Oh, to Bee a Flower

One Book, Many Books

 "And then, when she's finished and the book ventures out into the world, the readers take their turn, and here another kind of comingling occurs. Because the reader is not a passive receptacle for a book's content. Not at all. You are our collaborators, our conspirators, breathing new life into us. And because every reader is unique, each of you makes each of us mean differently, regardless of what's written on our pages. Thus, one book, when read by different readers, becomes different books, becomes an ever-changing array of books that flows through human consciousness like a wave. Pro captu lectoris habent sua fata libelli. According to the capabilities of the reader, books have their own destinies."

                --Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness

The Middle Ring

"Families teach us love, and tribes teach us loyalty. The village teaches us tolerance."

"Home-based, phone-based culture has arguably solidified our closest and most distant connections, the inner ring of family and best friends (bound by blood and intimacy) and the outer ring of tribe (linked by shared affinities). But it’s wreaking havoc on the middle ring of “familiar but not intimate” relationships with the people who live around us, which Dunkelman calls the village. “These are your neighbors, the people in your town,” he said. We used to know them well; now we don’t.

Imagine that a local parent disagrees with you about affirmative action at a PTA meeting. Online, you might write him off as a political opponent who deserves your scorn. But in a school gym full of neighbors, you bite your tongue. As the year rolls on, you discover that your daughters are in the same dance class. At pickup, you swap stories about caring for aging relatives. Although your differences don’t disappear, they’re folded into a peaceful coexistence. And when the two of you sign up for a committee to draft a diversity statement for the school, you find that you can accommodate each other’s opposing views. “It’s politically moderating to meet thoughtful people in the real world who disagree with you,” Dunkelman said."

-Derek Thompson, The Anti-Social Century

The Anti-Social Century

"When Epley and his lab asked Chicagoans to overcome their preference for solitude and talk with strangers on a train, the experiment probably didn’t change anyone’s life. All it did was marginally improve the experience of one 15-minute block of time. But life is just a long set of 15-minute blocks, one after another. The way we spend our minutes is the way we spend our decades. “No amount of research that I’ve done has changed my life more than this,” Epley told me. “It’s not that I’m never lonely. It’s that my moment-to-moment experience of life is better, because I’ve learned to take the dead space of life and make friends in it."

-Derek Thompson, The Anti-Social Century (gift link)

The Right Reasons

"The pursuit of happiness is a toxic value that has long defined our culture. It is self-defeating and misleading. Living well does not mean avoiding suffering; it means suffering for the right reasons. Because if we’re going to be forced to suffer by simply existing, we might as well learn how to suffer well."

― Mark Manson, Everything Is F*cked: A Book About Hope

Knowing Experience

"Because here's something that's weird but true: we don't actually know what a positive or negative experience is. Some of the most difficult and stressful moments of our lives also end up being the most formative and motivating. Some of the best and most gratifying experiences of our lives are also the most distracting and demotivating. Don't trust your conception of positive/negative experiences. All that we know for certain is what hurts in the moment and what doesn't. And that's not worth much."

--Mark Manson

Inside Outside

I'm in a pretty flat emotional state and have been for awhile. Kind of "meh." Still functioning and engaged, but underlying that is a subtle detachment and fatigue. Allowing my body to rest -- i.e., not working out much since December, since my body responded to darkness by slowing down and I decided not to push -- has gradually morphed into a sluggish state. Low calorie intake for weight loss probably contributes too, so I decided yesterday to increase my intake to a maintenance level for awhile, so I'll have more energy to move. Once active, that will perpetuate itself. I'm 12 pounds from my goal, so I can return to losing later. So that's part of the flatness.

But the other part of this flatness? It's psychic exhaustion. From parenting DD, from seeing clients, and from being an "awakened" person in this world. I know how that last part sounds. Very bougie. I observe people immersed in their lives -- actions, reactions, drama, avoidance, suffering -- and from where I exist, I just see people chasing shadows. Telling stories to themselves. Our stories are important, and yet they are not the entirety of existence. 

And sometimes I feel so apart from humanity I wonder, "Do I really love anyone?" The detachment leads to feeling bland. Is this depression? Enlightenment? I do feel affection for people, animals, things, life. But it's overlaid by the experience of being emotionally bubble wrapped. 

Let me tell you how relieved I am my father is dead. I am so relieved. I was so tired of his existence, his suffering, and the ripples his suffering created, which caused me distress. He was tired of it all too. I don't miss my parents. Not in the way of wanting to pick up the phone to call and realizing, again and with grief, that they are gone. It's just done. They had their life, their turn, and they are not suffering any longer, which I to me means they are at peace and in a safe place. 

