b r e a t h i n g   r o o m

19 Nov 97

I seem to be at one of those crisis points that I so often need to shake myself out of a funk. I've been moping around now for days, casting shadows everywhere I go. Going through the motions, that's what I always do, no matter what. That's what starts to feel more and more empty as the flywheels keep spinning and the monkey slumbers in the driver's seat. Why this constant backing away? Anyone could understand why we avoid horrible or boring or frustrating or painful tasks. But why freeze when confronted with a long hoped-for opportunity? Why quail upon realizing how much is possible? Why dissemble until the mundane tide of maintenance and day-to-day daily-bread chits piles up instead, obscuring the light? It's almost as if I prefer a backlog of to dos to a clear field to run in.

And so what? Haven't I figured this out before? Hasn't my therapist even taught me how to feel how it feels and not just know it or rationalize or even understand it? Even the irony that we have to keep learning the same lesson over and over again, roll that rock back up to the top of the hill, the irony of frustration and humiliation, and the spiral of learning the same thing again and again, that irony constitutes a big part of the human condition. All of the nested responsibilities avoided and obligations dreaded and simple tasks procrastinated and great plan postponed, all they do is serve to make it impossible to simply be. If I could remind myself to take care-- scratch that. Here now I remind myself to take care with every little task, every little process, every little response required by the act of living and breathing. If I can get back to seeing through my eyes, engaging in the world through my hands, and noticing my breathing, and love that awareness, and respond to my real, immediate pressing needs, then the rest will all fall into place.


Tonight I must dress to stay warm and dry in the rain at the Stones.

yester morrow

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