This Can’t Be True

What if nothing matters?  And I don’t mean some hopeless attitude, such as “Nothing I do, or nothing that happens, will make me happy.”  Instead, what if my happiness is there already, at a most deep level?  That the events of the world don’t impact that wellspring at all?

“Get a life, Bruce.  You’re being nutty again.”

Well … maybe.  But I wonder.  Let’s look at some things.  Here’s what I usually tell myself:

1.  I need to walk – from my condo, along Main Street, to the Diner; down the fairways of Tarandowah; and on the paths of the Archie Coulter Conservation Area.

Maybe not.  Perhaps I don’t even need to see my lovely golf course again.  After all, it’s in my mind.

2.  I need to meditate and go on silent retreats.

Actually, no.  What if my brain becomes a jumble and I never see Massachusetts again?  I sense that there’d still be a little smile on my face, that some current of energy would still be saying hello.

3.  I need to have a loving partner in life, to share the wonders.

Hmm.  I don’t know about that.  I could feel love for all the folks that come my way each day, even if they don’t go home with me.  When there’s love, can I really say that the version aimed at Deborah is more profound than the type flowing to Rob?

4.  I need to be with people.

On one level, yes.  But there are other levels.  It’s possible that the rest of my life could be a solitary retreat, where I hole up in my condo and just come out for essentials.  I could send love outwards, through walls and across the land, and never see the folks that it touches.

5.  I need to be pain free.

That’s a tough one.  How could I ever cope with a constant 8 on the scale of 10?  It might be, though, that I could be happy even within the press of chronic pain.  Maybe I could be present with the physical sensation without adding the “Ain’t it awful” emotion.

6.  I need to travel.

Gosh, I’ve been to lots of places, and the best part of those adventures was the people I met along the way.  Many of their life experiences were way different than mine but I can find folks like that at the Barking Cat Pub, less than half-an-hour’s walk from my front door.

7.  I need to dance.

I love dancing but all those rhythms have taken up permanent residence in my head.  Plus I play a mean set of thigh drums.

8.  I need to golf.

I love the game but I don’t have to walk those fairways.  I see the curling putts and the drives hit with a slight draw.  I am intimate with the undulating greens, the fescue rough and the deep pot bunkers.

9.  I need to have sex.

Sometimes I’m flooded with love, and what skin against skin can match that?  I like physical sensations as much as anyone but my mind cranks out some cool stuff too.  And the eyes are my favourite body part.

10.  I need to be revered.

Wait a minute.  If I have this reservoir of well-being inside me, then no other person’s words or actions can dampen that fullness.  Praise and blame could just be two sides of a lovely coin.

***

Well, well, well
This has been a strange turn of the brain
I wonder if more strangeness is just up ahead
I’d be okay with that

What’s Happening?

Here I sit, in the main branch of the London Public Library, in a golden state of openness.  I was there many times during my month of silence in February and also in some meditation sessions at home since then.  But today is different.  I’ve been out and about at Wimpy’s Diner, Wellington Fitness, Farm Boy and now the library.  A quietness has followed me everywhere, taking a break when I’m talking to someone, giving ‘er on the elliptical or negotiating downtown traffic, but otherwise … it’s here.  As in right now.

It’s one thing to go deep in the meditation hall but out in the “real” world?  Never before like this.  And just so you know, it’s not scary.  It’s actually lovely.  But what does it mean?  I know that my life experiences are transient – easy come and easy go.  And this spaciousness will eventually morph into something that I’ll define as “less”.  Still, it’s hanging in with me on a Monday.

I’m not crazy but I worry that some of you reading this might think so.  Do I keep going or just nip all this talk in the bud?  Well, I’ve already set the table.  Maybe I should just dive into my meal, hoping that you’ll stay near.  Yes, I’ll do that.

It’s like I’m being soothed by the surf, a gentle rocking inside my head.  There are small waves of energy roaming around.  But I’m fully aware of my surroundings.  My trusty laptop is on my trusty lap and over there are folks reading newspapers, checking their cell phones and making marks on white sheets of paper.  All normal stuff.  But what if this head space is becoming my new normal?  That would be okay.  I’d still function well in the world.

I look at my fellow library patrons and see my brothers and sisters, a mom and two daughters and an old friend from home.  We’re all in this together, and that’s just fine.

The waves are getting bigger, and again it’s not scary.  I wonder if someday soon I’ll get to experience this in the middle of a conversation.  Wo.  Some sort of energy is shimmering down from my head to my toes.  I’ve felt this before but I think only when I was meditating.

“Shut it down, Bruce.  You’re getting too weird.  Keep going like this and you’ll be alone in the world.”  No, I disagree.  I don’t expect to be alone in this world anytime soon.

“Don’t you dare post this!  White-coated humans will be knocking on your door forthwith.”  Sorry, friend, but a-posting I will go.  See those chips falling where they may?

“You need to keep busy.  Keep doing things so all this silliness won’t have any room in your head.”  I don’t want to be knee-jerk busy, and it seems like there’s lots of room in my head.

I wonder if anybody here on the third floor feels me.  I doubt it.  But I know I reached some people on the retreat.  I want to reach people … with love and peace.

“Shut it down, I say.  There’s no audience for this stuff.”  Oh?

***

I’m done writing for today.  But my head will go on.  See you tomorrow.