Disengage

I need some time where my mind is not engaged on some cognitive task.  It's not productive for me to always be productive.  As as ex-salesman - which doesn't sound as cool as ex-Navy Seal - I was an early adopter of email and car phones, the precursor to the ubiquitous cell phone.  I've been careful not to let them run wild in my head.  My brain needs time to breather, to exhale and stretch it's wings, like a hawk floating upward on a thermal air current.  When I tak it out of gear and let it idle for a few minutes good things happen.

Missing the Whole Point

If you want to improve your meditation skills taking a meditation class is frankly missing the whole point.  It's like taking a class entitled: Excess Class Attendance: Breaking the Vicious Cycle.  It's like being late for a class on how not to be late for class.  Don't study it - just do it.  Just practice it.  I don't mean to suggest that a class can't be a good idea but it's a tough place to start.  If you want to relax don't buy 10 books on relaxation technique and read them as fast as you can, keeping a notepad handy to outline each chapter, giving yourself tests and Surprise! pop quizzes.  This is why you can't relax.  Relaxing is not doing something.  Stressing on proper meditation technique is the anti-meditation.  

Do they give grades in meditation class?  If so, do they grade on the curve?  Are you competing with other people in the class for good grades?  Do you study for hours, eyeing the competition?  I'm so competitive I'd try to screw with other people so that they would fail and I'd improve my class standing - I'd tap my foot irregularly or compulsively clear my throat to try to knock the competition off it's game.  I wouldn't care if I sucked at meditation - just as long as I was better than you.  How am I going to get into a good Ivy League college and earn my master's in meditation if I'm not at the top of my class?

I'm getting jacked thinking about it.

The Excel Spreadsheet of Life

I know that when I get frustrated with my life that I'm trying to control my life.  I'm trying to control people, places, and things.  I'm The Director - I'm arranging the set, the scenery, the actors, everything to my own liking and if only everyone did exactly what I wanted then everyone would be happy and by everyone, I mean me, because what do I care about anyone else?  Get serious.  This is all about me and how happy I can be.  My instincts are not interested in trying to expand my spiritual self or trying to live a life of service to my fellows.  My instincts are rampaging and they, to coin a phrase, or to lift one like a thief, balk at investigation.

I find myself trying to fit my life into little boxes that I fill in with little productive tasks and achievements and accomplishments.  I do not Go With The Flow.  I do not Wear The World Like a Loose Garment.  I don't admire a sunset or linger over a meal or talk to my friends on the phone or decide to take an extra 10 minutes of meditation because it feels so damn good to sit quietly, to not spin at a 1000 revolutions per minute.  Those things involve some sense of serenity and patience and they're things don't fit into a slot very well.  I can see having a slot that reads: Study Greek Philosophers.  That sounds impressive, a real achievement, a task to be completed and checked off.  Lingering over a cup of coffee while sitting quietly doesn't seem to merit a box on my Excel Spreadsheet of Life.

I'm still pondering my friend's surprisingly strident response to my email; it obviously dug into my Ego instinct with sharp talons.  The guy is an achiever and I can see him trying to pack his Excel Spreadsheet of Life full of worthy accomplishments.  Yesterday, I sat out in the back yard as the evening came along and I had a nice short meditation session.  It doesn't sound as impressive as taking a class in meditation at the local Zen Meditation center.  That would require transportation and a fixed time slot.  It would be easier to explain to someone that I spent my afternoon studying Zen Meditation in a structured class.  It's harder to say: "I was feeling a little zipped up so I made a cup of herbal tea with honey and sat down to be quiet for a minute and the minute turned into half an hour."  That sounds, to this over-achiever, like someone wasting some time.  A class sounds so productive.  

So be it.

Emotional Hangover

Still a little angry this morning.  Not deep down in my bones, ruin my entire day angry,  but I can hork up some irritation pretty quickly.  It's more of a "whatever, dude" kind of anger, kind of a pleasant day-dreamy kind of anger, but I could get it going if I wanted to.  It makes me see how dangerous an emotion it can be for me - it was positively deadly, venomous, when I was drinking.  And it's not the anger that's such an issue; it's what the anger can become if I indulge it.  Resentment, fury, vindictive fury, take no prisoners burn down the house fury.  I don't try and pretend that I don't have a temper any more - I try to channel it away from the women and children.  It's fire for me.  Burn down the house - cook my food.  The choice is mine.

