lighthouse

I hated puzzles growing up. Well, that's not true. I hated most puzzles. There was one puzzle that I enjoyed, but it was only because it was 50 pieces and featured Barbie or trolls or kittens or (wishful thinking) all three. Any other puzzle, however, was torture. Why? Maybe my brain just didn't work that way. Maybe I was easily frustrated and too much of a perfectionist to deal with mismatched pieces and missing corners. Whatever it was, I steered clear of puzzles and focused my energies elsewhere (such as searching for fairies in my backyard and putting on plays about prom in my garage).

And now here I am, 28 and suddenly super into puzzles. Okay, not actual puzzles. (Maybe I should be, though? I mean, I wouldn't mind spending hours alone putting together a giant picture of a lighthouse. Do all puzzles feature lighthouses? I'm a puzzle novice, forgive me.) I am starting to piece together people, experiences, and moments from my past in order to figure out my present. Questions--one major question in particular--have been occupying my entire mind for months now. Well, questions always occupy my mind. They occupy the minds of every human ever. Hmmm. What I'm trying to say is difficult because I am purposely being vague and vagueness leads to confusion. So. Where does this leave me? Oh right, putting pieces together.

It has been a fascinating and fearsome process. Taking an honest look at oneself is just asking for shit to hit the fan. All kinds of kooky issues and memories surface, ones that you either tried to actively drown or just passively forgot about out in the depths begin to wash up on the shore of your psyche. Watch out! Or rather, just watch. I need to remind myself often to just watch. I get swept away by disgust or desire, which leads me away from myself and into, simply put, suffering. Sometimes all I need to do let things happen as they will and observe without judgement.

It's time to come home.

It's time to stop turning my back on the lamp that is aching to guide me to where I need to go... Wherever that may be. The puzzle inside of me--that broken lighthouse--is patiently waiting for me to begin to fill in the gaps and create connections. Will I be okay with what is missing and mismatched? Maybe. Maybe there is no "missing" or "mismatched." Maybe the imperfections are perfections (and the perfections are imperfections). But I guess I'll have to just wait, watch, and see.

let's get snuggie

Let's get real serious for a moment. Just kidding. I'm always so serious in my head that the only way I cannot be serious is through various social media sites and blogs. Are blogs considered social media sites? Listen, you social media experts, don't make fun of me in your head for not knowing the answer to this possibly really stupid question. I already make fun of me enough in my own head and don't need other people to do it for me. And no, perhaps I'm not making a lick of sense right now, but just imagine how much more sense I wouldn't be making if I had just licked a toad in the jungles of South America. I'd be talking and seeing all sorts of crazy shit. Now THAT'S what I call getting serious.

But let's switch gears. (Why do I keep saying "let's"? It's not as if this blog is a group effort OH BUT IT IS. I write, you read, I ramble, sometimes you leave comments--it's as if "her fog and pearls" is some sort of complex watch battery with each part working together to create time out of nothing, for time does not exist except within the confines of the simple mind. Well, let's get out of our simple minds and into a giant Snuggie because damn, girl, it be cold outside and damn, girl, you look fine as hell in fleece.)

Oh yeah, so switching gears. Hmmm. I don't even know how to drive a manual, so I can't really successfully switch gears. Maybe I can just automatically dive right in and say that I am a... I am a... uh... NOPE. Not today. Today is just ice cream. Ice cream and avocados and salsa and handfuls of cereal. That is what today will be for me. If I'm feeling reckless, today might also involve pizza and online shopping for a backpack and a beanie.

Okay, moving on to last night's debate and my convoluted thoughts on what both men had to say...

JK!!! Time for a Snuggie ice cream date with myself!

ribbons and potions and chinos (oh my)

Costco, you create the weirdest little potions and then sell them in weird little two ounce bottles and I'm not talking about weird little lysergic acid diethylamide; rather, I'm talking about 5-hour energy shots that aren't called "5-Hour Energy Shots" because apparently that's a brand and Russell Brand is dating WHO?!

