I have no fucking idea what the hell I’m doing…it seems all I can do to remember to breathe.
Wonderful. You’ve finally understood what has always been true. The breath you are taking right now is all you really ever have.
I’ve been working hard on meditating, and have been less than successful. Several deceptively simple assistive measures revealed themselves to me last month, and I’ve been tentatively experimenting with ’em. Also being revealed to me of late is a rather shocking amount of information about my internal process that makes me wonder if I am either crazy or so not crazy as to have had a massive breakthrough. I guess we’ll have to see how that works out.
Someone sent me an article MONTHS ago and at that time I thought “That’s a fascinating, powerful meditation.” And today someone sent me the same article I read it and thought “That’s me.”
When 2 different people send you the same bloody piece twice, I think that is [INSERT YOUR BELIEF SYSTEM’S PARADIGM FOR “COINCIDENCE” HERE]and something to which I need to pay attention. Like, for REAL real. Not for play play.
From the article:
In pieces, in a pile on the floor, with no idea how to go forward, your expectations of the future are meaningless. Your stories about the past do not apply. You are in flux, you are changing, you are flowing in a new way, and this is an incredibly powerful opportunity to become new again: to choose how you want to put yourself back together. Confusion can be an incredible teacher—how could you ever learn if you already had it all figured out?
I have, since childhood, felt at odds with the way people seemed to think. The overarching response I recall experiencing when I expressed my ideas clearly was puzzlement or labeling as “weird.” “Broken, somewhere.” was one of my top personal descriptors, and being profoundly alcoholic underscored and reinforced that belief with granite flying buttresses of self-abuse.
What a powerful thing to think “Yes. I AM broken…and that is powerful and flawless.”
Now I’m older, I have a handful of years of sobriety under my belt. In the past few years I’ve made some choices that caused some of those around me to shake their heads in disbelief of how foolish I must be to repeatedly jump off of lifestyle cliffs.
But somehow? I always seem to land on my feet. And not just that? Even better off than I was. No regrets, none, and that’s in 42.5 years of jumping. And somehow, even when my messy, beautiful, awkward and prickly process of manifesting who I am upsets, ruffles or pushes people away from me? I only seem to discover who my deeper soul-allies really are.
I sit now. meditating on how powerful to say the following three words:
I don’t know.
And an immense weight is lifted off.
I am so pleased to be able to embrace this, to not see it as a cop-out or as a lack of effort, but to see it as a gift. Because if I am not fretting about the future of obsessing about the past I can really focus on all I have now.
And this one…