Learning to Let Go

So I've decided to stop dicking around and get right to the heart of the matter: Why I am here (blog wise) and why I'm even doing this practice.

Most people who know me know that the last 12 months of my life have been all about loss and change--a lot of it the big, wrenching, sudden changes that leave us face down in the dirt wondering "Why?"

Why now?

Why this?

Why ME?

I think these questions are all normal, and depending on how they're used they can either take us into deeper levels of awareness or keep us locked into the idea of a seperate self. They can either help free us or help us put up new walls between our hearts and the world.

Unfortunately none of the answers to those questions are particulalry ego-gratifiying. At least not the honest ones.

Answering them honestly requires us to be fully accountable and aware of where our responsibilities lie--and where they end--without assigning blame or judgement. Most of the time, in my experience, they asnwers that arise only create more questions.

Accountability. It's a loaded word. When I first started hearing in the context of awareness work/mindfullness I didn't really get it--I thought it was the same thing as responsibility, blame, etc.

It's not, at least not in the context I use it and the way it was taught to me; it's simply an awareness and acceptance of our role in creating our lives. It's the first step towards creating any real change.

It was through program called Powerfuliving that I first became aware of the whole concept. I had been working with a business coach named Michael Goldstein for about 6 months when I took the course. Michael suggested that I try it, since he felt we had hit a bit of a wall with the coaching--I was getting more organized, more successful, more productive, etc., but there was something interal holding me back. I was not happy with...well, anything. Myself, my relationships, my business. Everything seemed to be...stuck. In a holding pattern.

Michael ran Powerfuliving out of his home in Rhode Island. It was a good hour drive from my house outside of Boston.

Now before we go any further, I need to make one thing very clear: I am habitually five minutes late for anything. All the time. Always.

Of course, I always assumed this was OK. And true to form, I got a late start that first day. I left my house at 7:00am or so on a clear, sunny springtime Saturday morning--and I had committed to be there at 7:30.

whoops.

Of course, I drove like a maniac. I sped. I wove in and out of traffic, cursing everyone on the road...who the hell did they think they were, driving 65 mph on a Saturday morning?

And then, of course, I hit traffic.

A little over an hour later I walked into Michael's house. Everyone else (with one exception) was already there--8 other people who had committed the next 8 weeks of their life to this course. I took my seat on the floor with everyone else and started to apologize.

It was a rather shitty and insincere apology. At least that's what Michael made abundantly clear over the next 10 minutes as he grilled me on why I was late--and why I thought it was OK to make everyone else late.

Of course I threw out all my reasons, all of them perfectly reasonable and totally unacceptable to him.

"I woke up late" I protested.

"Ok. Do you do that often?"

"Um, yeah."

"And you knew you had to be here at 7:30?"

"Uh....yeah."

"So why didn't you set your alarm earlier?"

"I don't know, I di---"

Michael held up his hand, a gesture I would see frequently over the next few weeks. As in almost every time I opened my mouth.

"Paul, I don't really want to hear it. This isn't about you--it's about the commitment you made to me and everyone else here. Just sit with it and think about it for now."

I was fuming. My nature is to argue, to be right, to wind and wend my way around everything using logic and data to prove myself in the right. What the hell do you mean I can't talk?

"So" he continued "why else were you late?"

"Um, well...I got a late start. But I tried to get here fast--I sped like crazy--and then I hit all this traffic! And then I got lost driving around trying to find your house."

He held up his hand again.

"Ok, fair enough. why didn't you call?"

"Oh" I said. "I didn't have your number handy."


Whew. How could he fault me on that? I was a busy guy after all, taking a whole Saturday off of selling real estate to be here. I could be making money right now, damn it. Anyway...safe. Traffic and no number! Can't argue with that, can he?

How little I knew.

"Couldn't you have assumed there might be traffic? Or that you might get lost?"

"Uh...yeah, I suppose."

"And you could have saved my number in your cell phone. Or called Anne. She works with you--you must have HER number, right?"

I could feel my face turning red. He had me dead to rights. Man, what an asshole I was.

"Well...yeah. Look, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

something in my face must have betrayed what was going on in my head--the self-judgement, blame, etc. Michael smiled and said simply "Fine. As long as we're clear on where your accountability lies. And it's not blame; but you made a commitment to be here, and you broke that commitment. Do you see why that's a problem?"

I said yes, of course; anything to get the spotlight of off me. To be honest, I was furious by this point and was planning on leaving ASAP. Fuck this--I had better things to do! I'm important, damn it.

