|Scientific American 297, 26 - 29 (2007)|
Finally, I'm beginning to understand this drifting thing of mine, being a drifter. Nothing in life is permanent. We're mortal. Simple.
So what is a life spent on being stable, secure, living in one place and accumulating bunches of stuff. For what end? This is the closest I've ever come to not wanting to move on, to not looking over the hill to what is there or even not there. I have art on the walls here that I enjoy, furniture that is comfortable, and a past. That past is what is the most enticing of all. The security and simple comfortability of knowing what was and thinking what is. The thing is it is not real. It is not real at all.
Of course I have no idea what is real, but I do know and understand with all my being that there is no permanence. Nothing in life is permanent no matter how badly we might what it to be so. Nothing is thicker than water. Being is illusive.
As much as I feel a semblance of truth in my thinking lately it has nothing to do with any god, but more the nature of our impermanence and the illusion of our existence. I've heard these thoughts often enough before in reading and thinking about Buddhism, but now more than an inkling of all this is beginning to creep into my mind with glimpses here and there of what might only be real reality. Perhaps not. I mean, real reality? Really?
I've been getting terribly angry in public a lot lately. Not at home. Not when alone. The other day, actually Christmas Eve, I went to Walmart to cash my paycheck and decided to risk the crowd to buy a few things. Silly me. After standing in line for around 10 minutes and finally getting next to my turn at the self-checkout, a couple pulled in front of me from the side. I said excuse me but there is a whole line of people who have been waiting here, but I was completely ignored and off I went calling the woman a bitch and there was no stopping me after that.
The point is I could give you a couple of other scenarios like this where I have lost control. And so I think what happens with a more delicate mind when they have lost patience with the world. I often wonder how and why more of us aren't losing control, or maybe I just don't see it. Maybe more people are losing control at home with their spouses and children or with themselves. Maybe not. Maybe I am just an oddball with no patience or just an old lady who can no longer contend with the general madness of everyday life. I'm not sure.
Anyway, I am sure that what I've always thought is is not. I can not handle the grandstanding of our congress or our purported caring about the atrocities in this country. I cannot talk about it without losing control. I lose my temper or I cry. I can no longer deal with how things are and so I've somehow been given the gift of seeing beyond it all. To the greater pale.
I know. How grandiose and full of hubris I might sound. Perhaps how schizophrenic I may sound. But it is all I have. To think there is something much more than this simple sad life of people killing each other and stealing from each other in the name of greed. I must believe there is something more and so I have begun to see that yes, there is more. But it is not in this tragic everydayness.
But rather in a something that takes me beyond it all and offers me glimpses of how irrelevant this human life really is.
And once again here's one of my very most favorites, Peggy Lee and "Is That All There Is?"
Well, then let's keep dancing! What the hay I say!