…and I’m thinking. I do that, you know.
I haven’t been on in a while, so sorry ’bout that. I go through these periods when I can’t write. I feel uninspired of late. A little depressed too, but I am not sure quite why.
Uninspired is probably the best term to describe the whole thing. Depressed has such a deeper and more serious ring to it, and I am not depressed. Well, no more so than usual, no more so than one ought to be realizing how empty the world is in general.
Now when I say empty, I don’t mean empty in the hopeless sense, although there is a measure of hopelessness to it. Truly, I mean empty in the classic Buddhist sense. Well Zen anyway. “Open spaces, nothing holy.” Dust in the wind. Fart in a windstorm. Ever actually fart in a windstorm? The bitch is when your nether air blows by you and you’re reminded how stinky you are inside.
Open spaces, nothing holy. No kidding, huh?
Anyway, back to it. Meditation doesn’t seem to help. But ah! Meditation isn’t supposed to help, is it? Meditation is just sitting. Calm. Empty.
Detached! Oh yes… I am a poor detacher. Even in meditation I grasp desperately. The point, though, is to let things flow past. I do, or I used to do, this act much more skillfully than I do now.
I realize this about me, this grasping I do for things, for concepts, for people. To be loved, to be accepted, to be understood and perhaps appreciated. It’s a habit. I mean, the ego is a habit we picked up as babies, isn’t it? The first friend we have, the last barrier to our freedom. I wrote a poem about that, it’s in Roadside Truckstop, still in progress. I need a cover for that…
(note: I panicked for a second, I knew it was in a book, I couldn’t remember which one. Soooo, I just spent a few minutes reading my shit again. I like me.)
Speaking of which, I am turning now to Roadside Truckstop to add some new material and maybe get it a little closer to done.