One of the things that I love about Natalie is her ability to make judgments about people and say them out loud. It’s thrilling to hear her sum up a person, their behavior, their motivations, their unconscious fire, all rolled into one or two quick incisive statements. Initially, I just bought into everything she said. I had never experienced such a wise window opening onto other people. I was hungry for the guidance. Somehow, I had been misled, led to believe that everyone was a Child of God. Christian psychology is very flat and its behavioral modification systems are very dumb. I had no ability to read people, to differentiate between them. I was like a person, a woman, in an arranged marriage with everyone. As far as Natalie’s stories go, later I learned there might also be other points of view.
I have been collecting thoughts on writing. Unfortunately, I haven’t been writing them down. Here they are from the vagueness of memory:
- The new genre of fantasy. I forget what he called it. I am a fan.
- That personal writing has its roots in Puritanism. The drive to perfect yourself through documentation (R.D. interviewee?)
- Alembic: using Nanowrimo like binge eating
- Writing without a plan
- Geof Huth’s thoughts on blogging. His desire to focus, desire to focus on theory.
Rising above, like a Buddhist, with no solid self.
Emotions rise up out of the unsolid self. Should I accept that living really belongs to my son now?
Shopping for Christmas cards.
Shopping for Buddhist cards.
Optimistic with Buddhism.
Does a dog have the Buddha-nature?
Demons into Allies—
|->||sharing ->||Blair, Kiva?|
|->||saving ->||401K, pay off debts|
Buddhism really figures in here.
|->||don’t get involved in tempests, gossip. Step up to motivation. Spend time with the winners.|
|two days a week
|->||Discipline. Housework? Chores calling me? Exercise? Errands? I don’t think I can work 8 hours at home. Maybe that’s not the point.|
|Creative time||->||most rewarding projects have been in fragments.|
Sam deserts me often in the evening, sleeping. I can do a lot with a short period of time every day. The daily effort is my ally. I fritter away time on Tues and Thurs, flounder.
I know I’m going to do this.
I am afraid.
9 of swords (rev)
I am not raising kids anymore.
I can use Linda’s logistical skills and networking to make things easier.
When I feel in the grip of clutching fear or annoyance at work—I can take a walk. Take a breath.
I want to
- Read Moby Dick
- Gravity’s Rainbow
I want to
- Sew again—some elegant drapey tops
I want to
- Make meals in the crockpot
I want to
- Be in the CSA
- a Buddhist teacher ? ? ?
Encouraging words. Buddhist practice was not originally intended to start with meditation. It was to start with generosity practice/not harming other people. Also—if you can access silence, you have a large part of meditation down already. Maybe I am not so far away from liberation.
I used to write to You, but the You has dissolved out of my life. Rinsed of starch, I’m limp, limp as a cuttle-fish, scuttling, color-shifting, many predators. Laying eggs and going off to die.
And yesterday or last week I heard about a service, body washing. Washing the body. I want my body tenderly washed by my faith community. Nothing more beautiful than that. And here I chatted about inconsequences with co-workers and Margaret’s family, while her mother lay in state. I thought—at least there should be silence. We are so bereft. And Poland—what happens when you lose 3 million Jews?
Not a damn thing prepares you for the Albrecht Dürer rabbit made of bronze.
Or the sadness of chipped paint on windowsills.
There’s all this lifting eyes up, all this lifting eyes up necessary.
And this from someone not a particle religious.
I am—APPALLED. Are you walking? Are you walking on the trail? Audaciously? The words of men. The Buddha gotra means the buddha lineage, the Buddha garva means the buddha womb. Are you cranking? Are you listening to the music? Or are you playing it?
Imperialist. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Global Entity Master Database. Master File Project. We insist on a Master File. A Rosetta Stone. The damage is not apparent. Evolution denied. Invalid principles. A style of agreement. A style of nodding. A politeness. A reputation for irritability. A command of your tongue. Here is the cycle. I will approach you. I will sign the deal. I will get organized. We will go into production. We publish libraries. We teach. We are flabbergasted. We flout, we fail. We make Powerpoints. We are adept. We are an accounting standards board. We are widespread. We are afraid of the floors. We deny the floors. We deny the presence. We ignore the presence. We are masked. We are leftover.
We do not cotton to that.
We exude mystery.
We frighten with your quiet.
We are a Buddhist.
jangling, the music is loud, Tina Turner, Dougie, favorite character, sitting in the corner mumbling, guy with tattoo of an axe on his forearm, sketching, someone like Blair maybe—I get tired. I get tired. Hey g’bye. Dougie says. Leave the poor guy alone. She shoots for Christianity. She is a tiny girl, a tiney angel, with tan skin, dark hair, named Angel. Everyone knows Doug. How’s your bike runnin’, Dougie, good? Here I am with characters. Still Life with Characters. Different bike from the last one he had. Everyone seems friendly. Hesitation. No No No. Dougie, Mario, Jim.