But there I was. For once I couldn't charm or manipulate my way out of something. I had to sit there and deal with what was going on in the moment. I had no choice.

Well, I did--I could have left. But I am almost as prideful as I am arrogant, and pride won out--I decided I'd be damned if I wasn't going to sit through this whole thing. I'd show him, damn it.

Finally, he looked at me and asked "Where else in your life do you think you might do this?"

Ouch. Uh...everywhere?

He held up his hand "Again, Paul--I don't want an answer. Just sit with it."

So that was my introduction to accountability. It sounds harsh, doesn't it? And it was. It had to be, because I was so resistant to the idea that I wasn't in the right all the time.

But the truth is, Michael didn't get angry or assign blame--he just confronted me with my own immense pile of bullshit. I kept on trying to squirm away, to justify, to fib and charm my way out of trouble. And he wouldn't stand for any of it--because he cared too much to allow me to live my life like that any more.

Wow.


It's been almost a year since Michael died. I ended up working with him for over 2 years after that day--both as a student and a fellow coach, helping him run Powerfuliving. In many ways he became a true father figure to me. Through his words, actions, and even his death, he was and is the teacher of the most important lessons I've learned so far.

I think of him every day, of what he taught me, and even now those teachings are just starting to make sense. It took years and so much work on my part--and now those teachings just blossom on thier own.

If it wasn't for Michael, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have the awareness and understanding I do, the openess, the compassion, the ability (however small) to accept loss and gain with a wise and open heart.

This is the first time I've written about him. And far from the last.

Fear and the Self

So it's been awhile since I posted.

Fear has been fucking with me, hardcore. It's been creeping up on me during meditation, infecting my dreams, tightening my chest with icy fingers.

Fear. Not so much the typical"I'm afraid of X", but the awareness that fear and aversion dictate so many of my habitual reactions--as in pretty much all of them. It's either the fear of suffering (clinging to pleasure) or the fear or pain/suffering (aversion). From these attempts to push away awareness, to keep the present moment at bay, I create more and more suffering. Suffering leads to more and more isolation, disconnection, and fear.

It's a vicious cycle, and one that is repeated over and over again in Buddhist texts and teachings. Suffering is caused when we are attached to pleasure or when we try to avoid pain.

This is a basic tenet of Buddhism, and I've heard and read it...I don't know, a few thousaand times? I've meditated on it, written about it, talked about it...

But I didn't really understand it. I didn't know what it really meant, not on the gut level. Not on the level of awareness, as limited as mine is. And I know I am only seeing a fraction of the truth; that my level of awareness is keeping me from a full understanding. And I suspect that the only way to get through it is...through it.

Right now I'm noting it when I can, naming it. Saying "Hey fear...I see you. I recognize you for what you are: impermanent and arising from my own confusion." And doing so without trying to push it away; simply noting it without judgement and letting it arise and fall away on it's own.

At least that's what I do when I'm on the ball. Other times I might as well be a robot--the fear program kicks in and I'm just following orders. Of course those orders are self-destructive and tend to feed on themselves; unskillful actions create negative karma, and the cycle repeats itself over and over...until finally something breaks, or a second of mindfulness shows me that Mara has caught me again.

But all I can really do right now is be patient, and aware.

I've been reading the Bhagavad Gita again, and along with it Ram Dass' excellent book "Paths to God: Living the Bhagavad Gita". Lately the Hindu practices, chanting and yoga--especially bhakti yoga--have been more and more appealing to me. More involved with the heart, and less in the mind. Something in them resonates deeply with me.

Of course Buddhism grew out of Hinduism, and the two share many practices. But I think this a nudge towards something important; some part of my brain is telling me "You can't do this shit on your own; you need a higher power to break through this fear."

And maybe that's true. Up until recently I considered myself an atheist. More recently, I have come to the understanding that I can't know one way or another--there may be a god, gods, flying spaghetti monster, or nothing at all. I can't know--and neither can anyone else, I think. That's why it's called "faith".

In retrospect, my steadfast belief in no afterlife, no divine beings, etc. is extraordinarily arrogant. I don't mean to say that's true for all atheists--I don't think it is. But for me, it was a trap--the righteousness of knowing "the truth", and the high horse it put me on.

Man, it's easy to look down at all those religious folk. And of course they can be hypocritical and arrogant too...sometimes incredibly so. But then again, they seem to be the same people working at the Pine Street Inn. Or with the Salvation Army. Or with the poorest of the poor in the slums of Calcutta. I, on the other hand, have largely lived my life solely for myself for 33 years or so.

