This past weekend I spent at a Buddhist writing retreat. The retreat was utilizing meditation and Buddhism in your writing to examine the inner self. The following will be a collection of the writing exercises in which I took part. Two notes: All of these writings took place in a ten minute period and these are not edited at all but simply the raw words scratched in a notebook and transferred to this wonderful little piece of cyberspace. I hope you enjoy, as it was a special weekend of discovery.
Retreat.
It is a vacation. It is constructed to remove your inner consciousness from the world in which you have chosen to enjoy. The word is also associated with losing. Retreat is a sign of surrender. No one ever retreats while succeeding. For when we are winning, we want more. We never are content with the moment, but more run toward the next challenge. These tasks are created and passed. When we move to the next level we call up the people closest to tell of the accomplishment. There is rarely an action done for self. We are constantly in search. In search of the truth. In search of enlightenment. In search of money or fame. Nothing is enjoyed while it is happening. This is why these releases from the white noise of life are needed. This is why we walk in circles to capture solitude. This is why we live away from others in moments that we need them the most.
Retreats allow us to re-assess why. Why? Now that is a troublesome word that is rooted with the notion of doubt. But, have you noticed, when you don’t ask yourself, why, life is working. The moments we remove judgment or explanation are the happiest.
Anxiety is something that can cause breakdowns. Anxiety is in the conscious and has no material value. It is like a bank account online. The numbers mean something, but they really don’t have a physical presence. How could these little digits have such a control over our lives?
But, anxiety is sparked by a doubt that is buried rather then dealt with. It buries itself with the other unsatisfied dreams simply waiting for the moment of freedom when all appears lost.
Retreat. Moving. New location. Fresh start. New connections. Friends. You can be a painter; or, a banker. You can help on a farm or study Italian. There are no expectations. All of your dreams are in the future. You will find an apartment and get a dog. Fridays will be happy hour with the co-workers. You can tell them the story about when you broke your arm playing basketball. And, that joke about your high school. It’ll be funny. It’ll be new. Completely new to the world. Saturday you can go to the theater. See a new show, talk about art, drink a latte, discuss world politics and the desire to volunteer, tomorrow.
Retreat. They will pick you up from the airport. Your old room will be ready. Your favorite dish from middle school will be waiting. Too much will be made. Didn’t you tell them you were vegetarian? Everyone will want to talk. Celebrate. Nothing in particular, but just talk. You are the entertainment. You are the one with the hopes logged on the suitcase and the Facebook status updates on high alert. You are worshipped.
Retreat. How do you admit failure? How long must it go before it is understood to be a mistake? Keep it going. Don’t stop. It wasn’t you; it’s them. They are just so fake. That’s it. Frauds. Just wait. Next city will be it. Get to the country. The true class of people. They will be happy. Simple. Simple and happy.
Loss.
Mind. It was lost when I entered. Lost when I went down this path. Down the rabbit hole. Lost when I pulled back the curtain. Lost when I skipped to the last page. Lost when I started thinking. I had it not too long ago. It was tangible. It was in my grasp. It was planned out and set in front. Everything down to the last breathe. It was to start tomorrow. Think now. Plan later. Start tomorrow. Revolutions don’t start in the afternoon. They start over the morning coffee and de-briefing of the random parade staged through the night.
Subconscious. Maybe the voice was looking for the mind. Maybe the only time a proper party can be gathered for this task is when the leader is asleep.
If only I had taken the blue pill. Weekends with football and lake boats. Weeknights with microwave salmon and American Idol. Discussions about sports and the Academy Awards. Debates about Toothpaste and ketchup.
The easy life. Oblivious to all that is around. Blinders on. They work for horses. Once taken off the horse gets writer’s block with all the possibilities of life. It’s simply safer for all parties to keep tunnel visioned. Question nothing other than the wattage the microwave can produce as you stare at the endless directions on the package just about the fine print.
Follow me if you’d like to break the mold. I am your white rabbit.
Loss II.
