I was sitting on my cushion this morning in the early darkness, something I do most everyday. I was wrestling over what to write about this next time. After years of practice, I don’t get stuck in my thoughts. My breath governs the rhythm of my mind, kind of like the surf, washing up on the shore and then quietly sliding back out, leaving the undisturbed sand behind.
I hadn’t really settled on anything and then I heard the sound of a bird suddenly breaking the silence. The world flooded in and the border between myself and everything else melted away. A tear welled up in my eyes and I realized that my life has always been about finding my place in the midst of this endless flow. What’s it all about?
The morning moment has been with me all day today. I think our individual paths are laid out early for each of us, before there are any discernible patterns in the sand. I was talking with Laura earlier about this and owned the truth for myself. It was the death of my father that marked me forever. I was a nine year old kid and all of a sudden, I was different, apart from everyone else in my life at the time. I was destined to be a loner in the crowd, the observer. I could be a part of everything around me, but it wouldn’t ever become a part of me. As a child, I found peace in this kind of solitude, which was initially a survival mechanism and gradually, over time, became who I am.
It has taken me so many years to understand this about myself and to embrace it. Believe me, as a young boy, I never, ever imagined being the white haired guy, separated by the accumulation of time and experience from most everyone else. In a way, it feels like the circle of life has been joined together, the beginning and the ending in a harmonious chorus of familiarity. Now, we understand each other and feel for each other.
This past morning and the darkened morning of my father’s passing are not nearly the same. This whole writing thing of mine is about sharing, a far cry from the little one, who cared only about surviving. Have I learned anything at all over the years and does it have any value, beyond my own trivial self-satisfaction? I hope so.
I often wish I was famous, not because I want millions of people to know what I was wearing or where I’ve been and with whom. I really care about all of us and what we’re doing to each other, which likely sounds terribly egocentric, warranting psychiatric intervention. I’ve looked at quotations from DaVinci, the Buddha, Plato, Emily Dickinson and countless other spiritual saints and see we haven’t progressed at all over the thousands of years we’ve been keeping records of our words and deeds. I wish my words mattered to anybody other than myself. However, I do this, because I don’t seem to have choice.
I don’t know if what is going on all around me has changed or if the change is coming from within, or maybe a combination of both. Certainly, my awareness has deepened with time and experience. My appreciation for the tenuous nature of existence has colored all of me. In terms of the world I now inhabit, many people like to say, “It has always been this way,” but I really don’t think so. The level of severity across the board is far more dire than I can ever remember.
As a kid, growing up in the Fifties, the American Dream was a wonderfully naive idea, but it was one filled with promise and possibility. Years later, the dark underbelly of lynchings and bigotry came into view as I went behind that dream. However, it was still a less complicated and less subtle era.
Today, the archetype of the American Nightmare resides in Our House. He exhibits every single quality you wouldn’t want your child to emulate. Everything seems far more ugly than my childhood memories. The lofty ideal of seeking the truth in the world has been perverted by the plethora of technological distractions and distortions.
I do believe the terribly imperfect world I have grown up in is at risk of surviving intact, a direct consequence of our behavior. The global disparity between rich and poor has exploded exponentially in the past handful of decades. We have been withdrawing from the bank of earth’s natural resources at such a rapid pace that we will run out of credit and its doors will slam shut on us all. The most powerful countries seem to be intent on undermining each other in a far more sinister manner than before. Many of the leaders of smaller ones are preoccupied with lining their pockets at the expense of the citizenry. I know now there are way more of us on the planet than ever before and we are weighing her down.
What does any of this have to do with this morning’s sit? You know, I’m really not sure. I do know it’s hard for me to be alive and not have the outside get inside, which seems to turn around and come out in some of my writing. My personal mileage is certainly impacting my ride and the terrain feels much more difficult to navigate and I can’t replace the shocks on this one either.
Tomorrow, I will sit once again, my breath the chorus between my thoughts. This piece will be out there, disappearing in less time than it took to write, untethered from my insides.
Thank you for your time until next time.