Posts Tagged ‘confusion’

Crazy Making

I look at myself and those I am close to and I see how we are drawn to actions, feelings, thoughts that are crazy making. Habitual patterns that drive us from motivations arising before consciousness, where the groves are so deep we can’t even see that we are lost in the canyons of our own making.  Our view so limited by the walls we erect that we have no idea of unimpeded space being right where we are.  When I was in the Zen community we chanted ‘You are not near, you are not far.  If you do not see it, you are oceans and rivers away’. I am like that.  True freedom is right here, yet I chose again and again to not see it.  In the bardo of this life I go for confusion.

There is some comfort in seeing the folly of my actions.  Perhaps it is knowing I could in any moment chose something else, swim against the tide of my own making.  I think that as soon as I calm down from this latest craziness I will.  This sounds like my thought that I will change my habits next Wednesday.  Next Wednesday I will stop eating when I’m not hungry, be consistent in my yoga practice, not be obsessed with my new love, do my Buddhist practice everyday which is so nourishing.  I am not near, I am not far.  I am oceans and rivers away.

Now I should pull out the wisdom that makes me seem like I have it all together.  The words that smooth the edges and tidy up the messiness, cover over the insanity that lies in waiting like the panther so patient for its prey.  So fun and triumphant to tell the story when I have emerged as the heroin in my tale, stepping over the ashes of my craziness, waving the banner of victory. Fuck that paper-thin veil.  Fuck the sigh that escapes as I have once again skirted the pit of disaster, pulled back from certain ruin.  Fuck, fuck fuck!

I want to look my craziness in the eye.  Stare down the tunnel of my insanity.  Pull back the curtain of samsaric illusion.  This dance I do is like dipping a toe in the ocean.  Touch in, pull back, run away.  Why not dive into the wave and go into the underworld where there is no orientation, no self.

I’m afraid, that’s why not.  I hold to a sense of self like a life raft in the middle of the ocean.  The waves rise and fall.  I know they are not different from the ocean even though they hold form for a brief moment.  I am the wave.  I like how Leonard Cohen says, “A brief elaboration of a tune.”

So for now I’m singing this song of Linda, riding the waves of my own crazy making, and wishing to one day open my breast and pull my heart out whole.

No Cheese or the Unsatisfactory Nature of Cyclic Existence

There is a story of rats and humans. Put a piece of cheese down a tunnel and the rat will go back to the same tunnel looking for the cheese even when it’s never there again. The difference between rats and humans is that the rat will eventually give up but the human never does.

I see myself looking for the cheese in the same circumstances over and over again.

I’m feeling my deep sadness, rage. I wonder how we treat each other in such hurtful ways and skew our vision to make it jibe with our values. I can see how needs are trying to be met but at what cost? Friendships lost, marriages ruined – lies and secrets, hidden agendas.

Us humans, so confused. I’m confused. My highest aspiration is to work for the benefit of others. To only wish them good fortune, to hold their actions with compassion and have empathy for their suffering. Can I offer this to myself?

I want to be the victim in this situation. I don’t believe in victim. Confusion is boundless, where is emptiness of phenomena? I don’t experience this. My hurt feels so close. Betrayal evokes rage. I want to strike out and hurt back those who I feel have wounded me. What is it that I trust in another? Is it shared values that drive a code of conduct I expect? Why would I want to continue in a relationship that offers so little?

Look again.  Are my needs for love being met? My need to be valued by the companion I’m with. I want my gifts to be cherished. Endless cycles of suffering looking for constancy in impermanence.  I am standing on quick sand and wondering why the ground will not support me.  Almost laughable if I could see the uselessness of my actions.  There is no cheese here and never will be.

Old writing when my marriage was in tatters.

So now there is a new love after so long.  My hunger for giving and receiving, to feel the loving touch of another, to languish in the lushness of the open heart.  How sweet this is.  This moment will not believe in change.  Determined that the open heart will not contract from fear of loss, worry of inadequacy, or the unmet needs of wanting to be seen and heard by the beloved. Confidence that brooks no doubt.  Yet woven in this conviction are the whispers – not this time, this time my eyes are open. Perhaps.

Confusion blinds.  What I imagined could not fall victim to past patterns lies exposed in the under belly of my habits.  My belief that this time my wish to be transparent will protect me.  I can catch my demons before they take hold and I am falling into the black hole of my psyche.  Yet here I am again, so full of love and terrified of losing it. Terrified that I chose one who will never meet me.  Terrified that I will sabotage what could be possible.  Terrified that I will run, slamming all the doors behind me to avoid the hurt of loss.

Again I am looking for the cheese in the tunnel where I have made sure there will be none.  I am looking for the feeling of love to be constant.  Refusing to see that love like all phenomena is slippery, shape-shifting, moving in and out of the shadows.  New love is so blind.  It believes in itself and thinks it is immune to the insidious habits that lie in wait – exempt from the truth of suffering.

A human caught in the maze of cyclic existence.