I’ve been thinking a lot about Myrlin Hepworth again–specifically his argument that all actions are about giving or receiving/hoping to receive love. It triggered a connection to the words of buddha who wrote, “In the end these things matter most: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?” I often wonder if I am abiding by those questions. I’ve become fearful of such things as loving and letting go. One oft leads to trusting (which can lead to hurting myself or them) while the other invites the unknown. This is not necessarily a bad thing. It is on the other hand a difficult thing. I sometimes wish that I could have my own Buddha moment and, in a fit of meditation, realize the answer to all that is bouncing around in my head. Only, that isn’t how life works.
I’m coming around to recognizing that life works on the fulcrum of chance and individual effort. Fear is the barrier to effort. Trying–in anything–leaves you vulnerable and exposed. This is a truth I see played out in writing students each day. Few wish to try because none are willing to fail or moreover be embarrassed or noticed for that failure. It is easier then to not try, to take the path of least resistance, which is no path at all.
Somewhere between my heart and belly is this force of nature that wishes to give and receive love everyday, and to be exposed and to try and to take risks–not just the smart ones, but the real ones. Layers of fat and doubt have grown over that force, locking it away. Each day it cries to get out and I think to myself, what will it take for this thing to get out.
I suppose all it takes is to say, and to believe, and to get behind the idea of “now.”
Some Thoughts:
- Best Agents of Shield episode in a while. Vintage Coulson. Vintage.
- Started at the gym again along with modifying my diet quite suddenly. The result is upset stomach, ridiculous soreness, and vomiting. Not a good look, old man.
- Castle is one of the shows that gives providence to black women without being about black people. Way to go, Castle.
- 1818 was the year Keats wrote his sonnet ‘When I have fears that I may cease to be’ the poem is its own reason for an appearance in this slot. I’ve always been fond of it, if only for the relationship I have with that same thought process. An older student and I spoke about death today. We talked about the afterlife and our beliefs and what it looks like for each of us. For her it was a singular moment of joy. For me it is a new start–a transformation into something else as the wheel of reincarnation and karma spins on. That is the most frightening.