Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything-
Our appetite for wealth, the latest and greatest, and material gain isn’t driven by any sort of “hardship“, but by our own, deep-rooted inner discontent.
I was convinced that I could buy my way to happiness after all the years of abuse I put myself, and my family through. I believed that my discontent was wrought from hardship, and that the only way to permanent fulfillment and well-being was the acquisition of things. Sadly, our society still measures “success” in terms of the quality and price of the “things” we can buy, the size of our house and salaries – the size of our manhood and Ego when we drop trough and boast about a new bike or whatever.
As much as I take comfort in casting blame on society for my faults, my Ego is what defines my role(s) in the material world; I am a father, I am an engineer, I am an avid cyclist. I am liar, I am a fakata of things in this thing called life. When asked to introduce or say a little bit about myself – I instantly define myself in the conscious realm, and my ego is hell-bent on pulling me away from my True Self.
The more I identify myself with the “I am … “, the less I am able to identify with the, me.
It was over a girl,
One boy had spoken to her,
Had asked her out, the other
Had been feeling with her
The twitches of something serious.
It was a misunderstanding,
Something that might have been fixed,
Talked out or around,
But the whole school had turned out
To watch them settle it.
It was too late for talk,
It was no longer just their fight,
Something irrelevant and impure
Had entered it, honor, looking
More upright than the other,
Things which had nothing to do
With the girl, or desire,
Or what she had whispered to one of them
One night in a car.
So they faced each other,
Bringing their anger up
By saying what finally did not matter
But loudly enough so their bodies believed it.
There was a sudden coming together,
There were fists flailing
While everybody, hundreds, watched.
One was cut above the eye, the other’s
Knuckles were bloodied against teeth.
It lasted half a minute until
One of them pulled back and said
Something like “This is stupid”
And the other dropped his fists
And watched him walk away
With what stillness at last
you appear in the valley
your first sunlight reaching down
to touch the tips of a few
high leaves that do not stir
as though they had not noticed
and did not know you at all
then the voice of a dove calls
from far away in itself
to the hush of the morning
so this is the sound of you
here and now whether or not
anyone hears it this is
where we have come with our age
our knowledge such as it is
and our hopes such as they are
invisible before us
untouched and still possible
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
You are stronger than you know-
A sincere heartfelt Thank You to all of you! Have a beautiful weekend and please take care!
Morning without you is a dwindled dawn-
*Written this past Wednesday at 0500*
I’m more than a little bit pissed off this morning. Primarily with myself (for ignoring my tight hamstrings and back for nearly two weeks), at our local utility company (for raising our rates again), at the lousy Nebraska weather forecasting people (for raising my hopes for nice biking weather), at some close friends I help train for not taking my advice about ultra marathon prep, and at my body once again (because it’s been barely three weeks and I’m lying on the floor covered with ice).
*Written five minutes ago*
Looking back at what I wrote last week, it just occurred to me that maybe my extreme frustration with “life” and the people around me, has at least as much to do with my own irritation(s) at the way I take care of, and treat myself. Interesting to think that if one is as gentle, kind and compassionate as one would like to be, one wouldn’t get quite so pissed off at the necessary trials of dealing with this thing called “life” …
I leave you with this – In one sentence – Who are you?
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
– “Cassilda’s Song” The King in Yellow Act 1, Scene 2 – Robert W. Chambers