Still, we fight against the unknown with our dominion over “is”. We attempt to organize the pieces of life into a pattern of predictability that we stitch into the fabric of our future in idle hope that it will create what we consider to be “stability”. Have we even given the word “stability” much thought to defining it?
Where does the unknown come into “stability”? Where is the mystery in stability? There is no stability, it is an illusion.
And to safeguard against the primal force to transform our latent ways, we pretend we can prevent the mysteries of life. We do everything in our power to know the next step and how to walk it.
I am starting a new practice-a fierce commitment to the unknown. I have built my life around questions and answering these questions. I want to know what is next and when to expect it. I want to know “Why emotions?”, “Why mind?”, and “Why any of this?”
I was thinking of this constant need to define these parameters of life on a recent trip to California. I was waiting for the lavatory and had an urge to ask the flight attendant, “How much time is left?” Instantly I was struck by the impulse I had to do this and also by the futility of this question. We will arrive when we arrive. We will arrive when we arrive and we are always arriving. We are constantly leaving and arriving simultaneously, that to put any kind of book-ends on this moment or any other is an illusion at best.
So this will be my practice- I did not ask the attendant the time remaining. Instead of arranging the furniture of my future, I will love to love, I will work to work, I will play to play. I will be the guardian of my thoughts and stop trying to understand so much and plan the future from those perceived understandings. I will force my mind through the birth canal of my heart. I will become the mystery incarnate.
I miss him. I’m sure I always will. He is a part of me of me that has stood the test of time- a stone monument of my heart that I look to when I forget who I am or what I live for. He reminds me of love in it’s purest form before expectations, and heartbreak, and walls and boobytraps were erected in the space only love should be.
He reminds me of what it was to feel alive. He takes me back to the sweet possibility of youth, and the levity of dreams that only a 14-year-old girl can dream up of what the future holds.
Tyler, my first love, my guardian light, my forever friend, I feel you with me, now and always.
Thank you for bringing me back to me, again and again. The catharsis of tears that I so often have to lure out from hidden cavities within myself, with you, is always waiting patiently at the doorstep of your name.
Thank you for allowing me to feel the full spectrum of love, from it’s infancy to its maturity and thank you for giving me one of the greatest lessons I’m still learning- how to love and let go, and keep loving. How to give into the pain when I want none of it, and how to have nothing left to ask of you and only love to give.
I’ve been thinking. In general, just thinking and my mind chasing its own tail, racing around itself on possible choices and the paths those possible choices would create. While in part choice equals freedom, it also can equal being completely arrested by the potentials that “choice” represents.
I find solace from the chaos of my mind in small acts of relative unimportance.
In cleaning my office, organizing my kids’ artwork, making food for the week. Being decisive in small ways that amount to a larger tangible payoff when combined.
This too, seems to be the illusion of future; that there is any one choice that supersedes any other. Maybe what you have for lunch is as important as whom you marry. Maybe only because we are equally as guided in both situations and they hold equally as much weight in the unfolding of our futures. They both matter. And they both do not.
I believe we are here to unfurl from the tightness of attachments- to open. To open, open and open more. Each “choice” big or infinitesimally small being a doorway to opening. I think that ultimately this opening is leading us to be free from the attachment of our experience of identity and “reality” itself. We are thrust continuously into the walls of our own creation only to realize we can reach right through them.
When I feel powerless by the exhaustion of choice I’ve made a habit of slowing down and simplifying. Of cleaning, weeding, and doing the little things that I can experience a direct result from completing. I think it settles the nerves to feel in control, as illusory as this is and as ever evolving as the to-do’s are, we need to feel the reigns between our fingers at times, in order to release ourselves into the momentum of the galloping horse.