Lets get real we all love gossip, as graceful or as well meaning as we might all hope to be everybody loves a good story. Nothing better than a love story, then there’s nothing like someone else’s personal tragedy to help you grasp at all your lucky stars, with the tenacity that can keep you holding on to anything in the hope of something, for way to long.
So my self-care routine has been falling apart, my Instagram account is all about lost chronologies. My energy feels like chaos and my mind is a mess. What’s going on? Oh yes life and it’s fluctuations. This week I’m moving homes. I think it’s the 35th time this life time.
How can we make each day a blessing in mindfulness when each task seems to drivel it’s way across time like silly string. Yup it’s a tragedy of dharma. That if we don’t keep all our shit bolted to the walls and tied down nicely how can we possibly find any peace? Meanwhile messy fucked up life is reigning merry mayhem with the things you have apparently manifested. You have to decide that breathing is the best you can do for the next two minutes and if you can find water in the next three days well you are actually winning at life. Are we required to do much more than sustain ourselves anyway?
Drama can bring down dharma in a moment. Drama is the story that we tell ourselves to justify our dharma, pushing through our pain so that we can perceive ourselves as the highly functional being that we are supposed to be really? Really is that the story? To be happier? Is that the story? To be well? Is that the story of fulfillment? Is that the story of Dharma?
For many keeping your keys in the same place every day (even when you are not moving) can feel like chasing kryptonite even though it isn’t that cryptic. All you have to do is stay in the present moment long enough to put your keys in the same place. I have a friend who swears by the practice of visualising that his house keys exploded every time he puts them down somewhere. So he visually ingrains where he last saw them into his brain. After all who could forget a set of exploding keys? It’s so symbolic to forget the keys to our house. In a material world it’s got to herald losing the keys to ourselves. We are disconnected disassociated with our own realities being taken on these magical journeys of mind.
My mind is constantly a flutter and there seems to no way to stop if from fluttering away to the next idea task or social media post even now. When I’ve got several unfinished thoughts of blog posts ahead of this one scheduled unready to go. The mind can be hard to capture sometimes. Like when you you try to use a kids fish net for catching butterflies and who has ever owned a butterfly net anyways? It’s such an extravagant thing. There it was though. That long fleeting memory of trying to catch butterflies that you never could. Sometime that is what mindfulness feels like when you’re all caught up in chasing money, catching abundance or dowsing for water. That anything just beyond your own breath is slipping through the net. Even if it’s all happening in the right way. We spin ourselves out of control when all we need is to drink the water, sleep easy and observe ourselves, then find ourselves in the moment again. With the dishes done. The tasks finished.
Then the onslaughts of to do lists rolling over us again. It’s all a commitment. We have to keep coming back to the discipleship of the every day. The dharma, chopping water and carrying wood, endlessly relearning the material ways for this lifetime.