So who am I to judge?

I'm not. I don't have the right, or the awareness, or the understanding of the big picture. For the first time in my life I am aware of just how little I know about anything of real importance.

Maybe that is where some of the fear is coming from --the awareness of my own greed, hatred and delusion. Of my own blindess, my own self-centered-ness.

Something to think about...

Dying Meditation

Part of the Year to Live practice--a large part, it seems--is a meditation on dying. Essentially, you are supposed to become aware of your body (OK), the field of consciousness (OK...), and then slowly...breath by breath...come closer to "death".

Then you take one breath--your last--and let it out. Let it go. Give up the body, all attachments to this life, and "die".

It sounds simple, even easy. How hard could it be to imagine your death? I mean, it's not "real", so what's the big deal?

True. Except that our subconsicous (and to a degree, our conscious) minds can't tell the difference between an intensely imagined and visualized experience and a "real" one. That distinction is made by consciousness itself. If your conscious mind is focused completely on manufacturing an experience...that's real enough your subconscious.

That's one of the reasons why visualization works so well in sports--if an athlete can visualize an outcome in detail--the more the better--they will almost always perform better. In fact, you can do the same thing with almost any skill--playing piano, giving a speech/sales presentation, etc. I've done it hundreds of times in dozens of different contexts.

To be clear, I'm not talking about day dreaming or normal "that would be nice" thinking, but a clear, focused meditation on a process and a desired outcome. If you want to learn more, the book "Psycho Cybernetics" by Maxwell Maltz is the best source; pretty much all sports psychology and related fields grew out of his work.

Anyway, back to the topic: the meditation on death and dying. Did I mention it was scary as hell and I'd been avoiding it for days?

But like most things in life, the fear is worse than the expereince itself. As I got closer to that last breath, I became very focused on each and every part of that process--the air drawing in at the nose, cooling the nasal passages and throat, filling the lungs, expanding the rib cage and belly, and the sensation of it leaving--the relaxation of the muscles of the stomach and the diaphragm, the contraction of the rib cage and the the slow emptying of the lungs, the warmed air passed out of the lungs, up the throat, and out of the nose again.

Each part of it one moment, perfect, eternal, rising and falling away, no two quite the same.

There was an intense feeling of presence, peace, and acceptance. And then fear, worry, contraction, holding...

"I can't do this. It's too much. Too big."

"This is stupid. Why am I doing this?"

"Ok, this is what you're thinking about in the seconds before death? How annoying the person three seats down and to the left is with their sniffling and coughing?"

And so on. And then back to the breath.

So much more intense than my typical breathing meditation. So much more awareness, more presence, more internal quiet.

Fear.

a few days ago a I posted about fear, and how it was coming up for me more and more as I got deeper into the practice.

It's gotten worse. I mean all-consuming kind of bad. And it's not that I'm afraid of everything--it's that I am starting to see clearly how utterly pervasive fear and aversion are in my life. Almost everything I do is touched by it and/or a reaction to it in some way.

Some of these fears are big , like death, suffering, etc.--and some of them are so minute that they are barely noticeable, like rocks in a fast flowing stream.

You may see some of them--the really big ones that actually break the surface-- but what affects the flow of that stream the most are the thousands and thousands of unseen rocks, from boulders to pebbles, that force the water to change course and pick up speed. And the faster the water moves, the less you see.

Of course the flip side of that is that over the course of time, the water always wins. It will always wear down the rocks. Unfortunately, that takes millions of years in some cases.

The Buddha often spoke of his teachings as going "against the stream"; he warned his intial followers that the way he taught was not easy, and that it required constant effort to avoid being swept along with the currents of the mind. But he also spoke of "entering the stream" as the first level of consicious awareness--the state of becoming aware of the nature of suffering and the impermance of the self.

I know that for me, floating along is the easiest thing to do. It requires barely any effort--just enough to stay afloat. And in the good times, it's so easy to fall into--after all, who wants to go sit on a meditation bench for a couple of hours a day when the sun is shining and everything is hunky-dory?

But the truth is those rocks are still there. And we almost never float facing downstream, with a clear view of what's ahead. Even if we do, by the time we realize what's happening, we're usually already deep into the rapids, without a raft or even anything to hang onto. In those cases, all I've been able to do is tuck and cover and hope I don't drown.

