Cloister Commentary, Day 205: Busy Doin’ Nuthin’

Do you have trouble doing nothing? I do. Even when under the guidance of the seldom-wrong Thich Nhat Hanh, I feel guilty if I am not “working on something.” In addition, continuity is very important to me; if I don’t get a running start and a few laps in, I feel I will not get whatever I’m trying to do satisfactorily accomplished. However, yesterday morning I was actually successful in just cooling down my attitude inertia: I drank coffee with some Irish creme, chomped on a bagel, read the paper, and took a nice nap. Now, that seems like I actually did a couple of things right there, but those don’t count.

The afternoon was a little different. I excitedly fixed the massive tagging problem presented by a set of digital albums a friend shared with me, Nicole and I Zoomed first with mom, my brother, and his lady then with members of our Facebook group the Flying Saucer Landing Pad Support Group, which is what it says it is. But even those I did not lock into. More accurately, I drifted into and out of them.

Later, I fell asleep watching grass grow (aka watching a baseball game) and woke up to find a piece of Ghirardelli chocolate balancing on my chest. That was my cue to finish watching the Watchmen film.

I think Thay would give me a little credit for inching toward being still. A little.

Streaming for Strivers:

This is one talented Fela. Sorry…

Cloister Commentary, Day 79: Mud and Lotuses

Here’s what pisses me off about me.

I was reading Thich Nhat Hanh’s No Mud, No Lotus, which primarily looks at the fact that suffering and happiness are essential to each other’s existence, and reached a passage where he suggests that, in the midst of suffering, as an alternative to despair or anger, breathing in and reminding yourself of the miraculous wells of happiness within you, still at your behest, like sight. Sounds simple–that’s TNH!–but he’s right, and you don’t have to deny your suffering doing so: rather you can sit with it. This really appealed to me, because I have been suffering from loss, but I can also blow up small incidents of aggravation into states of mind and sensation that feel like suffering, and lose my sense of proportion (another thing that pisses me off about me: wait til you see the “suffering” in the next ‘graf!).

Ok, so RIGHT AFTER READING THE ABOVE PASSAGE, with a new tool to use, I went out to meet the mail carrier. Two packages were due to arrive, and a package that we’d missed still hadn’t been redelivered after several days, so I wanted to see if she knew anything about it. I was standing at the end of the driveway waiting for her–and she suddenly put the pedal to the metal and blew right by me, down to the end of the block, and exited the neighborhood! Simmering, I quietly stomped back in the house to help Nicole brush out Louis. He has to wear a harness around the clock because he’s unpredictable, and it had to come off for full grooming. Try as I might, I could not get the harness back on the hound properly, and, whipping it down on the floor at Nicole’s feet, I just LOST IT! “F—k it, I can’t DO THIS!!! Where was the DAMN MAIL CARRIER GOING?!!! ARGHHYEAA$@#%!!” Near-hysteria.

So much for Thich Nhat Hanh’s wisdom. Turns out the mail carrier had just gotten a call that another carrier had to be immediately relieved due to heat exhaustion. And how ’bout that “suffering,” eh?

After a few Budweisers–where DID I put that copy of No Mud, No Lotus?–and a great dinner of spaghet, I sat with my bride in the front room in the dark for a couple of hours listening to our favorite songs on about 7, most but not all with social justice themes: “Uncloudy Day,” “Bernadette,” “Only a Pawn in Their Game,” “Can’t Truss It,” “Typical American,” “The Great Compromise,” “East Texas Red,” “Making History,” “What a Diff’rence A Day Makes,” “Free Your Mind and Your Ass WILL Follow,” “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud),” “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).” I wish we could be out on the streets, but I suppose they also serve who only stand and wait. Of course, Milton was going blind when he wrote that.

Streaming for Strivers:

Speaking of the protesters? It is no mystery: they’re…