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I feel like I haven't meditated in a year.
I've gotten better at keeping my mind active without company.
I don't want this to mean "growing up" though.
I found a haiku I wrote in my daybook:
Grey eighteen wheeler,
overgrown caterpillar
eat and shit; eat/shit
I wrote it while meditating through passing trucks on 20A.
I miss my grassy knoll outside of Onondoga Hall.
I tried meditating in different places while in transit.
It was not the same.
I tried a new mantra.
It's the word team.
It has a hard consonant and I sound it while inhaling.
{I am all mixed up}
6 comments:
Ahhh, to hang out in the space between your thoughts... Reminds me of nobler times.
:}
"the space between your thoughts..."
that's beautiful.
True story: Lunch in the cafe yesterday.
A painter who is a regular shows one of the bartenders a picture of the portrait montage he is painting for her.
He asks the other bartender why she doesn't like to be painted.
Bartender: I rather be a thought than an image.
Painter: (repeats to himself as if it were a riddle) Rather be a thought than an image... a thought than an image. [after consideration] You know a thought becomes an image eventually. Without an image thoughts are.. thoughts are...
Winston: whispers
Painter: Thoughts are whispers?
Bartender: I rather be a whisper than a shout.
Painter: Well whispers can become shouts etc.
I think the bartender was spot on. I really like the way she said things. It put words to my dislike for self portraits and being depicted by others. In so many situations I have lived in the phantom space between thoughts and memories rather than reality. It's like being a ghostboy.
I agree with you. The bartender seems to really have understood the falsity of hedonistic imagery and the allowance of others to define who we are. I'd rather be an ideal rather than an image as well. A soft and sincere thing, rather than a colossal fake. And as for living in the space between thoughts, I have lived thus far in that state as well. It is only the wise that see the dismal reckage that is reality, and swap it for their own reality.
My reality is grounded in a foundation of mayhaps. It can be quite nice at times. There are moments where actually definition is preferred, but similar to existential tenets I find the anxiety of the in between is just plain, exhilarating. Somehow I usually end up walking away from it all and begin reading different books.
command\\crashburnstartover.or.rebootpheonix.
I hope that once I get out into the world and leave this god awful shantytown they call Las Vegas behind, my reality will become a bit more existentially driven. Under the present circumstances, I have naught but a choice to lurke in between the pangs of early adulthood and childish wonderings. And because of this, I have learned to find the exhiliration as you so wonderfully put it, within the "in between" expanse. I believe that once I possess the freedom to resurface from the in between, I will be able to walk away from myself and begin to read new books too.
It is a gift to be as free as you are now. To live your life, and feel your own emotions, uninhibited by juvenile narcissism and teenage wastelands.
Oh they are still there! The wastelands and narcissism. Just not as overbearing as they were four years ago. In time it balances out (or not) and you're out on your own (or in college) and your insides start to make more sense (for the sake of survival). It's a salient transformation that everyone (should, or) must experience. Who knows, you may even grow to love/appreciate your hometown (I did). Yet, still half a million miles from it (home).
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