Shaking up the snowglobe

There is a metaphor I use for the inside of my head. I compare it to a snowglobe. My (delusional, illusionist) goal is to always have the snow sitting passively on the bottom of the globe, placidly coating the little bench, the plastic tree, the picturesque streetscape. But the mind is not prone to passivity and the snowglobe will be shaken from time to time, sometimes more violently than others.

Lately I have been in a bit of a swirl and the snow has been a-flying. I am a creature of habit (always a losing proposition in a world that doesn't much care what my tendencies are) and I have deviated from my habits the past few weeks. Mostly, though, it is this damn book, Trauma Stewardship, which I have mentioned here before but still have not quite finished, that is shaking up the snow in my globey little head. I call it "this damn book" with only the greatest affection, of course. In the grand scheme, in my larger mind, when my ego is put aside, I want my snow to be agitated. But it can be pretty disconcerting.

What Trauma Stewardship has done is cause me to challenge, oh, pretty much everything I value and the way I spend my energy and time. A very valuable service, the sort of deep cleaning. You would pay a pretty penny to have done to your house, but it feels a bit like (to quote Mel Ash) shaving the inside of my skull. I don't mind, really I don't, but it's a little uncomfortable.

As always, I refer back to the Buddha, who tells me that this is, in fact, what life is all about, this discomfort, this comfort with uncertainty, this insubstantiality. He would tell me, no doubt, that my feelings of security and certainty were mere phantasms with no basis in what is really going on. Just look, he would say: where do you find something that stays the same from day to day? If you find something, be assured that this solidity is a delusion, for every building, every mountain, every person, every day, every thought, every feeling, every relationship, every belief, every creed, every teaching is constantly in the process of decay and reformation. It is, he would remind me (again, again) that the nature of suffering is not this transience but my intransigence toward it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks a bunch, Bud. I am feeling bad (confused, tired, uncertain, insecure) right now. Spare me your platitudes. To which he would, no doubt, just chuckle wisely. Bastard.

But I know he is right. What I am experiencing, for umpteen-millionth time, is change. Just change. Merely change. The usual change. I admit it, though, I am 55 and kinda tired and would just as soon just sit still, thank you very much, with the snow in my globe all on the ground and not stirred up. Of course, of course, the Buddha would no doubt say, that is also an option. Watch a bunch of TV ("reality" shows are good for this). Read stupid books. Dumb down, numb out, plumb no depths. But beware! No real happiness, no lasting joy can be found in this way. Only by embracing the reality of constant change, of being open to the flow of the void, by not only accepting the shaking of my snowglobe but actively seeking it and letting it fall where it may, only then can I find anything like real joy. Sigh.

It's not that I'm not willing; I am, really I am. I just get tired sometimes. I feel as if I have climbed this mountain before and always found that it has no peak, no point at which I can say, "I have arrived at the top of the world. I am now certain of being on the right path." So be it. I will carry on. Truly, I have joy in my heart for the journey. I am not sad or depressed or discouraged. But it is scary, isn't it, to open your heart to being constantly challenged? Bring it on. I'm ready.