And that's one of the things I'm afraid of--more suffering. But mostly I am simply overwhlemed by the contant nature of suffering and the role of fear in creating it. I see it everywhere--in me, in others, in the world at large.

Last fall I had a similar experience of being able to see suffering clearly--my own and others. It was not fun, but very enlightening. At first I felt like everything was slightly out of sync; like I was a little out of step with the rest of the world.

Well, I've always felt that way. :) But this was different. I could see the suffering in people's faces, in their walk, in everything they did. Big suffering--the suffering of obvious physical or emotional pain--and the small kind, the little disconnects in conversations, the walls we put up around parts of ourselves, the isolation I think most of us feel to some degree or another.

And likewise, now I see fear. I see fear of death, fear of rejection, fear of pain, fear of loss, all of it, on large and small scales. I see it in myself in all it's endless forms. I see it in others, too. Or at least I think I do.

Fear is one of the roots of suffering, in Buddhist thought. It's aversion to what is really present in the moment, and it's a sign there is something we need to work with. It can also be the result of clinging to something that is pleasant--an experience, a relationship, an idea of "how it's supposed to be." Aversion and clinging. The two roots of all suffering.

hm. It just occured to me that this is (hopefully) a progression; from the awareness of suffering to the awareness of one of it's causes. That makes me feel good, like I am moving in the right direction.

On the other hand, that means an awareness of desire/clinging is probably the next step. Ugh.

See? There's that aversion/fear thing again...lol. I'm terrified of more awareness...oh, irony. Hilarious.


Stephen Levine once said "If you can't be bored, you can't be Buddhist." I wholeheartedly agree.

But I think a healthy appreciation of irony helps too.

http://dyingpractice.blogspot.com/

This is someone else who is currently doing the Year to Live practice; a monk, actually. I sent him off an email this morning thanking him for chronicling his experience. He is much further along than I am (in a lot of ways), but it's oddly comforting to know that even someone whose life revolves around spiritual practice has some of the same struggles I do. Mabye it makes me feel a little more enlightened. :)

If you're interested in learning more about the practice I'm doing, check it out. It's very, very well written and clearly explains the author's experience.

So I am more or less one month in.

It's been a very informative month. Everything is a little clearer to me now. I see the value in so much---especially the small things. I've always been able to really enjoy a beautiful winter day for instance--but now there are times when the simplest thing can actually move me to tears. Well, almost. I get a little veklempt, if you will. but there is no sadness, just a sense of being totally connected in that single moment--a feeling of complete prescence and total awareness and acceptance.

I feel like there is no barrier--or less of a barrier--between myself and the world. As if the roadblocks and walls I've built over the years are crumbling as I focus more and more on the soft-belly and metta meditation practices. This has been going on for a couple of years now, but in the last month it has intensified. The walls are breaking down faster now, and I don't care about shoring them up anymore. I don't care about being safe, secure, or cool.

All I care about is being free. Free from my conditioning. Free from the stress of trying to fulfill others' expectations. Free from the need to please others or be liked. Free from ego, from seperation. Most of all--freedom from fear.

While I was sitting the other night I had one of those sudden flashes of realization that happens during insight meditation (hence the name, I guess). I saw clearly how fear had dominated my life, from the time I was a child until the present day. How I lived in reaction to it, tried to control it, and tried to run from it.

Everything--except for the last few years--was completely fueled by fear. Fear of abandonement. Fear of being alone. Fear of being trapped in a relationship. Fear of not being in control. Fear of being IN control--and not being able to handle. Fear of not being good enough, smart enough, cool enough, tough enough, and so on.

I saw how much of what I do and say is done for all the wrong reaasons--to impress others, to paint an image of myself in their eyes, to be the center of attention. All of it done from fear, in one way or another.

I sat with the fear. We had become friends over the previous few months. Fear's not such a bad guy--er, thing, really. It just wants to show you where you need to pay attention very, very closely.

It's there to help, if you listen. But if you run away, turn your back on Fear, denying that it's there...well, then it gets pissed. He gets bigger. And stronger. And pretty soon that's all you can see--if you're lucky. If you never see Fear, you just bounce around life as it boxes you in more and more.

Fear feeds on itself. That's all it needs--a little resistance, a slight aversion to something we don't want to deal with...and it's there. And it will grow, consuming itself, consuming everything good in your life, and eventually, Fear will consume you.

