know I've finally gotten over myself)
It would be just wonderful to go with the flow of my emotions, dance with them (mental image of cotton eye joe) and stop being so exhaustingly determined to understand myself and what I am likely to do next. Because to understand ourselves is to collapse the wavefunction into a snapshot. And even if I do manage to get a good look at one image it would quickly become outdated. Sometimes I wish I was "my" puppy. She literally frolics around chasing after dandelion fluff floating in the air, and scratches her own back for hours.
But wait, because here's the thing.
If on a holistic level we are constantly changing, then what is it that makes us who we are, how do we come to know ourselves, and what are the implications for our relationships?
Please refer back to the first three lines of this entry, for my thoughts on that matter.
....
as;dfasldfkj;l/
OK. good.
You should know that I'm drinking a generously poured glass of red wine right now. And that I was the one who poured it. And that I probably got the idea from some conglomeration of classic films in which the protagonist, feeling angsty but looking GREAT, pours her heart out online (or on paper, era-dependent) . And that my father just burst on the scene and although he had the best of intentions, it frustrated me because I had already grown so attached to my carefully calculated contemplative atmosphere (can't find a 'c' word for atmosphere...) And that he just held the puppy atop my head as she licked my ears. Do they not understand the artistic process?
Transitions are a funny thing.
I realize that is an incredibly vague statement. Substantiation can be made available upon request, I just don't feel like it right now
Even funnier is the fact that we spend "our" whole lives with (as?) ourselves and yet it is still virtually impossible to predict how we're going to react to any given change. Throw menstruation into the mix and it's a complete crapshoot. Speaking of which, I think it would be really romantic- in terms of my relationship with the universe- if the lunar cycle and my own were completely in tune, and I always got my period on a full moon.
But I think for me, at the moment, it is funniest of all when we assume we have a Self* at all. This statement I will happily substantiate although it is certainly not an original thought of my own, but merely one I have been flirting with for the past little while- depending on the phase of the moon of course.
*by Self, I am referring to some essential, intrinsic, independent, identity. something that is not subject to change.
To be clear, I don't think it's funny when one considers the existence of the Self seriously and ultimately concludes that there is in fact a fundamentally unchanging element to his or her being. I only think it's funny when such a colossal statement is simply accepted as a given. Or when one's decision on the matter, in either direction, is attributed with the status of absolutes.
As far as I know, the engagement of humans with their universes is necessarily dynamic, and our existence is in a constant state of evolution (I don't mean that evaluatively). On the behavioral level, we are interactive social beings. We exchange ideas, enter and exit and try to exit relationships, and conform and resist and challenge and accept. We adapt to our environments, we establish order and we form attachments. We change. Granted, some seem to more than others.
On the cellular level too, things are always changing within us, for better or for worse. We metabolize we metastasize, we mutate, we amputate and we vaccinate. Every single cell in the body is eventually renewed over a span of seven years, at least that's what I heard on Grey's Anatomy. Whatever, you get the gist.
There is a Buddhist parable that tells of a chariot. The wheels are changed, one at a time. Several planks of wood that make up its floor are replaced, and it is repainted. Some time passes, and the seats are redone. At what point in this process of change does it become a new chariot, and how many times? What is it that could possibly serve as the determining factor for establishing the discrete quanta of different chariots? Like the chariot, we too are always changing, but I bet you spotted that parallel being drawn from a mile away. Certainly some things for some people change more quickly, dramatically, and irreversibly than other things for other people. But we are all always changing.
My senses seem to indicate that permanence is an illusion. I suppose my sensory perception is an illusion too, considering the subjective nature of my experience and my inability to see the old woman in that optical trick, so I'm not really sure where that leaves me....
The point is that (perhaps) implicit to our incessant attempts to predict is a belief that our 'self' is a constant, and therefore a phenomenon we can understand and maybe even control.
My own experience with the myriad of transitions that surround graduating university (including but not limited to switching cities, moving back in with my parents and leaving a lifelong structure of quantified excellency) is that my "self" exists only in a constant state of flux, that I am always changing, and that I can in fact be quite unpredictable even to myself.
Lately, I've often perceived my behavior as erratic, but maybe that's because my assumptions of how I will react are based on a simplistic understanding of who I am, or even of who I was last week or last year. Needless to say, this can be a bit disconcerting.
