infinite/stuff/infinitely stuffed

Stuff.

I am overwhelmed with stuff.

Shopping, buying, consuming, acquiring, dying.

What about giving? Living? Forgiving?

I see others always rushing to the next best thing/place/person, not realizing that the chase is all there is. The destination is a delusion, the future fiction.

So I see this, I acknowledge it in others and I think I understand it on an "intellectual" level, yet I still fully participate in this chaos.

I get hung up, strung out, and I suffer. I anticipate all things good and all things bad without seeing all things around me right then, right at that (THIS) moment.

But maybe the realization that I don't realize is actually a significant realization? Maybe it's a start?

Then again, maybe there is no start, no finish line, just the infinite path that we slip and slide on an infinite amount of times.

brush

"The driest brush burns the fastest," he told me, sipping on scotch.
"Okay," I said, blankly.
Everything but the broken freezer motor paused in the kitchen, as if holding a massive, collective breath.
His eyes broke the silence like a gun. They shot through me and exited out the right side of my skull.
You're such a prick, I thought.
"You're so zen," I said, dumbly.
"I've been left with the crippling task of taking care of you, sugar peanut. Gotta speak your language if you're ever gonna listen."
And then his smirk disguised as concern. The goddamn zen prick.
"So we should probably fix the freezer at some goddamn point," I muttered.
"Such delicate language, sweetie."
He stood up, ruffled my hair, and the distance between us swelled.

loner

"People who live alone generally lead a simpler life. There is only one stomach to fill, they have fewer responsibilities and are free to do what they want. If they are looking for a spiritual path or if they follow one already, they are free to go wherever their quest takes them. All they need is a suitcase and they can stay where they like for as long as they need. Celibacy can be a useful option in the sense that it allows us more freedom and efficiency to devote ourselves to whatever we wish to do." -the Dalai Lama

Amen, Dalai. Amen.

boobs and hoes

In my last post, I mention how much of a "boob" I am at night... So as a Buddhist Boob, I am going to explore my mind. Right now. See why I'm so ho-hum. (Fun fact: I have said "boob" and "ho" in this post.)

On Meg's Mind: A List. Lists: Organizes Things. Things: Do We Have Too Many Things? Questions: We All Ask Them, Right? Right: Or Wrong?

*it's sad when a place you once loved changes - and it's usually the people in the place that change and that makes me think of how we've all lost touch and how I should've/could've been a better friend and how a lot of people could have been better friends to me and how a lot of people that have now taken over this place are really depressed/depressing and how we are all just struggling to be happy, day in and day out

*I feel like I can't say half of what I want to say on this blog because I don't want certain people to worry. Guess that's what journals are for... AND SECRET BLOGS wink wink.

*I pretend that I have been developing loads of self-compassion lately, but I don't think I have. I suppose I am working on it here and there, but for the most part I still fall into my old traps and habits and people and behaviors and obsessions and it makes me downright miserable.

*I miss you. And you. And you you you and you. But I don't miss you, and that makes me sad.

Anyway.

I'm gonna listen to music from 2005 and take a bad trip down Memory Lane. Maybe I'll listen to the rain instead. (I'll just end up watching late night TV while sucking on sugar free mints and feeling guilty about it.)

night fright

Why is it that my nights are oh-so-blue? My days lately have been nearly magical - I feel at peace, I am mindful, I eat wonderful food, I am full of hope and motivation for the future - and then night comes and I am suddenly a lethargic boob. What's up with nighttime being such a sucky time lately? Do you experience anxiety/sadness at night, too?

multitudes

Here is something I say publicly on my blog every four months or so (and in my head multiple times a week): I am a bad friend.

But that's not true. I am actually a fiercely loyal friend when it comes down to it. I have had the same best friend for well over a decade and I am on good terms with all of my childhood friends. Even the friend I had a ginormous falling out with a few years back is now my Facebook pal and we will on occasion message each other nice words.

So I guess I'm not as atrocious of a friend as I think I am in my head. I still feel like I could "be better," though. Isn't that just like me (and probably you and probably everyone else on the watery planet) - always striving to be better be happier be kinder be this be that be more more more.

How about something radical? How about being perfect as is?

I like that. It's not as passive as it may seem. In fact, self-acceptance is quite the opposite of "taking the easy way out." It's a constant struggle. It is facing ugly, vicious, embarrassing sides of yourself and showing those sides - which make up YOU - tenderness. Warmth. A quiet understanding that you are simply trying. And then once you have done that very-not-easy task, perhaps then you can find a friend within yourself.

Yes, I have been a terrible friend - to myself. The love I show to myself is directly linked to the love I show to others. I cannot be attentive and present for anyone at all if I haven't given myself the kind of attention and care I deserve.

My point is that I want to be a better friend to you (and there are many "yous" out there). Desperately. And I know there have been some failings on my part - missed meetings, quick cancellations, forgetful moments - but I assure you that I love each of you. I am going to be working on me for some time, okay? I need to. I need to get to a place where I respect myself again. "I am large, I contain multitudes." May I remember that. May you remember that. May we have patience with one another and with ourselves. We are loved.

indivisible

At the Museum of Natural History
by Bushra Rehman

As we both look up at the Tyrannosaurus Rex
its bones painted black, its danger extinct
I can hear the sounds of children echo
throughout the museum

And we are not afraid this way
to stand a few inches away from each other

We are not afraid because it's over
The Tyrannosaurus Rex does not scare us
We don't scare each other

It's over, the bones are beginning to fade
and bleach in our failure

But if one day someone finds our remains
and decides to lay them right next to each other
will they lay them in their proper ways
will they mix up my hip with yours
will they place the fingers of my hands
on someone else's palms

Will they ever know
this flesh answered the other
that my fingers traveled all over
the empty space around your bones