A Sensitive Life

What do changing mind states reveal?

The speaker here is not in the basement. Already out of the basement, the voice changes to Rez-de-Chaussee. Street level, where the gravel hits the heel, the cement trips your boot, where bump into- head down mobile – no one eyes you. 

Do you notice what it takes to get out the door? These days, non-confessionally, I say with full ownership, “I am unreliable. I may not show up. I may not keep to the schedule I freely chose.” Without a gun to my head that is visible. The invisible gun operates like Saran Wrap – clear’n’clingy- camouflaging self- criticism, learned or imitated, see-through, and made completely my own. 

It’s invisible. How to remove what you can’t see, yet fits snug as a bug in a rug? 

Here living free from attachment, (well, practicing) waiting in the moment for the next vibrational direction, the senses clue me in, allow me to start fresh again, with a kind of jolting, mindfulness whiplash, slowing down to such a grinding molecular halt, off the cushion (not in formal meditation) living my happily ‘retired’ life from the office, (aka/nowhere “I have to go”) though with a taskmaster on the inside an ‘internalized’ mother of the mean kind, psychologically speaking emotionally abusive, a generational gift from her mother modified and made completely her own, and now mine.

Here! Yes, where I seek to find my poison masked in cocktails unconscious, subconscious, and coming into more consciousness: aversions, rage, anger, dislike, bilious reactivity, unsavory emotional-mind-heart states that travel into (or from) the pit of humanity’s cruelty, hardly a godly rising above the pain. Effort required at the fork in road meet up.

Now, truly, who wants a good look at that? Especially these days when on our global stage of puppet politics, the broad stroke of a Star Wars life, good vs evil, Greek tragedy where everyone dies. We tell the story in advance, a warning, yet the masses keep step-mash-along on remote entertainment mode. 

The sauce of helplessness coats us sloppily covering the time we spend alone wanting to be together and when together wanting to be alone. We need personal space. This confusion of paradoxical need boggles what’s coming into consciousness. These moments disable automatic steady steps. Instead, the ebb and flow of coming and going, joining, and separating, circle, spiral, with slowing down. 

The unwinding opens the space for something fresh, unknown, not seen, ‘don’t know mind,’ a vulnerable letting go, that allows integration. Particles of light focus – a momentary clearing, still, clarity, sigh! 

Though the occurrence wreaks an ancient ache, exposes the unhealing wound of loss, grief, a kind of sorrow strong espresso abrases from tongue, black swish, swallow knowledge of death. Our mystery shares its root cause. Birth.