My discomfort with the discrepancy between expectations of myself and the reality of my behavior are fundamentally rooted in an attempt to crystallize who I am, and thereby predict my behavior. I think.
Far more comfortable, it seems, would be to make peace with the impermanence of all things- MYSELF INCLUDED- even though that would seriously mess with my superior knack for gross self absorption (hence this blog... how about if I shut it down you'll know I've finally gotten over myself)
It would be just wonderful to go with the flow of my emotions, dance with them (mental image of cotton eye joe) and stop being so exhaustingly determined to understand myself and what I am likely to do next. Because to understand ourselves is to collapse the wavefunction into a snapshot. And even if I do manage to get a good look at one image it would quickly become outdated. Sometimes I wish I was "my" puppy. She literally frolics around chasing after dandelion fluff floating in the air, and scratches her own back for hours.
But wait, because here's the thing.
If on a holistic level we are constantly changing, then what is it that makes us who we are, how do we come to know ourselves, and what are the implications for our relationships?
Please refer back to the first three lines of this entry, for my thoughts on that matter.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Mind-Shop Version Beta
You know when you're just feeling off?
It's the psychological equivalent of all at once feeling bloated, having frizzy hair and an unfamiliar taste in your mouth, and knowing that your butt crack shows over the top of your jeans every time you bend over- without necessarily requiring any of those physical symptoms.
As my good friend Alannis one said to me, it's a black fly in your chardonnay. Even if it's not black fly season and there couldn't possibly be a black fly in your chardonnay, the way you're feeling about your chardonnay today, you'll just mind-shop one in anyway. By mind-shop, I'm referring to our uncanny ability to alter objective facts and create our own realities as simply as we reduce red-eyes with photoshop. And yes, I think that virtually every experience most of us have, goes through mind-shop before taking its place amongst the rest of our memories as a screensaver.
Today I mind-shopped billions of spoons into the picture, even though all I really needed was a knife.
I hope I'm not crossing that very fine line between blog and online journal by divulging the convoluted details of my nonexistent glass of chardonnay. However, because I still don't really know what it is that I blog about, nor have I ever drank chardonnay in its literal form, I guess I don't really have much to lose. Right?
Anyways, it's really only been about 2.5 days that the silverware drawer of my life has felt so imbalanced.
Unfortunately though, I suffer from an eternity syndrome which swiftly erases from my memory all past mental states, thus leaving me certain that how I am feeling now is how I have always felt and how I will always feel.
Don't ask me when I was officially diagnosed, because I have no idea- it feels like forever. Ha. Oy. Hmm.
...Although I've really enjoyed writing this blog once a week, I woke up this morning and decided I would rather hide beneath the quilt of my eternal slump than make myself feel better by doing things that I enjoy. After all, I fabricated that quilt myself! In a flash of uncharacteristic decisiveness, my self-deprecating choice was made: I was not going to write today. Eureka! (I just realized that I don't think I've ever said the word Eureka out loud. Could be the eternity syndrome acting up again though...)
I pulled the Quilt of Stagnancy back over my head, thereby propelling my conditioned mind onward in its patterns of illusory rationalizations as to why I should make decisions that are not conducive to my own happiness.
Now is when I wish I could tell you that I regained control of the mind-shop program and engineered myself some good times, but the truth is that I sort of just wallowed for most of the day.
BUT I did eventually manage to plant myself in front of this computer, and as I write a couple things are becoming clearer.
**If you have managed to navigate through the superfluity of my ridiculous metaphors and make it to this point, then I really appreciate you sticking with me**
It's just that--and again, if I were in a bad mood I'd probably find this really obnoxious-- life is so absurd and also appears to be so short that it just doesn't make sense to not enjoy.
We just might as well be happy, rather than weave quilts that drag us down.
Even as I write this, I know that I will constantly forget it and inevitably fall in and out slumps for the rest of my life, but right now in this moment all I can think is that we just
might
as well
enjoy.
We just might as well.
In a strange flash of clarity that point seems so laughably obvious.
It doesn't mean that I have to change what I'm doing, or that I can't read in bed all day, it just means that I might as well just really enjoy doing it.
Mind-Shop Version Beta.
Now suddenly, the thought of drinking a black fly doesn't even seem like such a big deal. And when I think about it, I don't think I really need a knife that badly. A spoon would probably do.
... I wonder how long I can keep this mindset going for. I'm taking bets.
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