Who or whom? Whom cares. Folks, the above paragraph is basically a parody of my writing. I know. Except there were no parenthetical statements! And that is a Meghan Classic. Is "Meghan Classic" a brand? Well, it will be. It will one day be a company that sells chinos and loafers and blue and white striped beach towels that you can take with you on your summer vacation to the Hamptons. Yes, order yours now through MeghanClassic.org. Oh yeah, and it will be a non-profit company. PSYCH. It will be all-for-profit. Prophets stand on the corner, not behind the pulpit.

Something is in the air. Summer was very strange and lonely and hot as hell. Fall and winter is going to be full of creation and invention and something else I can't mention because... Well, just because. I hate being vague! But I love it. I hate contradicting myself! But I love it. Keeps people guessing. I hate guesses, I love knowing. I hate knowing, I love un-learning. I actually do hate "-ing" words most of the time, although you'd never be able to guess. Why would you even try to guess in the first place? Here's a first place ribbon for being a guesser. There. Is that what you want? Some kind of ribbon?

Ribbon? But I hardly know him!

arrive

I woke up, naturally, at 7:20am. Whaaa?! I know. Meditated, ate breakfast, drank tea, and then drove my sweet self to the Tibetan Buddhist temple less than two miles away. I, along with five teenagers and one older man, sat in the temple and chanted and recited and sat and listened and maybe even slightly bowed a few times. I loved it. The lama was kind and helpful and generous. He even asked me when I first arrived if I was a teacher. My ego was successfully stroked! (I've got to keep that ego in check.)

Tibetan Buddhism, to me, is both beautiful and baffling, calming and cluttered. Dualism! That tricky bastard.

So when I first arrive--I have arrived. Ahhh... I feel a peace, an excitement, a drive to claim this as my home... Essentially to grasp on to an identity, a path.

By the end of the service, I am drowsy and have to pee. And how wonderful is that? It's genuinely wonderful--to go from a semi-fantasy world of projection and attachment to this world, here and now, this world that is full of droopy eyelids and incredibly small bladders.

But there's still a restlessness. There's still a longing for a consistent spiritual practice, one that I can dive into and dig deep. Maybe I'll always be a searcher. I think all of us are always searching, some just recognize it more than others--and some also have hang-ups about being a "chronic searcher." Am I speaking of myself? I just might be, which is interesting. It's interesting because I have always thought of myself as a proud "Not All Who Wander Are Lost" pin-wearing member, something with which I completely agree... just for other people and not for myself.

Why so much pressure on myself to find a permanent path? I know there's no such thing. It might boil down to my desire for stability. So be it.

So maybe I just find a path and stick with it? No spiritual traditions (aka religions) are "perfect," solely (pun?) because they are the creation of man, and man is fallible.

What I am trying to say is that I cannot expect to be in a blissed out state 24/7--probably not even for five minutes. There might be a 30 second window in any given day when one can feel "blissed out," but that's about it--and it's usually due to a perfectly ripe avocado or the sudden kick of caffeine when it enters the bloodstream. But then that's it.

Life resumes and the mundane dominates. This is fine, this is not worth trying to change. Enlightenment arises from the everyday activities that have become so "normal" that they are almost invisible, forgettable. Yet if we pay attention, if we lean in, we can begin to see the beginning-less universe in each tiny detail, in each seemingly insignificant event.

And this is our spiritual path: To notice the miracle in the moment.

Let the heart, mind, body, and soul wander. The wonders of the heavens are just waiting to be stumbled upon.

back

Well well well.

I know. It's been almost four months. FOUR. I have never been that disconnected from my writing for that long.

Or from myself. I'm feeling rusty.

Lighthearted side note: The word "rusty" reminds me of that recurring character on Full House named, well, Rusty. His mom was dating Danny. She worked at a dry cleaners or something. He was a trickster. "Trickster" reminds me of "coyote," which reminds me of how much I ache for the open, barren landscape of the desert. I consider the desert the hip bone to my body and lately my hips have been hurting. WHICH REMINDS ME of that one Full House episode when DJ (Donna Jo) develops an eating disorder (not recurring, oddly enough) and collapses at the gym while cycling like a maniac. Ya gotta eat that sandwich and not just feed it to Comet when no one's looking, Deej!

So I'm back. Are you still there?