Showing posts from February, 2011


I've been snuggling up to a radically new relationship to Is-ness.

The unwinding mind in me is like an untied balloon sailing around and around as the air rushes to escape out of it. The "I" I have thought I am has no traction, no control, no creative ability. All the years of straining and striving, praying and teeth-gnashing, has been no more than tail-chasing, resisting, temper-tantruming.  And as I catch up to this truth, I am finding that more and more I can be with life in the moment as though it is a perfect, simple cup of tea.

There is nothing to add that can make it more or better than what it already is.  Oh, I could drop in a skewered couple of green olives, if I were feeling manic enough, but I will never make it a martini. And there is nothing that can be subtracted from it either.  I can't take out the heat or the wet or the color even if I wanted to, and since I can't, why worry about it. 

But wait...what madness would want to change What Is?



As a kid, I never wanted to keep a diary, because I was afraid that some day I (not anyone else, but myself) would look back on it and laugh at how serious I was about my juvenile feelings and conclusions.  I was deathly afraid of this at the ripe age of 10, which shows me how much I probably needed to feel heard by someone who could just listen and accept.  I even remember once writing in a brand new diary a solemn vow: "I will never look back on this and laugh."  I was very conscious of the fact that I did not trust my future self, though.  Even with the promise, I never filled in many pages.

Not much has changed, really.   

I have noticed that every time I write something I experience a backlash a day or two later.  "Was that true?"  "What was my motivation for writing that, or writing that that way?"  "Ugh, what was I thinking...who am I to think I could write honestly? Obviously, I'm writing for some kind of effect...I don't even think…

*Bleep!*-ing for virginity

One of the big changes lately is that The Judge has been (mostly) silenced.  She's been removed from her queenly throne and tied to a chair with duct tape on her mouth. I've caught her tapping critiques with her toes in morse code from time to time, but it goes without saying that she isn't having the same crazy-making/world-distorting effects that she used to have. 

Without her constant interpretations, chastisements, critiques, and general haranguing, it's gotten so much quieter in my head. And something else: the angry mob from the past/future I like to call the Peanut Gallery are starting to show signs of disorganization.  Without their fearless leader egging them on, they don't seem to care that much to hang around.

So now that things are quieter, I just watch my's a full time job.

I'm a cat watching for a mouse.  It doesn't take long until -- aha! --  I see the tell-tale signs of prey. The obvious sadness or anger rarely rear their head…

Training wheels

I love mornings.  What was for decades a ritual that I enjoyed in solitude -- and fiercely protected and defended as "me" time -- is now shared by the love in my life. He is not an intrusion...he is an evolution.

I stagger from the bedroom to the kitchen where I grind the beans and get the coffee pot working. I carefully set out two cups in front of the brewing pot, then I feed the cats, and put away any dishes that have dried from the night before. After only half the cold water has left the reservoir, I fill the cup on the right, mine, with the very strong brew that has made it to the carafe, and then sit down on the couch in the sun room. Francis, the "dog-cat," hurls all 15 pounds of himself onto my lap and we play the "no kneading, lay down" game.  I sip my "espresso" and stare off into space for a while, letting the caffeine awaken my nervous system out of its sleepy dullness.

Like magic, when the coffee pot is finished, Ray comes out and …

Who am I?

I've been watching my mind spin, looking for a way to latch on to something solid.  Themes seem to circulate, and I find myself revisiting old ground I thought I'd covered a long time ago, sometimes waving casually to old temptations whose lesson I already carry in my pocket.  I wave them on by, and then my mind looks for something else to latch on to....

As I become more aware of these thought forms and just notice them without judgment -- which does a great deal to defuse their magical power over me -- I find myself able to do that with the more visceral emotions.  I notice that this surprises me somehow.

I'm seeing that there was this acceptance that unhelpful thoughts made stories and these stories were unquestioned lies given the status of Truth in my unconscious mind.  Easy enough to drop these thoughts, then, right?  Yes! 

But there was still a belief, or a holding on to, the reality of feelings.  All feelings were happening to 'me.'  There was no separation…