This week I can’t figure me out
I keep taking my watch off and wandering about
When I look for the time
My bare wrist so sublime
But my agenda it will not flesh out

As I sit
in the cool basement
eyelids open and shut spontaneously
a black iPhone screen seems a pool worth diving into
poems show themselves in my mind
a belly breath brings endorphins
deep sighs echo from my large pup sleeping
like a dam breaking
joy stings and rushes my sinuses
overwhelmed by detail
I welcome the connection to cluttered life
the bell ends it
and I write
–April Resnick
I am Meditating by Leia Resnick
For the last week or so, I seem to have the sense that something is not right. Almost an impending feeling of something that is just about to go wrong. I find myself annoyed and quite melancholy. When I feel this way, usually I just meditate, feel it, spend a little time trying to figure out if it is a state of mind, and then I just go about my life with it. I tell myself that it will be here until it is not and that is about all I can do. But yesterday I saw a segment on an early morning talk show about “Changing your bad mood.” The basic premise was that we always have the ability to change our moods, and if we don’t…then “fake it.” Really? I am not very good at faking anything, but even if I was…is that really the answer. I heard words like selfish, arrogant, and self-centered to describe someone who does not choose to “fake it.” Are we really that fragile of a society that we cannot tolerate the normal human vacillations of mood? Must we walk around like Stepford wives, just to keep everyone comfortable? I refuse to believe that we are not capable of some compassion, EMPATHY in fact, towards others who are experiencing a mood that we ourselves must be all to familiar with. Why are we told over and over to pretend? I am not saying that I would deliberately harm someone just because I am in a bad mood, but neither would I choose to suppress it or dissociate from it. I am cranky. So what? I choose to believe that those around me actually have the ability to understand, relate, and let it be. Perhaps it is because it is easier to tell others to change (fake it) than to ask ourselves to make an adjustment (extending a bit of human empathy.) Isn’t it just much easier to judge someone else, tell ourselves we would never feel that way, and move on? Easier, perhaps…but at what cost?
So for now…I will just be melancholy. If I figure out a good reason why, perhaps I can work with it. If not, I will just be with it until it passes. That is not selfish, or arrogant, THAT is human. I am comfortable just letting myself be a human being, and feel a human emotion, for now. And I will make an attempt, when I encounter others in a bad mood, to remember feeling this way and extend a little bit of understanding their way.
Sharply slicing through layers of protection,
Crisply pungent the release,
Non-agency fills my eyes and flows down my cheeks towards the culprit.
My immune system mounts a defense,
The slug of sickness fills my left nostril,
Non-agency creeps slowly toward plain view and compels action in spite of myself.
From clenched to loosely hanging,
Glands relax their damming,
Non-agency fills the cavern of my mouth and echoes like hidden rapids as I swallow.
The witching hour arrives,
Hormones turn my insides from embers to blaze,
Non-agency spills from my body, forcing my waking and peeling of this saturated shell for a drier layer.
Pain slams into my jaw,
There is no comfort to be found within my skin,
Non-agency wells up in the corners of my eyes and threatens revealing amid professional Stoics.
What are you trying to sell me?
A grill, or a sofa, or drink
A red, white, and blue ideology
That ignores human lives on the brink
An article of faith wrapped in dogma
Tied with a star-spangled bow
A car on a lot, an appliance
That will help me feel part of the show
I sit here conflicted as one who has served
And one who has questioned it all
I do not fit in to your nice little box
That’s been purposely fashioned too small.
An acrid, rotted-earth smell enters my nose.
I notice my breathing shortens and becomes stifled.
I am holding my breath before I am even aware I am doing so.
This is not a pleasant chore.
“Take a deep breath. Let your breathing happen normally.
Can it be just a smell, just a chore that needs to be done?”
A Gravely, gritty, texture grinds itself under my shoes.
A Heavy, fumbling, sifting feeling travels through the shoveling tool into my gripped right hand.
Increasingly the bag in my left hand becomes heavier.
I am aware of the sand like granules that have escaped my attempt to contain them.
“Quarantine! I wish there was a way to see the germs around me. I should bleach this entire area.
I should be wearing rubber gloves. I can’t wait to wash my hands. Oh, that will feel better.”
My shoulders are tight.
My body leans away from the job in front of me.
I react to this chore as if it could somehow invade me.
My mind races with thoughts of disdain towards my pets, my husband, my life.
“Really? Slow down. Just complete the task at hand. Do not pile on.
Is it reasonable that this mundane, daily occurrence should cause all this?”
Before I realize it, the chore is over.
My hands are clean and the floor is swept.
A lifetime of swirling thoughts, papanca, packed into less than three minutes of shoveling crap.
I was recently asked a question. What does “human liberation” mean to me? Well, I am not sure I am quite qualified to answer for all humans…but perhaps by exploring what liberation means for me, other people may find something familiar. Of course there are cultural, and geopolitical implication of this question as well. Let me be clear, that in this particular rambling I am strictly speaking to my own liberation and not particularly expanding it out that far, although that is a wonderful conversation to be had. Maybe in another post.
For me, liberation (or the end of “suffering” in some dialogue) comes down to expectations. Is it possible to NOT have them, or at least to turn down the volume of those expectations enough to just live life without paying too much attention to them? For me, YES! That is when I feel the most personal freedom. That is when I feel most engaged with life,and not just the joyful and “happy” parts, but the boring and difficult parts as well. Expectation naturally brings with it fear and disappointment (what I call suffering.) As soon as I find myself having an expectation, and paying too much attention to it, counting on it as fact, I pretty soon am hit by the fact that now I have become invested in an outcome that is by no means certain. Enter fear, and soon disappointment. I am also talking about the expectation that a past occurrence can somehow be changed. For me, letting the past have its say and then letting go of the expectation that it will be any different from what it was, has been quite liberating as well.
If one believes in impermanence, and I must say based on my life experience every freakin’ day I DO, then how can expectations bring anything but suffering? And I am talking about the little expectations (I will make it to a party tonight) and the big expectations (I will be successful, or I will not make mistakes.) All of them, if given full weight, become laden with the idea that somehow we are in complete control. There is no escape from that illusion without discomfort. The discomfort of realizing that anything can happen at anytime. End of story. For me that is an ultimate truth that I can no longer ignore. And THAT has been liberating for me, or at least there have been moments of liberation. That liberation feels a bit like just being present with life, not checking out or dissociating, but really dealing with what is in front of me without the extra drama I could be piling on top. Believe it or not less expectation = less drama = more engagement with those around me, where they ARE not where I want them to be. Just ask my husband, he would quite agree with that assessment. 😉
This blog has been an ultimate test of expectations. I attempt every single day to just write, without any expectation. It is the act of writing that has been the goal here, not the expectation of anything coming from it. Even the goal of writing is quite tested on the days that I simply cannot, due to that crazy “impermanence” thing that happens in life.
So everyday, practically every hour, I am faced with my own expectations about things, big and small. And I have a choice, buy into them or just let them be. I do not think that I can necessarily escape my brain, my own human form. I do not consider THAT to be liberation. But, for now, I can pay attention to what my brain is doing, and what expectations I am employing to make myself feel safe. I can try to let those expectations be, without investing too much in them. And in those moments that I am able to do that, I find myself just paying attention to what is going on around me. THAT feels like liberation to me, in my humble experience. Of course, this said knowing full well that all of that crap may change by this time tomorrow. 🙂