A couple of hours ago I sat down to relax and to see (more clearly the truth of my current situation) and what I saw after 2 hours of squirming and restlessly turning was that what, in effect, I sat down with was an agenda to see. It took me around 2 hours to opt for the truth over the self-induced fit of confusion and frustration. My mind kept flashing images from the past and the potential future to which my body responded in kind and the I felt eager to go into the texture of these sensations to let them resolve themselves. I wanted to spend the time productively and do some healing. Yet again, I sat down to resolve and transcend the internal mess that defines feeble, fallible me. In other words, I didn’t sit down to relax initially, I sat down to struggle rather. Much like in writing these posts where usually there is a hidden agenda that sparks the intent to engage in articulating them—namely the agenda to get past and transcend the weaker version of myself by sharing and thus taking ownership of it—more often than not meditation is abused to the same narcissistic end.
/I wonder, though, if I am still around and decided on a whim to reread these posts in 10+ years from now how will I relate to them? Will I feel embarrassed? Or amused? Or fascinated? Or puzzled? I have no idea. Probably, for better or for worse, I’ll have much less free time on my hands to indulge in chasing my elusive tail like this. Probably the concept of ’transcending me mess’ won’t make much sense either by that time. Who knows. I’ll report back, I guess. But then, all I’m doing here is playing the game of the truth and this is where it’s at right now.
The ego is an algorithm that is programmed to enact a catch 22 type loop wherein what it posits as desirable is rendered, by the same token, unattainable. Its function is to split the mind [so, evolutionarily, it becomes anxious enough to seek improving itself] and (ir)rationalize everything according to its agenda. That’s the reason why it wants to be seen by hiding and wants to prove itself by holding back—it’s totally illogical no matter how obsessively analytical it gets /as it’s so conspicuously borne & spelled out in my previous confessional posts/.
I can spin the wheels as much as I want. I can spin them as intensely as I wish. I can feel cheated, unfairly dealt & treated, victimized and abused. I can argue with the truth of this moment as much as I wish. I can argue that I merit more. I can argue that I deserve better because I’ve put in plenty of effort and I sacrifice a lot more than others. Again, I can spin the wheels as much as I wish. I can dismiss the truth as much as I please. By all means. I can argue with it till the day that I run out of any emotional gas to spin my worn-out wheels in the quicksand of my nonsense, I can. Nay, I can dismiss it till the day I give up that spent ghost of mine. But the fact still remains: till I hold back, and up & out and off & on, life holds back too.
I love wallowing in blue bouts of self-pity. I love melancholy. Because it feels reassuring, to put it tersely. Self-pity is but a way of re-assuring the cherished idea that I have about meself. Fact of the matter is: the bittersweet blue molasses of melancholy and the overall sluggishness that accompanies it feels so deeply soothing precisely because that is my preferred way of maintaining a sense of separateness. Others have other ways of dismissing the truth [of our being] I happen to be choosing the sweet asphyxiating molasses of melancholy. To be honest, though, I’ve always thought that my melancholy was in fact the truth in the guise of a bit sad but still small voice—until the recent recognition that for the most part it’s merely my ego’s way of re-assuring itself and its sense of separateness. I saw at once that I’m heavily addicted to it too. When the going gets tough the compulsion to scamper back into its insulating confinement and then allow my harried self to mellow the duck out feels quite overwhelming at times. Once there, I’m on cloud 9, no doubt. The outside of it does feel unsafe but on the flip side the inside of it feels cosy and refreshingly familiar—I loves the sense of being taken back there, no matter the depth of isolation.
Lots of recognition not enough surrender. One step forward, two steps back. Now I’m chasing the insights. Now I’m fixated & anxious about articulating & delivering the insights that the transpersonal unfolding sets off. In other words, I’m still in the business of seeking ways out of the directionless, hollow moment that seems to be engulfing ’me’.
I feels cheated. I feels unfairly dealt & treated. I thinks I merit more and deserve better because I put in more effort and I sacrifice much more. They [socially inept flatmates] spend almost all their time sitting and lying in front of a computer screen, get up around noon, eat all sorts of random stuff and still have bowel movement at least twice a day while here I am ’struggling’ to produce something at intervals of 32 hours at the very best. And yet, unlike valiant, noble me, they haven’t paid their spiritual dues, none whatsoever.
Overall, I feel directionless and a bit confused as well as pretty clueless and deflated and dejected and misjudged and misunderstood and so on. In short, I feel unsure. And so does my body. Constipation reflects a systemic ’uncertainty’ or hesitation in/of the bodymind—It’s a loop, no doubt.
It’s a matter of looseness, really, of the willingness to lose face, status, respect, approval, admiration, support and sympathy. To effectively deconstipate I must go loose, all the way. I gotta go with the truth, not me. Till I go with the image I cherish about meself I’ll hold back around the edges of that image and till I hold back, life holds back. There is no two ways about this and there is only one way to find out about it.
The fact that I have put so much effort into resolving [systemic] constipation may be one step forward but it might at the same time be two steps back as well in that I get more and more frustrated over failing at resolving it. The thing to keep in mind is that it’s not something personal, as it never has been, but more like an unfolding of an ’inherited’ trajectory.
But what a perfect trigger this is. You have no idea. Few things rattle me in (social) life and I rarely if ever feel envious let alone outright agitated by what others have going on for them. But this just takes the cake, my friends: Right on cue, my flatmate has just flushed an effortless fruit of the loo as I’m writing these very lines. The second time today and it’s only 4 pm for duck’s sake. He got up at noon and dropped a slick one right after his morning tea and now after a couple of hours of his late lunch he decided to toy with my poise anew. Man, what else is a deconstipator to feel but destroyed by flatmates like this. 😉
The ego is like the ultimate search engine—slick, sleek and stunningly swift—designed to seek and invariably find new frontiers to keep reassuring its own raison d’etre. That’s how yesterday’s selfless flow turns into today’s fixation overnight (especially among folks of the spiritually/transpersonally inclined). Even the gesture of total transparency and exposure—like the one attempted on this confessional type blog and other transpersonally oriented sites—quickly turns into a posture, a new way of reassuring a sense of separate self in control. But at least I (!) know that LOL.