A Ballon's Preference

Imagine a balloon tied with a string.

Would it prefer to be held by the string
or float away?

(hint: there is no right answer)

Pot Stirrer Gets Stirred

My core nature is to be a pot-stirrer and smoke alarm (not squeaky wheel, there's a difference, think about it).

Lately events have conspired to stir the pot-stirrer.
Initial reactions were wild and things seem to be settling down into a new, albeit weird normal.

One lesson all this has given me is an appreciation for how little credence to give the mind's interpretation, prediction and planning for how to react to events.
"If she does this then I'll do that" kind of thing.

Problem is there is the missing existential component of the moment - no matter how carefully, fully and accurately i plan and propose and prepare, at the moment when the other person says or does something, everything can change.
Predicable reaction become unpredictable.
Low probability outcomes or even non-imagined outcomes become really possible.
Space opens up for things that are pretty much unimaginable or imagined undesirable. Surprise when they are now both real and desirable.
And, this is where the work done to reduce or eliminate programmed, conditioned mental and emotional hindrances kicks in. Without it I would most likely be hanging with Charlie Sheen. In Spades.

and "I" am still not doing anything.

fucking mind...
now where did I put that lobotomy knife... it's around here somewhere... (Thanks to Chuck for the Lobo Photo. He raises an excellent point. One should NEVER perform their own lobotomy...how to know where to stop?)

I still maintain that thought is the toxic waste byproduct of consciousness in form.
All this is happening below (beyond?) the level of verbal conceptual mind anyway, so the mental stuff is just garbage-overlay and needs to go. THAT is (part of ) what the practice is about for me.

"You Should Write More"

I'm told that some times. It came up the other day when I went here and then clicked through toLiberatedself's blog roll and boop! there was Nemo's Notes in his/her blog roll.
Get a nice rush from that: odd, but also a bit of an egoic smell. not that it lingers long.
When I mentioned this I was told - "you should write more."
Sigh.I am currently erasing shoulds from my life. I see places where I do things out of fear of future perceived consequences, instead of genuine desire.


As for the site at the top I mentioned. I thought it might be Stephen Norquist's posts at first, but now I don't think so. It seems (to me) to have much more of an edge, dark even angry side. SN's writings never seemed that way to me (and he has his own site.)
Someone once asked me :" Why do all you enlightened guys seem so angry when we ask questions." Could be questions like that (just kidding).

No Hindrances

Reading this:

“Their faith is intertwined with their self-identity"

Brought to mind this line:
Indeed, there is nothing to be attained; the Bodhisattvas live this deepest wisdom ' with no hindrance in the mind, no hindrance therefore no fear.

I love that: No hindrances in the mind.

For Zoom

The dog can't move no more
Surprised he made it till the spring
His pain won't go away and the pills don't do a thing
You've know that ole hound longer
than you've known any of your friends
And no matter how you let him down
He'd always take you back again
So it's one tall glass of whiskey
One last drink for old times sake
The dog just lays in bed and watches every move you make
Wrap him in his blanket
Hold him once more close to you
Lead him out behind the barn
with a borrowed .22

Everything slips through these cold fingers
like trying to hold water, like trying to hold sand
Close your eyes and make wish and listen to the singer
"One more round bartender, pour a double if you can."

"These cold Fingers" - Bill Morrissey

Water over the bow

Enjoying the illusion of returning to the things of man to participate or at least witness the downfall of humanity led to the romantic idea of being one of the musicians on the titanic who played as it went down.
What greater image can there be?
Knowing full well the end is near and yet playing one's role to the fullest even when, especially when it seems futile and meaningless.

Lately, having been given exactly what I wanted and needed I've been preoccupied and often exhausted past caring as a member of a dysfunctional bucket brigade.
Long days, short nights and tangible insanity all around.

As the fire wanes, energy returns and my head rises above the waves and with that comes room.
Room for writing, feeling, music, both listening and even playing. Picking up the guitar again after many many years. The feel of the strings. The same guitar I've had for 30 years. an old friend. Worn and chipped and old, kinda like me. But a new set of strings and we're good to go.

Spinning Away

Those moments of least definition
Those times in between ISness
The space before and after
Without trying or effort
Without calling into being
Without names or identification or form
Without having to be any one, thing or more

With special thanks and nod to Eno/Cale: Wrong Way Up