So. I've been going to Ecstatic Dance since Halloween. I've enjoyed it so much. I'm slowly getting acquainted with the regulars and people who run it. They ask for volunteers to help set up and take down the hall, so I signed up and have helped twice. The "bonus" for volunteering is not having to pay $25 to dance. The first time was taking down and putting away gear, and that was fine. Last Friday night I was able to help set up, so I arrived shortly after 7:00. 

The main person, D, had just arrived. His greeting was offhanded and slightly surprised. I said I had signed up to help out, and he seemed a little surprised and indifferent. There was no warmth from him, no welcome. It felt ungracious. I'd interacted with him while dancing and just being around and things have been fine. I didn't take his aloofness personally or feel mad, yet I felt separate and tentative. 

Shortly other people showed up, and they were friendlier. I'd signed up to set up the "chill space" and altar and another woman, R, helped me. She introduced herself, and we collaborated, though I chose and placed the items on the altar. Then another main volunteer, B, arrived. She was welcoming and inclusive. Another woman brought altar flowers; it's her "thing" that she does. So we complete it, and I move on. Then a few moments later I happened to look over and see B, the flower lady, and R rearranging what I had done. I went to the restroom and came back, and the three of them had moved to another part of the room and were chatting. It felt cliquish. I decided to sit in the chill space and people watch. What did I make of their rearrangement of my setup? Again, I didn't feel it was personal -- a critique, a rejection, or an attack -- but it felt unwelcoming to me. I realized as I sat, that while the idea of expanding my community appealed, it would require an investment of effort that I don't want to give. I imagine these are lovely people to know, but I don't want to have to work hard. (I'd been observing and assessing my feelings during closing circle each time, and whenever I felt I might want to share, something in me compelled me to wait.) So I realized as I sat that 1) I want to dance, and that's primary; 2) I can afford to pay; and 3) not volunteering keeps the activity cleaner for me. Dancing is a date with my own self.

Soon the DJ began the music, and the volume was at an ear-bleeding level. It hurt! And the music he chose felt like being hammered. I tried dancing for about 15 minutes, but wasn't feeling it. No joy. It was assaultive. I went back to the chill space and put in my earbuds just to muffle the volume a bit. I waited and watched people dance. Still no joy. The music didn't tickle me, or entice movement. So I said to myself that this is just an "off" night, and decided to leave. I was disappointed because I'd been looking forward to dancing. And now without this activity, I felt uninspired to think of another activity. So I went to Rite-Aid and bought Chunky Monkey ice cream and went home, and thoroughly enjoyed the ice cream. (Friday nights DH plays video games with a friend in Texas, and DD does their own thing.)

Changing the subject slightly... this feeling "outside" was present when I visited my friend K in Denver. She, A, and I had a lovely time. At the same time, the volume and pitch of their voices was so soft and low that I had trouble hearing. I had to expend a lot of energy. I asked for them to be a bit louder, and they tried, but would fall soft again. I was also very drained by the lower oxygen level and slept a lot. I felt good that I had made an audiology appointment in May, because I think I do have hearing loss, which is impacting me. 

(No Wind, No Rain)

 (No Wind, No Rain)

No wind, no rain,

the tree

just fell, as a piece of fruit does.

But no, not fruit. Not ripe.

Not fell.

It broke. It shattered.

One cone's 

addition of resinous cell-sap,

one small-bodied bird

arriving to tap for a beetle.

It shattered.

What word, what act,

was it we thought did not matter?

-Jane Hirshfield

Snow

Snow

 

Little soul,

for you, too, 

death is coming.

 

Was there something

you thought

you needed to do?

 

Snow

does not walk into a room

 

and wonder

 

why.

-Jane Hirshfield

Things Seem Strong

 Things Seem Strong

Things seem strong.

Houses, trees, trucks -- a chair, even.

A table. A country.

You don't expect one to break.

No, it takes a hammer to break one,

a war, a saw, an earthquake.

Troy after Troy after Troy seemed strong

to those living around and in them.

Nine Troys were strong,

each trembling under the other.

When the ground floods

and the fire ants leave their strong city,

they link legs and form a raft, and float, and live,

and begin again elsewhere.

Strong, your life's wish

to continue linking arms with life's eye blink, life's tear well,

life's hammering of copper sheets and planing of Port Orford cedar,

life's joke of the knock-knock.

Knock, knock. Who's there?

I am.  

I am who?

That first and last question.

Who once dressed in footed pajamas,

who once was smothered in kisses.

Who seemed so strong

I could not imagine your mouth would ever come to stop asking.

-Jane Hirshfield