This place to me has become indespensible. I know when I come here people bring their best game. You are one of those people.
That's it, Neo. This place is cool, and you are among friends....
If I did not believe in the idea of compassion, my depression would do more than make me obese, which is a just a slow, slow suicide. I have to believe I can do something before I die that makes up for all the blind spots that caught me by surprise and ripped my heart out. There are too many to list. I know a life in which I am overwhelmed by challenge.
My prison is lifted up by a spirit that cannot be contained. The doors are opened by the imagination. Nothing else. The only way I can handle being who I am and being here doing what I do is that between my two ears I have everything, and I do mean everything. It's all here and it's all mine. The dilemma is to sort out how to give this life a shape and a message. It is fuzzy and incomplete.
I have to feel safe, and in the semi-cloistered life of a live-in caregiver, I feel protected.
My worst foe is my compassion for my own self. I feel pain, and to help out, I offer myself some degree of immediate comfort. I do this by indulging in food that is readily at hand. The fat and sugar and starch is as easy to acquire as a lungful of air. Daily, I choose between indulgence and direct contact with the source of a painful hunger. Choosing to comfort myself is not noble. It has often been the only one I could possibly imagine. If there had been others, I was blind to alternatives. Lately, I had been choosing to eat and forget. For the umpteenth time, I'm now deciding to be hungry and remember. It is testing me. Ouch!
There is a sacred space here at the JCF site, where I can reflect and trust my thoughts. My fat body is evidence of my having given up on sacrificing for what I believe. Eating is not sacrifice. It is despair served up on a silver platter. Binging and overeating is self-destruction.
In the hurting department, there is physical and emotional hunger, which is immediate and painful to an extreme (not hunger from poverty, but hunger from eating leafy greens). If I accept the leafy-greeny hunger as the price of becoming healthier and more fit, I am left with the pain that compelled me eat to excess in the first place.
When Steve Jobs counseled students to "stay hungry", it was good advice, but it was presumptuous. Hungry cravings are not about food. They are about a soul abandoned to hard times by those with hard times of their own. It is not nice.
The wealthy are not better off than me. Most would give up all their riches to have what I take for granted. When I say I have everything, I am being somewhat metaphorical. Like Stephen Wright, I keep my collection of sea shells on all the beaches of the world. My soul is big enough to hold my collection of humanity, and my compassion has the capacity for all. My heart beats in time with the universe.
That said, the side of me that growls like a big old bear is suggestive of the power of potential. It is all I can do to contain the frustration I feel when I watch the tug and pull between the power of hunger and the power of despair.
Eating is comfortable and careless. The consequences bring slow death.
Hunger is painful and responsible. The experience forces me to face life.
I know I can be hungry for a while. I don't know if I can live this way indefinitely. I don't know if I have what it takes to be hungry every day. Maybe I'd rather be comfortable in knowing I will soon be forgotten. Strangely, that's where regret takes me. I wind up wishing I had never been born. I want to change my name and live in another place.
Comfort or health. My mind sees that health is the only choice. It is my insides that rebel and give up and sink back into the simple fact that there will never be a rescue. I have to lift myself up and figure out how to make it through this day without going to the store for another bag of insanely pain-transcending sugar and fat and carbohydrates, the opiates of the people.
Bread and wine are Jesus.
Veggies and ice water are us? Are you kidding me?
Carbs and alcohol.......so much more fun.......no comparison.
Sacred wine beats the hell out of sacred tap water.
Oh, and no one here at the Rambling Conversations ever orders me to "focus" the way others do. Talk about indulgence. My off-the-cuffs just happen. Here, there is expressive indulgence. I am free to write whatever words enter my scattered brain, and the rest of my body just sits before the computer, (between shifts and requests and To-Do's). When I'm here, I'm usually tired and feeling the pressure of thoughts pushing against my skull.
Here, I wander around the internet universe, chewing up the keyboard.
[Now, look what I've gone and done.
This ramble has to stop.]
Once in a while a door opens, and let's in the future. --- Graham Greene