I have been hiding out under the sheets for a couple of weeks now. I got some evil virus that put me down, like trying to breast stroke with concrete boots. No matter what I did, there simply wasn’t any energy. I can also say with some certainty, it invaded my brain and twisted me around, waking up in the middle of the night, thinking I was losing my mind. In the absence of a full on exorcism, which is probably a bit overly dramatic, I simply decided to let time pass and allow for my re-inhabitation of my self. I had the help of an angel as well because I couldn’t hold the wheel straight. I believe we are finally safe and I can start writing again. Almost forgot, we can throw in two trips to the ER, a double dose of drama.
Before my grip began to loosen, I found my propensity for knowing what was happening most anywhere slightly manic. For as long as I can remember, this was my habit and maybe it was a way to make me feel more intelligent. I am sure there is a psychological term for someone who is afraid of missing anything, the not knowing creating serious discomfort. Worst of all, the news in our country and all over the world is more upsetting than I can ever remember and yet I couldn’t get enough. It was reflected in my conversations and in my writing, never missing an opportunity for some awful synopsis of what was happening most any day. It was effortless to get me crying about horrific tragedies in countries I couldn’t even find on the map. Awful things are occurring at a rate impossible to count.
I will never stop wondering why I write, but at this point, I seem to be stuck with the habit, regardless of its illusive intention. I am bringing this up because it adds some weird nuances to how I react to things around me. For one, I have been thinking a lot about what voice I want to have, while we are all sinking into a shit storm of enormous proportions.
In many ways, it is too easy to write about our country’s politics, the brutality of ISIS, the horrific refugee crisis and an infinite number of horrendous situations. I am not doing this thing to be part of any chorus and certainly not to feed into the flooded reservoir of “greed, hatred and ignorance” running rampant everywhere you look. The quote is part of something called The Four Vows, credited to the Buddha. He felt those traits were in endless supply and we should vow to turn away from them.
Every action has a reaction, one of those very basic principles, a kind of perpetual motion machine, feeding on itself and never going hungry. Perpetuating violence only breeds more violence. It is the least thoughtful response. We hover on the surface of events, like sitting on the ocean and never once looking at the life beneath. We seem to be incapable of taking a collective breath, going behind an occurrence, looking for reasons why. Asking why is like shoving a stick into the wheel, breaking every damn spoke and bringing it to a stop.
As my health improved and sanity began to slowly creep back into the space between my ears, I began to think about where to put myself in the midst of the world around me. My immediate brilliant idea was to stop reading the news and to become as uninformed as possible, a very one dimensional solution. I would have to move to a cave in the Himalaya’s and talk to no one for the rest of my life because it is everywhere, all the time.
The answer came to me in one of my morning “sits”, twenty-five minutes on a cushion, with only my breath to keep me company. For some reason, I realized the only thing I had any control over was my intention for the day ahead. Changing the world is a grand idea, but how you live in it is the power all of us share. When I got up and started walking around, it felt like it was the first day of the rest of my life. Everything I did, while I padded around my place, felt brand new, as if I had never done it before. It was an instant affirmation of this idea of intention.
I already mentioned the weird twist that comes along with writing. What ever happens to me first is immediately seconded by the compulsion to share it in words. I want to be the stick that stops the wheel, sharing my intention.
The first of the Four Vows is “ Sentient beings are numberless, I vow to save them.” Like everything in Zen, it is not to be taken literally. Suddenly, I have begun to take tremendous joy in giving those around me little word gifts in conversation, crumbs of compassion. This is what I can do and what we can all do.