It is Duhkha to observe that for every decision I make, I foreclose all others, for that moment. If I make carrot cake I cannot also make bakhlava. If I become a Tibetan Buddhist I cannot also honestly be a Zen Buddhist. I also cannot be an honest Sufi or Christian, or Jew, or Parsi.
If I chase and win that girl, I cannot then chase and win the other girl. If I read this book I cannot properly also read that book. If I choose to follow this career I cannot also follow that career.
These are pretty obvious observations, but I am trying to reason my way forward.
There is really no Givenness in life. Perhaps that some things hurt and some things feel good, but there are grades of hurting and feeling good. Some things that hurt at the time–like working out–feel good in the long run. Some things that feel good at the time–like marital or relationship infidelity–hurt in the long run much more.
So it is hard to use primary feelings to navigate.
My reason tells me the only way to avoid complete confusion is to have some form of metaphysics, some belief–or educated, operative guess–about how the universe works, as it relates to us, and our souls, if we choose to include that belief.
Within my own metaphysics, the path is love, learning to love, deeply, completely and continually. To love life, to feel wonder often, and to love people.
Towards this end I offer my body and my comfort.
But who am I if and when I start to achieve this goal? What do I have for breakfast? If I do Paleo I can’t do Dean Ornish. If I do intermittent fasting I can’t do the Zone.
I think for happiness there has to be a sort of functional nihilism on some topics, that it, as Bill Murray had it, JUST DOESN’T MATTER.
I think for me part of the issue is chronic overarousal. No matter what I do, some little voice says “why did you do THAT?” It doesn’t matter what I do. There is no correct choice. If I make a decision I hear criticism, and if I don’t make a decision I hear criticism. It’s an internalized voice from my childhood.
On that score I might offer an update. I have learned to sleep reasonably well without alcohol. Nearly all my nighttime adventures have ended. I can have one drink and still sleep, although I do sometimes still have more. I had six beers last night.
And the past two nights have revealed some antique feelings. Two nights ago, I felt the energy of being broken, completely. My pride shattered, my feet shackled, and entering into shame. I think this happened about age 3. I had a strong will, my mother couldn’t stand it, and she broke me the way you break a horse.
I suppose some of this is needed in socializing. You certainly don’t want to appease the 3 year old too much. But proper acculturation–and here we might say indoctrination–teaches both what not to do, and what TO do. That part I was never taught. I was just taught to be silent in the corner, and for many, many years, some part of me has complied. It was just shattered. My core sense of self was shattered. I felt that energy. It has a feeling tone. Feeling it is intrinsically healing.
Last night I felt my fathers profound paranoia. He used to talk of what he called a “bunker mentality”. He more or less locked himself into his home for his last 30 years. He did very little other than watch TV. I felt that energy, because of course to some degree he infected me. I carry his genes.
It’s so hard to see who you are, honestly, deeply.
But my work continues, and it is bearing fruit.
Few ramblings. They help me. They really do.