Off. Dormant. Replaced. Black. Empty. Unfulfilling. It sits on it’s pedestal like the athlete on the words of the sports pages. Other worldly. Providing a release from all those emotions. Pain and happiness with the flip of a switch. Created with the diversion of distraction. Something with the good intention of saving the whole minimized to the duty of slavery. A vessel to the distant shores of childhood to adolescence. A gatekeeper of the future with the question asker of the conscious. A mirror of self. Used to gauge the fever within the mind to express how should it be understood. No need to try to understand as the emotion in which controls you is not yours. Manufactured to appease others. Should replaces real. Real lost the fight as soon as flashy lights allowed for human experience to be tossed to the past tense. There is nothing left of the search for the mind is in the old place you left it. The trick is to find it, dust it off and remember just how to start it. Like an old Chevy Blazer, it wants to help you tow all of your memories and experiences with you on the journey, it just needs a little compassion to start on the trek. Old technology will be new again. Distractions are always around like chocolate cake, it is up to you to decide who and what you want to love. Things are never lost, for to be lost you need to have been found and that shifts with each moment as you will never experience that instance with that exact position ever again.
Photo. (This entry was based on a photo that means a lot to the writer. I chose a photo I have in my wallet of my Grandfather whom I never met.)
My grandfather. Other members of my family. People I will never know. Tie twisting in the wind. Belt buckle clasped for survival; duty to hold up baggy pants. A size too big.
Old country. Southern Italy.
American dream. Slight smirk. He has won. This is what he wanted. He has succeeded. Conquered America. Goes back to the Mother land with the family.
Elders confused. Confused with new invention of camera. Happy to see family but envious of future.
My grandmother. Taking the picture, trying to work contraption. Pain in the eyes. Joy in the face of the child until life gets its turn.
Dialogue with my Grandfather and I. With the understanding that I could speak with him during the time the photo was taken.
“Are you smiling?” I ask.
“Should I be smiling?” He answers.
“Are you happy?”
“About what?”
“This…”
“Sure.”
“That doesn’t seem true.”
“If you know already, why ask the question?”
“Is it?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’d like to know.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you are.”
“Then I am. Case closed.”
“But, what do you feel?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“If you’re going to answer every question you ask, why am I here?”
“Sorry.”
“I, … just don’t worry about it.”
“It’s your life.”
“I’m aware.”
“You have to worry. Everyone worries.”
“We don’t.”
“You lie.”
“Do you worry?”
“Yes.”
“About?”
“Everything.”
“Why?”
“You have to.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what’s living is. You worry about everything until, poof.”
“I don’t.”
“You do; you’re just fighting it.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Did it work out?”
“Sure.”
“This is what you imagined. This is exactly how you mapped it all out. The plan in action right before our eyes.”
“There was no plan.”
“You are frustrating.”
“I’m honest. You want me to be something; I’m not. I’ll go along if it makes you happy; but I’m simply trying to be honest.”
“So, this is it?”
“This is it.”
“Was it worth it?”
“You tell me when I see you again.”
This was written around a bonfire. It was set up close to a pier with the lake in front of us, sunset to the right of us, stars above us and smores in our hands.
Fire. Is the present moment. It is and only will be this one instant. Once the resources are gone it is no more. It knows no worry about the future or judgment with the past. It doesn’t have the desire to worry about things out of its control. It dances for survival. It kills its fuel for it understands no rational way of existence. It is wild. It is pleading to us with each spark and pop. Smoke billows from the next victim in the pile. It sucks up to the creator for more fuel. One more log. Just another 10 minutes of life. It’s simply desiring life. But, it is content with the end. It feels it as the flames dim, the smoke clears and the carnage lays. It will enjoy what it controls and apologize for nothing. When we control the product, it is limited, when it is unleashed on nature, it loses self-control. All that is left is the moment in which we exist together.
What do you find yourself grateful for?
Grateful. Air to breath. Clothes to wear. Friends to talk. Family to love. Food to eat. Books to read. Paper to abuse. Pens to graffiti. Feet to walk. Minds to inflict. Eyes to see. Life to live. Fear to Love. Courage to apologize. Beer to drink. Memories to cherish. Future to shape. Chess to play. Shoes to vessel. Meditate to answer. Search for nothing. Desire the now.
