Story #1: I was supposed to fly to California Thursday and stay there all weekend visiting family but at the last minute the airline canceled the flight due to snow and ice. Ever since I have felt anxious and somewhat out of sorts.
Story #2: Because I like to always have a book handy, I usually have them going in several different formats. I have both fiction and nonfiction hard copy books, an MP3 book and an e-book on my phone. In addition, I am watching a very good television series on DVD about dealing drugs in Albuquerque. The result is that I have found myself wondering if Don Quixote will appear in Albuquerque (which has been transported to modern India) to participate in an Old West lynching and start the First World War.
These stories are not as unrelated as they may at first appear. What they have in common is this idea I cling to that I am in control. I knew I would be in California right now. I am not terribly disappointed that I didn't get to go to California; this is a trip I make often and though I miss seeing my family, we will all be just fine, I'm pretty sure. So, rather than celebrating the fact that I have a wide open weekend (and that I get to go to the opera on Sunday, after all), I feel the disconnected sense of things not being quite as they should be.
As for my reading habits and the confusion inherent in them, it seems to me that this is how our lives truly are. Our mind wants us to believe that there is a single, coherent narrative, but the evidence of our lives really doesn't live up to this assumption. We try to bend back into shape all that we see as misshapen in what happens, but this really isn't very effective. And all of this manipulation is deeply exhausting.
Our aspiration must be to sit in the middle of what is and see the varied and variegated story lines for what they are. What I need more than anything is a recognition of my own powerlessness. I had no power over the snow and ice, I had no power over the freezing temperatures, I had no power over the airlines. I was being carried along on the stream of circumstances and had two choices (though really only one): to resist the flow or go along for the ride. My resistance was futile (as the saying goes) and, to my credit, I was not angry or even sad in the moment; I could accept the fact that I did my best and could not make the trip this time. But when I found myself possessed of such a sweet stretch of time all my own, without plans, my mind has been diving in to tell me that I must make something of this time, must do something significant with it, as if breathing in and out were not significance enough.
All of this helps me to be aware of the beautiful complexity of the stories of our lives. When we attempt to make of all this a single, comprehensible narrative, we can only do so by warping some of the strands of our reality and utterly ignoring others. But this effort requires constant attention to maintain, as any elaborate lie does. For that is what this impulse is, a lie as it pertains to the real world. It is an oversimplification to dimensions that the mind can comprehend. No wonder we are so exhausted so much of the time.
Heather Martin recommends that we recall the mnemonic S.L.O.W. in these situations and in all of our lives, especially in our lives as practitioners. We can try to Stay where we are rather than flying off to fantasies or alternate stories. But we must do so with Love or the staying is filled with judgment and can become a masochistic impulse rather than a helpful one. Remaining Open is also helpful, to be with what is and not attempt to change it, but remain with an open heart and mind to take in whatever comes. If we can do so with a childlike Wonder informed by a mature Wisdom, chances are we can live in this moment with less strain and effort. This is the road to true freedom.
Story #2: Because I like to always have a book handy, I usually have them going in several different formats. I have both fiction and nonfiction hard copy books, an MP3 book and an e-book on my phone. In addition, I am watching a very good television series on DVD about dealing drugs in Albuquerque. The result is that I have found myself wondering if Don Quixote will appear in Albuquerque (which has been transported to modern India) to participate in an Old West lynching and start the First World War.
These stories are not as unrelated as they may at first appear. What they have in common is this idea I cling to that I am in control. I knew I would be in California right now. I am not terribly disappointed that I didn't get to go to California; this is a trip I make often and though I miss seeing my family, we will all be just fine, I'm pretty sure. So, rather than celebrating the fact that I have a wide open weekend (and that I get to go to the opera on Sunday, after all), I feel the disconnected sense of things not being quite as they should be.
As for my reading habits and the confusion inherent in them, it seems to me that this is how our lives truly are. Our mind wants us to believe that there is a single, coherent narrative, but the evidence of our lives really doesn't live up to this assumption. We try to bend back into shape all that we see as misshapen in what happens, but this really isn't very effective. And all of this manipulation is deeply exhausting.
Our aspiration must be to sit in the middle of what is and see the varied and variegated story lines for what they are. What I need more than anything is a recognition of my own powerlessness. I had no power over the snow and ice, I had no power over the freezing temperatures, I had no power over the airlines. I was being carried along on the stream of circumstances and had two choices (though really only one): to resist the flow or go along for the ride. My resistance was futile (as the saying goes) and, to my credit, I was not angry or even sad in the moment; I could accept the fact that I did my best and could not make the trip this time. But when I found myself possessed of such a sweet stretch of time all my own, without plans, my mind has been diving in to tell me that I must make something of this time, must do something significant with it, as if breathing in and out were not significance enough.
All of this helps me to be aware of the beautiful complexity of the stories of our lives. When we attempt to make of all this a single, comprehensible narrative, we can only do so by warping some of the strands of our reality and utterly ignoring others. But this effort requires constant attention to maintain, as any elaborate lie does. For that is what this impulse is, a lie as it pertains to the real world. It is an oversimplification to dimensions that the mind can comprehend. No wonder we are so exhausted so much of the time.
Heather Martin recommends that we recall the mnemonic S.L.O.W. in these situations and in all of our lives, especially in our lives as practitioners. We can try to Stay where we are rather than flying off to fantasies or alternate stories. But we must do so with Love or the staying is filled with judgment and can become a masochistic impulse rather than a helpful one. Remaining Open is also helpful, to be with what is and not attempt to change it, but remain with an open heart and mind to take in whatever comes. If we can do so with a childlike Wonder informed by a mature Wisdom, chances are we can live in this moment with less strain and effort. This is the road to true freedom.
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