Morning Meditations #70: “Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta”

Goddamn last night was painful. The evening ended up being one of those nights where every shortcoming, past betrayal, current issue, and feeling of loneliness sat right on the forebrain, and no matter how much practice at letting go I have at this point, there seemed to be a negative memory or emotion to fill the hole left by the last one. Ivy, at least, seemed to be the only person not effected by my mood. I had hoped that my efforts would be enough, but no matter how much I tried to keep it from influencing others, I radiated negativity. One of those days where my emotional pain being instinctively worn on the outside—getting all over the walls, curtains, and innocent bystanders—isn’t ideal for social interaction, especially within the family. Yikes!

I must have teared up or outright cried thirty fucking times throughout yesterday. Everything from lost love to sick loved ones bore down on my spirit with the force of a storm surge. My brain sought to blame myself or someone in each individual case. The results left me drained, an feeling battered. As soon as a moment would come where I felt my confidence returning the winnowing ability of sadness made sure nothing too good stayed on my Cartesian stage for long. Thinking to myself, how come the people seeking to sell or promote meditation never tell anybody how making it all “about the journey” and “living in the moment” can sometimes be the most painful way to exist; nobody ever puts that in their goddamned “memes.” I feared what exigencies would exist for simply falling asleep. I sat on the edge of my, bed a lamp on and looking to my print of Radiator Building, searching for an answer. One never came. Yet, as usual, sleep would eventually come and be my sovereign remedy.

My desire to inveigh burned within, but I managed keep from making any crazy drunk dialing accidents (Sailor Jerry being one of my most valued tools) or to let the temptation of my passive-aggressive, flippant personality traits post ridiculous memes about affirmations and staying strong. No, I turned out all the lights and let the beauty of David Milch’s dialogue carry me off. I don’t remember calling anybody a “cocksucker” in my dreams, but I can almost guarantee with certainty it was in there somewhere. “So, how are things this morning?” you may ask.

Much better.

MM 70
Don’t know what this is, don’t care. Its gorgeous.

I woke this morning with an emotional hangover rather than a physical one, and I could still hear the echos of a hurt, angry mind whining while it sat in the recesses of restored consciousness licking its wounds. Invariably, like most folks which have not been crippled or mortally wounded, my mind returned to a confident and productive state. I got the bibliography up despite mistakes and errors, and I will continue to edit and add to it as time passes. Similarly to my personal narrative, which I hope hasn’t becoming too boring and repetitive to endure. Even if that is the case, fear not Gentle Reader, I will not be turned away. This has become a part of my daily therapy. Mirroring how I have begun to care for my body in a quest of health over the last half-year, I have also tended to the mind with that same thoughtful ambition. Because of this, the entertainment value is secondary. I love that people can find inspiration and solace in my words, but the priority here is selfish, and as the whole of my being remains inimitable, the value I provide to the human specie as a case study and data bank cannot be overstated; my contributions to society and community will not cease to end until an end to my process of breath and calorie expenditure are realized. And, from all current signs, that is not imminent.

This does bring me to a conclusion for today. It looks as though with only a few more hundred words I will be hitting a 3k word mark for the day, the first is several weeks, and honestly I feel like I have 4k in me. I do plan to practice meditation outside today, despite the briskness of the air. I am sure that my fire pit and an incredibly gorgeous day will adequately dispel any chill which seeks to violate my mantra, “which literally means “’place to rest the mind’.”1 And after last night, that is probably exactly what I need.

1. Taylor, Jill Bolte. My Stroke of Insight: A Brain Scientist’s Personal Journey. New York: Viking, 2008. 169

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