Let it go

Non attachment is a concept that rises to the top of my consciousness every time I sit down to write one of these posts. I suppose that is appropriate because attachment is the root of all suffering and I am interested in the prospects of ending suffering. I have found in my experience that the reason for my suffering very rarely has anything to do with what is actually happening at any given moment in life.

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When I was a trial attorney, I suffered a great deal imagining situations that never transpired, projecting my fears of being unprepared orĀ  public speaking or failure onto myriad moments that, objectively speaking, were actually quite peaceful.

Moments of potential stillness, where awareness of details like my breath or the awesome radiance of the human eyes around me, the sound of laughter, the feeling of vulnerability and humility, the simple awareness that I am alive, that I am here, conscious that I am having this experience rooted in mystery and wonder, with this capacity to create beauty with love, always has the potential to bring me peace and completion.

Instead I too often allow the loud and persistent story-teller in my head to scream so loudly and stomp so heavily that I’m literally hypnotized by it, rendered inert, unable to snap out of its suffocating grasp, forgetting to breathe and listen and see and feel.

I do the same thing as a writer. Every moment is alive and buzzing with infinite potential, the world is literally a ball of clay that molds according to my intention. But nothing happens if I’m rendered inert by my captive attention to the screen of the mind, the inner hater and doubter.

That ball of clay will just sit there always buzzing with infinite potential and I will sit by its side looking off into nothingness and not breathing and then I will die.

I think it was Picasso who said “The meaning of life is to find your gift, the purpose of life is to give it away.”

Creation without attachment

Like the Japanese monks who write haiku, place them in a bottle then toss them to the sea, the Tibetan monks who labor meticulously creating complex images and patterns out of multicolored sand then just sweep it all up and pour it into the river.

I create because when I create that loud and obnoxious voice with the megaphone is locked out of the room and I am here now operating according to my design in the same way water flows across rock and trees reach for the sun.

Being attuned to the truth of the moment and attempting to capture it with words, I am tuned into the only thing that is real. The only thing that is permanent and infinite is now.

The only a-hole that benefits from praise, accolades or riches is the a-hole I locked out of the room because he’s holding me back.

Well he can’t hold me back anymore.

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