The nice thing about Fear is that it's very persistent and has a loud, clear voice. It has to be that way, really, because in our society we are taught to run screaming from anything painful or unpleasant. Unfortunately, much of life can be either one--or both. And running from that reality, that pain and suffering and unpleasantness--is what creates Fear.

So I sit with Fear, and acknowledge it, and try to listen closely to what it wants me to learn. "Here" it says "right here. Feel this fear of losing, the need to win, to be the best. Why can't you try harder?"


"Or here. Remember this old hurt? What if it happens again? Maybe you should close off that piece of yourself. Don't risk it."

and of course the ever-present:

"What would X think?"

But even though Fear can show us what we need to work on, it only has one answer for all questions, and it's always the wrong one. It comes in different forms, but it's always the same message:

Contract. Hide. Withdraw. Don't take the chance. Be safe. Be smart. Do what you're supposed to do.

I am getting better at seeing the places in my life where I've allowed those to become the answers. Where I've accepted Fear's only solution, the one-trick pony of contraction.

I'm finding there are a lot of those places--but I'm not afraid of them anymore. After all, as part of this practice, I have the Big Fear to face--Fear of Death--and I need to face all the small ones first, for all sorts reasons. I need to face them to tie up loose ends--to finish any unfinished business. I need to free up my karma. I need to strengthen myself, so to speak, for the job of facing that fear of death--and the only way to do that is to face the smaller ones first, and work up to it.

And by facing those small fears, a funny thing happens; each time I do, I feel a little more free. A little clearer. A little less attached and a lot more aware.

Well, that's it for today; I do have work to do outside of this. So until tomorrow (or whenever)...

The Magic of Thinking Big

The Magic of Thinking Big is a book that has been floating around in my home office for a long time--probably a year or so.

It's one of those old-style positive thinking books, written in the 1959. The author, David Schwartz, was a professor and educational consultant for most of his life, and the book reflects 30+ years of experience as a "life coach" well before that term was coined.

My inital reaction to these books (Think and Grow Rich, etc.) is aversion. After all, aren't my eyes on a different, higher prize these days?

In the past, I was all about success. Making money. Being "that guy", with the $1000 suit, the $100 haircut, the $2000 watch, the expensive car, the condo, etc. I was addicted to it; the thrill of the deal, the large checks, the lifestyle. The ability to do whatever I wanted...even though I never did, because I was too busy working, so I could make more money. So I could...do what?

My original plan was to save up, live lean, and invest. Retire by 40 and live simply, free and clear and mostly off the grid. But somewhere along the line, that got lost.

It started simply. Hey, I'm in sales. I need some nice suits. I need to look the part.

Now, I need nice shoes. A watch, one that is understated but luxurious enough to say "I'm on your level, and I don't need to flash my money around." A nice car. Now I need money to maintain that car, to keep putting 93+ gas in it. Now I can't park that car at my apartment, I need a condo, one that says "I've arrived" but isn't too big for me.

And that's what was important to me. Sure, other things were too: my girlfriend (at the time...who left mostly because, you guessed it, I was always working), personal growth (as far as success went), and pretending everything was great.

Except that it wasn't.

Looking back, I wasn't such a stereotype. I wasn't a bad guy, in fact people always praised me for my integrity and willingness to work my ass off for a client. I figured--and still do--that if someone puts their trust in you, you owe it to them to do your best and go way above and beyond what anyone else will do. That attitude, more than anything, is what made me successful at such a young age. I honestly cared about people, and wanted them to be happy.

Except I couldn't let that go. I got tied up in their dramas, their conflicts, their fears and worries about buying or selling a home. I went home at night with my stomach tied up in knots and drank to loosen it. A lot. Most nights I would go home to a very sweet and caring woman, mostly ignore her, and break out my bottle of vodka and few beers. By a few, I mean 5-6. And I would do a shot, and drink a beer, and do it again and again until I passed out.

Ah, regrets. Although I knew she and I couldn't work in the long run, I still regret not giving her the attention she deserved. She is a great woman and is married now, hopefully happily. Her life hadn't been easy but she always pushed on and looked on the bright side of everything.

Wow, holy digression Batman.

Anyway, back to my original topic: The Magic of Thinking Big.

Despite what you may think initially, these older self-help books are fantastic tools for personal growth. I know many of us who are on a more "spiritual" path tend to discount material success; but these books aren't really about that. they also tend to be written by people who actually studied and/or taught psychology and worked with patients, often patients who were recovering from traumatic and life-changing accidents or illnesses.

