Living at the Edges

So easy to see the extremes. The far right and the far left. The first day of school and the last. The front and the back covers of a book. Clearly, a man and a woman. Either love or hate. In dance, it's the weight shifting from one foot to the other that's of utmost importance. The sheer control and precision of moving between two points determine the grace of movement, the enjoyment of movement to both the performer and the audience. Living at one point of the extreme and running to the next is a life wasted. Simple. Seeing two extremes as only choices is limiting. Life happens in between the two dots. It's the transition from one to the other that contains all the beauty and grace. The beauty and the grace are what is required for a beautiful and graceful passage of time here on this planet. The challenge is to learn to see each incremental movement, to be in the movement, to experience the movement and all the depth intrinsic to it. A fountain of undeniably profound experience resides here. The challenge is to see in shades of grey, to be comfortable with uncertainty, to respond to each change of position as needed, for the wind may have blown more forcibly today, or the neighbor's dog bit the planted foot. The challenge is to move from one foot to the other with eyes wide open, seeing all the possibilities in between the easily seen extremes, being fully aware of the changing landscape, for once the other foot hits the ground, the landing will cause no trauma, no drama, or any lasting disturbance, be it to the internal or the external world. And, oh, how enjoyable the journey!

Getting Noticed

To borrow a line from “The Pursuit of Happyness,” “I call this part of my life ‘Getting Noticed.’”

I walk beside her. All eyes on her. Her legs and her figure and who knows what else.

I walk alone. Some eyes on me. My... aye, what do I know?  I got two legs, two arms, and all the other body parts the one next to me had the previous day. 

The packed dance floor. Does anyone else see the civilized vultures moving across the hardwoods? The laughter that is anything but genuine, the hugs that are anything but connecting, the dance moves that are longing for recognition. The fake posture of confidence and ease. I see ill-at-ease. One of the best lines I’ve ever heard was “Those who know don’t speak.” In this case, those who are don’t show.  Don’t show the muscles on steroids, the “cool” walk, the high chin, and the holier-than-thou attitude. Oh yes, that will certainly get the attention of the crowd. We will stare. We will admire. We will indulge. Some of us will fall prey. Some of us will want to cry at the blatant display of self-ignorance and emptiness. The next quality making its entrance is a great nemesis of mine. We have battled many o’ time, and it keeps coming. Aggression rushes in, perhaps, out, like a flood, like a sprinter out of his starting blocks, like a hungry lion out of its cage. You have seen it, too. It’s that woman whose body language, whose verbal language, and whose energy bestow themselves upon her victim and suffocate the innocent. “Notice me!” is her cry. It’s the man whose walk, whose talk, whose lead overwhelms what has now become his quest, to be turned into a conquest, sending her into a space of serious discomfort. “I am important!” is his message. Between the “notice me” and the “I am important,” there is miniscule room for a meaningful conversation to take place. Hence, “I call this part of my life ‘Pathetic, painful, preposterous.’”

I see the two feelings on the dance floor. I see those same two feelings in me, and I ask myself a simple question. A basic question. A question my mama didn’t ask me. What I would like to know, what I really want to know, moving beyond the legs and the arms and all the other body parts, beyond the make-up, and the dress, and the cars, and the jobs, is when on earth will I notice myself?

I would then call that part of my life “A Triumph.”

The Two A's

It was so intruiging to me that I actually looked it up. The question hovering over my head was whether or not the words Addiction and Attachment had the same root. What I thought was a brilliant electrical connection in my brain turned out to be nothing. Not only do the two words have different roots, they also come from different languages. There goes that idea, which I, so appropriately, need to dis-attach from. Despite the unsupported hypothesis, I can't help but experience the two concepts as very much walking together down a bumpy road. Once attached to a thing, person, or place, I am somehow blinded, obsessed, well, addicted to that particular object and/or subject. Flipping the formula around, if addicted, then, definitely, attached to the one thing that gives me a powerful experience. Hope this is all making sense so far. I think there is a valid point here. Maybe the dictionary people didn't do their due diligence. Maybe I need to spend some time in heavy duty research, which by itself proves how my attachment to a made-up idea leads to an addiction. And so, here it is. I have reached the crux of the point. Our self- or otherwise-created ideas are nothing but attachments. They guide our thoughts and emotions, and, ultimately, behaviors. We are fueled by all these addictions, be they of the mind, emotion, or body. And the reset button? Wait, do I mean to imply that there is an actual button that was turned on somehow, setting me in motion, not unlike the "ON" button on my computer? Then what software program is being run? Do I have a choice of Mozilla or Explorer, or may I have permission from the Overseer to write my own? I certainly don't feel like remaining in my Addiction and Attachment operating systems. I find them....hmmm...uninspiring and choice-less. And, as a very intelligent man once said,: "Give me Liberty, or Give Me Death." I say, let's raise our toasts to life! L'Chaim!

Death, Some More! Part 2

It seems like sugar is a pre-requisite for good writing. OK.. Just writing. The computer (ie the brain) seems to run at a different pace and on a different plane altogether. The drug of choice, only not a conscious one but a habitual one. 

Good enough for an intro. On to the body of this entry.

As promised.. Let's talk about death a little more. I walk outside approaching a major intersection. I look left. I look right. Just like mamma taught me when I was five years old. No, I was not raised in England. That training has stuck. No danger in sight, and I continue my walk.

This is a rather straight forward and easily understood example of physical survival. I am afraid of being killed. I want my body to continue in this world. In short, I fear physical death.

I walk outside. I make certain no car is approaching. I safely cross the street and continue walking toward my work building. I trip over a threshold. Gosh, so embarrassing! How many witnesses have laughed at this? Must look around and confirm. Maybe even chuckle and come up with some lame excuse. I gotta save face. Can't have me living up to the blonde hair expectation!

This is a typical experience of everyone at one point in this random life. This is also an example of another type of death to be so fervently avoided. The biggest, most impactful, most feared loss. Drum roll, please...Drrrrrrrrrr... The death of my personality (ie ego).

Here we have them: the physical fear and the mental anguish. And then you go car shopping. The savvy salesman builds you up, or rather your personality. Paints a picture of your intelligence exponentially amplifying for driving a brand new convertible. The so-called you expands, balloons into an lifted, puffed out chest with the look of condescendence. You are born again. 

That is until you trip over that threshold on the way out.

Hello! It is this fear of losing a non-tangible personality, a creation that has been forming year after year after year that is causing the crises within, not to mention the conflicts outside the individual. Yes, there is this unwanting to lose the body. Even more powerful is the anxiety of feeling smaller than the grain of sand. The insignificance factor. I am nothing, of no consequence. 

We have passed the climax of the story and are heading toward the conclusion. Here you have it: 

Except that when I am nothing, I have nothing more to fear. And now, I can become everything. 

Seems like a fight worth losing.