so here I am and I am here and I say yes:
I allow what is and I roll with what gives,
I say yes because I am here and I say yes,
not because I want to change the world,
or to change the people of the world, no
I say yes because I’m here and life is yes,
life is yes and so I say yes: simple as that,
I take what life gives and I give what life
takes, yes: I say yes because even if it is
a goddamn mess, in the end, life is a yes
Cage fighters often state in interviews that no matter who their opponent is—whether they like them as a person or not: they still have tremendous respect for each of them simply because of the fact that they are willing to step into the cage and literally put it all on the line in front of the whole world.
And this seems reasonable indeed. What I don’t understand is why don’t we all relate to each other like this by default.
Granted, not all of us deliberately cut weight to weigh in and face off and take the fight on, but one way or another all of us are involved in it—we are all equally exposed to the elements of the blunt and unsparing arena of life:
We are all fighting pitiless demons haunting our mind and our soul and we are all subject to the vagaries of available resources and to the inevitable degenerative processes ailing our flesh.
With or without much grace: We all fight the little battles that day by day we are called on to face.
There’s a small balcony here, the door is open and I can see the lights of the cars on the Harbor Freeway south, they never stop, that roll of lights, on and on. All those people. What are they doing? What are they thinking? We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing. (Charles Bukowski)
Contemplate the totality of the fruits borne by the tree of life.
The art of navel-gazing is a pretty looked down upon (clumsy pun half-intended) and underrated activity. To collect the lint that occasionally builds up in it. To ponder the intricate ridges in the bowl of its crater.
For is there a better reminder of our fundamental wholeness and oneness with all Being: than that seal of umbilical cut in the middle of our body?
The origo of our being.
No wonder I find there is a tension right around that area whenever I am emotionally cringing or begin another episode of compulsive bingeing.
But as I ’relax into’ my belly-button and ’feel’ from there, and ’perceive’ the moment right from there: the tension in fact almost invariably abates.
Also, next time you engage someone: try and relate to them as if right from your belly-button. Perceive from your origo.
Stop more often to contemplate your navel—is all I’m saying.
What Nassim Taleb says about the way ’’experts’’ treat Black Swan events reflects how our own ego or psychological self, in essence, operates: by claiming ownership of all that happens to us in our lives in retrospect—retroactively framing and rationalizing all of it.
- How do you know that your need to be proactive—contra being listless and apathetic—doesn’t, in fact, derive from a reaction to an emotion—of inferiority, of insecurity, of existential dread, etc.—that you are, as you say, addicted to?
- Is a state of (adrenaline-induced) exhilaration any more ’enlightened’ than wallowing in a torpid state of apathy?
- Isn’t there a place beyond (in front of) the dips and spikes of mental-emotional states?
I’d say ’in front of’ because when you integrate and transcend a developmental stage: you do not advance and move beyond something, but rather you let go of something or, to be more precise, the clutches of that thing let go—and what previously functioned as part of the background [of consciousness], now becomes part of the foreground. It’s an uncoiling that takes place, actually, not a spiraling.
Also: regarding success and so-called success barriers.
What if we have success barriers because of a deeper intuition we have? What if we feel unworthy and undeserving of stuff because deep down we know that we do not need that stuff?
Clearly, it’s not things that matter (the Perfect 10, the Porsche 911, the fancy crib) but the sentiment we project onto these things. So long as we buy into the idea of success, there’ll be things that we place high on a pedestal and against which we position ourselves as separate from and less than: as someone who’s not there yet. So long as abundance is conceived of as some form of material and inter-personal wealth or capital, it is a poor measure of success: True success is a freedom from the need for anything more than what’s already given. It’s not what you have that makes you feel abundant, but the number of things you don’t need.
but then again: I stand still to be corrected. . .