Schwartz's book is only peripherally about success in terms of money, and I think that is largely due to the inital audience for these books: executives and salespeople, almost exclusively male and above the age of 30. Which, in modern terms, means 40+.

But the real message--and the practical exercises it gives you--reach alot further than just making more money or getting ahead in your company.

Really, it's about seeing your true potential clearly. Not in a "trust the universe" froofy sort of way (don't get me started), but in a real, practical way. It's about learning how to see yourself as you really are-- as someone with vast unrealized potential and power.

Sound a little to Tony Robbins for you? Yeah, that's my gut reaction, too. The whole Gen X cynicism thing.

But I'm tired of that. Do we need that cynical bullshit anymore? What purpose does it serve, other than to isolate from what's real and good? None. All it really does is keep us safe, secure in our "too cool for skool" world.

Fuck that. Look at our president. Can you honestly tell me you don't feel real, honest hope? That real change isn't here--change the we created?

So why shouldn't that hope be applied to our own lives? Why should it be kept private, silent, shut away for fear of ridicule from someone too shut down and scared to see their own inner beauty, infinite potential and untapped strength?

Thinking big in some things means thinking big in ALL things. Setting huge goals, ones that scare you a bit--the ones that require real commitment and honest self-inquiry. Running towards them full speed and being OK with falling flat on your face a few times. Taking the risks--whether it's starting that business (ok...think of it as a non-profit. Hippie), having that painful but necessary conversation, or opening your heart to someone who you thought you could never forgive.

Form a Buddhist perspective, it also means believing that you...yes, YOU, can attain freedom. Liberation. Enlightenment. That you are worthy of it and capable of it, and that's it's available to you right here, in this lifetime.

Scary stuff. And exciting.

Off to meditate...

Mistakes Were Made

So it's been almost a week since my last post.

Before I go on, I'd like to let my reader(s) know--that is, those of you who don't know me--that I lead an odd and irony-filled life.

Meaning irony pops up for me, over and over and over, often in hilarious ways. Usually not that hilarious at the time. The odd stuff that happens to me could fill a library, and is a subject for other posts. Suffice to say, I am pretty sure the way my karma is working itself out is proof of a higher power. One with a sense of humor. Sort of.

Usually the odd/ironic stuff is showing me exactly what I need to learn. Which is nice, especially since I find it tragically hilarious. Sometimes it's just so perfectly shitty you have to laugh.

To get a sense of what I'm talking about, watch a bunch of Ben Stiller flicks. The ones where you cringe because ridiculous things keep happening to him, over and over. Sure, it's funny. As long as it's not you.

Turn it down a notch and you have my life.

So anyway, last week was chock-full of drama. All of it related to the subject of my previous post regarding relationships. I'm not going to get into specifics, as I care very much about the person(s) involved...but it was upsetting, and exhausting, and intense.

It's not fun when someone you care for deeply is suffering and you can't give them what they're asking for. Especially now, when I am so wired into other people's suffering. It feels like my own.

That's one of the lingering effects of last year, amplified by my metta and vipassana practices. I am really aware of the pain others are in. I can see it in their eyes, their face, their posture, and the awareness--and the compassion that it creates--is so strong at times it's almost overwhelming.

Compassion. It's an interesting word. It literally means "to suffer with" . That your heart feels another's pain as your own. Of course, part of that awareness is that you don't want them to suffer anymore.

Anyway, the events of the last week were stressful, enlightening, and even great, in some ways. Not in a feel-good way so much as a "look at how much work you have left to do here" sort of way.

And I was thinking last week how super-awesome and sorta enlightened I am. How well my practice was going, how much more aware and open and alive I felt. How GOOD everything was. And then Life says "What? Are you fucking serious? Hey, here's a big pile of shit you fucked up. Have fun, Mr. Enlightenment!" and walks away laughing.

Hilarious. I hate that guy sometimes, but he's better than the alternative.

So due to the events of the last 6 days, I am now quite aware of many of my own conflicting fears and desires regarding relationships. More aware than I wanted to be, to tell you the truth. Awareness can suck. It can be too much to take in, and it makes me hesitate, too fearful of making a mistake. Eventually I know it will all settle in and I'll be OK with it, but right now it's a little much. It feels like I am a little out of sync with the rest of the world.

In some ways I feel good--I have come very, very far to a place of awareness and internal quiet. On the other hand, I realize I have a lot of work to do--especially with the first month of my last year almost gone.

Man, if I knew what I was getting into when I sat down on that meditation cushion for the first time...