Sunday, June 14, 2015

Saturday, my sort of day of sabbath, yoga, meditation, limiting sensory input, before going back to work on Sunday...  But there's a baby shower, and after yoga it's what I can do to get down to 9th Street, to a bar even, by four.  She's a great friend, one of the peaceful people, and carrying a bambino, she's not been at the wine bar very often, and if so, just a sip.  Breaks up, I bow out, find my bike still locked up around the corner, head back across town.

Coming back, of course, at 14th Street, just past six, I encounter the road block of the pride parade.  There would be much to note down, and write about, much to sketch.  What stands out, as I wait, and head south before I can head west, I see two rather attractive young women sitting on a stoop in front of Eto watching the parade.  They are wearing rainbow colors.  And I see one has a tiny tattoo on her tricep, of two white unicorns.

It's a nice thing to watch.  Nice to see people happy in DC, a young guy says, as I make my way through.

I get home finally.  I feel a bit tired from the heat.  It was a bit tiring talking to strangers at the shower on that day slated for the recoup you did not really get to do, thanks to the after-effects of the work week, in particular the last live jazz night.  Then, home alone, it kind of hits.  "Why didn't you say anything.  You might have known the brunette from meeting her at the bar once..."  Ah, shit.  I slump on the couch, fall into the kind of nap depressives take.  I wasn't dressed for it.  The mind goes on though.  When is your time?  Maybe you're too old already, sad thought.

The encounter with egos...  leaves you marked, the placid waters disturbed, so try to get calm again.

Why am I slated to learn these things, about ego, about what life might have been like for Jesus as far as suffering and his ability to feel the goodness pass out of him...

There is the spirit being within us.  Beneath all the layers, remaining within even with all the things we mess up.  Who gets up fresh, more or less, and starts a new day.  Not always an easy person to find nor believe in nor have much hope for.  But, it, he, she, persists.

Confusing, trying to come upon this persona of the spiritual being.  Seas of vulnerability must be crossed.

The ego comes in many many guises.  Benevolent, well-meaning ones in addition the lesser.

To encounter the astral self is, one would gather, a strange experience initially.  Finding one's self suddenly free of motives.  After many years.  Wondering how you look for all the wear and tear, but finding a pristine quality...  As if one had needed to go through all of that.

It can sound a little crazy from the conventional perspective.  But you know it as, finally, a direct path through life.  Free of motives.  Free of beliefs, of the old reactions.  Peaceful.

The gain of perspective, even on one's own friends...  The old shared interests are dull compared to the shine of the spirit, the lightness it gives you.  Bit by bit, vision grows, perspective on one's own habits, coming from a deeper level, unbidden by logical thought.  Giving yourself the power to change your habits.  Make your own personal choices.  Not as easily persuaded.  Avoid distractions and interruptions, your private peace primary.

What is my spiritual path?  Why do I feel coopted?  I began to see it was the drinking.  The injurious quality of it...  Jesus was a wine-bibber, but mainly to experience contact with suffering.  I know my own suffering.

I tie now the old feelings of inadequacy in with the drinking.  In with the job I took when I knew not what to do with my life.  Selling myself out.  I self-medicated, depressed.  The job hurt.  You needed a drink after it.  But the awareness, of how all my bigger problems were drinking related, outgrew the  reaction of blind habit.  'Good wine is a necessity of life for me," Jefferson says, but I don't know about that in the larger context of Atman, the eternal soul.

But when I began to regularly practice yoga it become evident how the old ways did not work for me.  The old drinking friends did not work for me, much as I liked them, listened to them.  But there was a real fear in facing them.  They made me nervous.  The best response to them was a non-response.

Self-protection became the name of the game.  Getting out of there as easily and as a soon as I could. No Satan dressed in pleasant clothing.  Get thee behind me, ego Satan.

What made me popular now seemed a liability.  As if they knew my weakness.  They all knew where to find me.

One becomes aware of the great vulnerability when you become aligned with the spirit that is within, the eternal being.

I'm a creative.  I knew what to come up with.  I knew where it was all headed.  I knew what the issues were, amongst them being the top-heavy presence of ego in the world.

I do my yoga, hoping the spirit will lift.  It's Sunday afternoon.  Time to go back to work.

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