I also have to be careful with good feelings although not as careful as with the anger.  I can drift off in totally delusional flights of fancy, although these are a lot more pleasant and not nearly as destructive.

Delete Forever

I sent an email to a friend yesterday reminding him of a humorous episode that took place in his life many years ago.  I also commented about the weather, which is really, really nice where I'm staying at the moment.   REALLY nice.  I have been complaining about cold weather my entire life.  It is the most ancient of my ancient-ist topics.  I get cold easily; I hate being cold; I hate snow - in fact, one of the main goals in my life is to never, ever touch snow ever again.  I carry a flame thrower around in a backpack so I can melt any snow that comes within 100 yards of me.  I curse audibly when I see snow on distant mountaintops.  Most people believe that hell is very, very hot - I call that an excellent vacation spot.  I'd be in hell wandering around looking for the thermostat to turn up the heat.

"Can I at least get a jacket?" I'd respond, if the demon who was in control of the HVAC system told me to go back to my fiery pit of molten lava.  "It's $#!! freezing in here."

Hell for me would be like Siberia or North Dakota.

This guy responded with some comments about my life style.  He called me an Epicurean.  I believe that means an individual who spends all of his time seeking carnal, sensual pleasures: food, touch, weather.  First of all, I thought: "Yeah, no shit."  I'm an alcoholic.  I spent my entire life trying to avoid pain and maximize pleasure.  That was the entire purpose of being alive to my thinking.  

Then I thought: "WTF?"  I don't see myself that way at all.  Don't get me wrong: I like comfort as much as the next guy but you people have taught me that if I'm not living a life of service to other people and seeking to grow my spiritual life I'm not making much progress in growing as a person.  And I didn't really see why my email generated this kind of critical comment.

So I sat down and wrote a blistering response, which I did not send; something about "restraint of tongue and pen" is stuck in my consciousness.  I looked at my note again in a few minutes and deleted the whole pissed, vindictive mess.  I did keep the original email from my friend, figuring  that I could put something together when I wasn't so angry.  After a few more minutes I deleted it  - using the "Delete Forever?" option - forever.  I knew nothing good was going to come from that thread.  It was a train wreck waiting to happen, waiting for me to stride into action with all kinds of justified anger.

I come back to the old saying: "Who has The Program?"  I said it before SuperK brought it up.  I said it before I called my sponsor.  I know deep down that this has nothing to do with me - I'm betting my friend is in an uncomfortable spot and I happened to be a target of convenience.  And I know that I need to write and reflect on the content of his response; for me to get so angry suggests that the thrust and parry got close to some fact or truth about my own life that I'm not entirely comfortable with.

Gratitude? Gratitiude!

Sometimes when I'm feeling grateful - when the moon is in the 7th House and Aquarius is rising, or something like that - I have to pinch myself that I have access to this Program.  I wish I didn't have to wash up half dead on a beach somewhere in the Caspian Sea to earn my seat but I sure have something that most people would love to have.  

It's all about the spirituality.  It's all about the spiritual awakening.  It makes me so grounded in life.  Things just make sense.  I don't feel the obsessive drive to have the things that my instincts make attractive to me.  And even more astounding is the fact that I enjoy the things that I do have.  The more I'm able to grow my spiritual center the simpler life becomes.  I'm able to break things down into smaller and smaller building blocks.  I'm not driven to have more of everything and pissed that I only have what I have.

OK, that passed.  I think I'm getting a little ungrateful again.  It lasted 15 minutes or so which doesn't sound like much but is actually a pretty good run for me.

Recovery Is Like a Shark

Yesterday SuperK and I went to a meeting that I had scoped out.  I had the time right but the location wrong and the location is a very, very important part of a normal, effective scoping out.  For most people this would be a failed operation but one out of two is a pretty good average for me.  SuperK was fazed for not one second.

There was an older guy already standing outside the meeting place; we introduced ourselves and exchanged pleasantries.  Don started talking.  He had 35 years of sobriety but drank again when his wife died two years ago - he was back at his second meeting.

We talked for a while or rather Don talked at us.  If you're looking for a good sounding reason to drink, a justified reason, losing your wife of 50 years to leukemia isn't too bad as terrible, awful, horrible reasons go.  I'm not able to speak to the kind of program he was working before his wife died but I'm going to assume it wasn't the best.  It was a good reminder talking to him.  

Recovery is like a shark - it has to be constantly moving forward or it dies.

I gave myself credit for a meeting.