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.