Lately I don’t write. I’ve been waiting for something new to say. Even my insights are old. I’ve had them before but forgotten them. Sort of..
Maybe the most important things need to be said again and again but I am bored and tired of repeating myself, tired of life repeating itself. Inside I feel a quiet sadness. I begin to get up with an idea in mind; a task, project, or chore, but then-sit down again. It seems that so much of my life is about distracting myself from the discomfort that comes when I sit quietly doing nothing. This is the hard thing. Just to sit.
Retired I have time to do what ever I choose. In the past my drive was always to have fun and make myself happy by obtaining pleasures. So many things are enjoyable: travel, social interaction, making or viewing art, music...reading a good work of fiction or a poignant poem. A delicious meal. Sex. Animated conversation improvised with another. All forms of entertainment. Working..working out.., writing.
Being a father has been the most demanding and satisfying experience of my life. My heart feels filled when I think of either Sam or Ben. But they are on their ways to their own futures and I must reinvent meaning and purpose to my life. So much of which has been devoted to self growth, healing, awareness, the journey to awaken spiritually and develop the ability to hear clearly what spirit wants me to do which in turn will fulfill my souls longings. I need to feel like I am contributing to the well being of others. And not just in the kind and warm ways in which I interact peaceably with people, but in something, some product or service I can provide. There are no shoulds yet I want to feel some passion. I want to feel enthusiastic about life, about my own life and create a purpose to strive toward. Maybe helping to teach others how to love themselves. This could be my goal and they say we teach what we need to learn. I want to do something worthwhile that benefits others. Is writing this...that?
Is this loving myself right now, this taking of the time to unfold my thoughts and ponder my direction. If I really lean into this malaise I can feel more deeply, the sadness underlying it. I can see the person I wish to be. What keeps me from choosing to be that person full time instead of randomly erratically. What am I afraid of?
I have always opted for leaving my self a way of opting out. When the going gets tough I often go another way. I have rarely made more than a brief commitment, heart and soul. Perhaps it not in my cards to know clearly what the driving force in my life is. Maybe I am meant to wander and wonder aimlessly until the fat lady sings and takes me to her eternal bosom. One thing that I do know is that I do not know or I am not willing to choose any long term goal. Have I ever? When was the last time I engaged myself ferociously in challenging myself in a way that requires the discipline to come back to the work, whatever it is until the work is done? Don’t know. Well, maybe I do. I am committed to the seeking, to this idea of prospecting for unknown untold treasures that somewhere await me. It sounds like a fools errand; the musk ox searching for the scent which comes from itself.
I am the victim of my uncertainty but also the perpetrator. . I have bouts of despair but I have learned ways of getting away from that. There are a thousand different ways to busy myself. As Rumi has said, there are hundreds of ways to serve God, many ways to pray. It occurs to me I’m praying now.
In serving myself I must serve a greater power and have a greater purpose than simply obtaining the next enjoyment in my life. Sometimes, nothing is the hardest thing to do. To sit and notice the relentless formation of thoughts that slide and swirl through my awareness. All this noise. If it would only cease for a few moments, I could be with, connect with that bird on the fence who appears to be doing...nothing.