Grateful for everything and nothing. Everything good comes with stress. Everything terrible comes before the good. For the life is lived in the attempt. The outcome is always wrong, but consistently correct. Nothing happens that was not supposed to. There will always be doubters and supporters. Each person has a role to play. Sometimes those roles can switch, but you are in control of their effect. Be grateful for that control. I am grateful for understanding that there is nothing in this world I am not prepared for and nothing I can escape. For escaping is held for the smart ones not attempting this suicide of the past. Revolutions are wasted on the youths. Revolt against yourself before it is too late.
There is no difference between writing and meditation. Things and places are constructed to find something unattainable.
Lectio Divina
“People of the older generation complain that ‘nowadays there is no conversation.’”
~Tolstoy
Cycles. Circles. Emerson spoke of how life is circled. How everything is connected and boils down to these shapes. We speak of the current. We romanticize the past and make those moments magnificent. We worry about the future and assemble arguments for global warming and pesticides like sci-fi writers create spaceships and robotic women. We allow these arbitrary thoughts to consume us, to take us away from the moments in which we can control. The six inches in front of our face that allows us the control of the verdict. Living and dyeing. Surviving and crumbling. We have the skills. We have the intelligence. We are self-aware. We have the time. It is now up to us to go onward. For the journey is the prize. The end of the road is impossible to find as it does not exist. We can make plans under the moonlight but in the morning will they be executed or extinguished?
Conversations will never be dead as we always will need a community forum to express our most inner expressions. For, if the collection subconscious can indeed support their notions; it’ll make a better case to overthrow the current government power in our brain being run by fear.
Free Write
The audience. I write for them. I am here to entertain them. I sing and dance. I jester and humiliate. I satire and communicate. I control the world in which they have entered. I am the leader and executor. I am for them as much as they are for me.
It is green. Massively green. Too green. Computer generated Imagery green. Like the forests of Avatar. Too green to be real. The wind pushes through. It is gentle. Both have a job and both respect the other. A slight wave. A tip of the hat like old friends journeying home after a night of warm beer and cold stories.
I am not there to exchange thought. I am selfish. I am incomplete. I am like peanut butter searching for jelly. Like a vehicle without gas or happiness without misery. Unable to stand alone without our mate. Solo existence can happen, but survival is impossible. I need my audience like a chef needs recipes or a child needs therapy.
Emerald green. That sounds fantastic. No idea what it means, but someone does. It was emerald green with peaks and valleys. As with humans, weeds can grow to varying heights depending on genetics and care. Flaws in the design are covered with spots of purple. Red and blue take a shot at ground control. A sprits of yellow and white relax a little lower not quite as brave. The weeds accept their temporary neighbors. They share the sunlight and visits from temperamental butterflies. Grasshoppers growl their salutations as the sun makes its trek across the cloudless vacuum of the blue sky. The audition is going well. Everyone knows their part. Day after day the routine is the same until it ends. When that day comes, the flowers say their good-byes. Nothing teary, for they know they will meet again. The method acting of living is the most beautiful performance.
I document. I create. I exist. I dance. I communicate. I connect. I act. I live. I Love. I fail. I try. Times up.
Thank you; my audience.
Five Foolish Actions of my life.
1. Slapping a bouncer in Denver.
2. Giving up writing to attempt a “normal” life.
3. Blaming others for fevers within self.
4. Attraction to impossible situations with equal parts excitement and stupidity.
5. Assumption that I was a failure.
Choose one of these and write stating that it was the greatest decision you have ever made.
The stress that comes with expectations can be terrible. The relief that comes with failure can be magnificent. Surrendering to all that has caused pain and doubt for the future is gone in one fail swoop. No longer a need to excuse or manipulate the facts. No more lies to those close concerning progress. There is no progress. There are no goals when you have failed. All that is left is the honesty. The honesty with yourself that you are the last of a line of expectors. To acknowledge and accept your personal failure will be to be one with the lost expectations and the pettiness of plans. The universe is not good nor evil. I am not goof nor evil; but each of my actions have the ability to enhance or limit my life as well as those in which I infect. We are the most powerful critics and revolutionaries in the world.
