No-Thing #42
"I think I'd probably tell you that it's easier to desire and pursue the attention of tens of millions of total strangers than it is to accept the love and loyalty of the people closest to us."
---William Gibson
I've been away from "home" for the entire month of August so far. Staying in other people's homes is confusing and being charged with the constant care of their pets is at times overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to do it. Animals can't lie, and the love they give is so pure and fills the empty space in me. There is a lot of empty space in me. I can use all the help I can get filling it.
My biggest struggle in this life has and will forever be my inability to believe that anything good or just is something I'm worthy to receive. I don't take praise well. I don't take kindnesses well. I don't take attention well. That whole "two wolves inside of you" thing? Both of my wolves are lone, and both of them want to stay just beyond the treeline, out of view and unknown, but as a shadowy presence felt/possibly feared, but mostly, and importantly, ignored.
Being perceived is when I'm at my most uncomfortable. Obviously, I'd like to be seen in some way, or else I wouldn't be doing this. Respect is a thing I desire on a deeper and most secret level, but only from those I have respect for, kind of like a head nod on the street thing. I don't want to be seen by the people who have hurt me or can/will eventually hurt me, I'd much rather they stay in their own worlds and leave me to mine. That's a big ask in a world hyper-connected through spacephones and social media. A big ask in a world where we really do need other people to get through it all, no matter how much we[I] hate to admit.
******
Over the last few days I've been "dealing" with the same handful of mentally unwell folks in the area where I walk dogs and the violence/acting out from them is escalating. This city---fuck, this entire world, really---doesn't do enough to help distressed people with no options, and that kind of stress is why we end up with people on the streets throwing rocks/bottles at people/dogs on the regular. We got money for wars, but no money for the folks who need it the most.
I got popped in the head with a bottle the other night while walking a big dopey standard poodle, on 4th Avenue in Park Slope, of all fucking places. Thankfully, the bottle bounced off my stupid skull before hitting the pavement and then shattering. The guy who threw it waited until we'd crossed paths and the dog and I had put some distance between us before hurling it at the back of me like a coward. After I made sure the dog wasn't injured and I turned to face the guy, he was muttering all manner of dumb and angry shit that had fuck all to do with me or the dog, and I just stared at him until he started shouting and then I turned and walked the dog the opposite direction. Upsetting as it was, I'm just glad the dog wasn't injured.
I'll reiterate: ain't no-thing worth the peace I've fought so hard to attain. Not even some unwell dickhead throwing bottles.
People are fucking wild. Stay aware and stay kind.
******
A brief observation about humans: in my experience, any one of us is capable of great and terrible harm. Even the most grounded and present human can wreck another with a casual remark, and I've been on both ends of that action. Do I believe people do shit like this on purpose? Of course they do, people are fucking cruel. But that doesn't mean everyone intends to be hurtful, sometimes it's just someone not realizing they're using their inside voice outwardly and then dumb and ugly words float out of their mouth and right smack into the middle of someone else's insecurities and broken heart.
Mindfulness is a lot of work, but not being a dick should be pretty simple.
******
I know a lot of dead people.
******
A lot of the time when I'm putting in the miles walking the dogs, the movie on the inside of my brain is just like a poorly-tracked and worn VHS tape of happenings that happened. Conversations with former friends/partners/drinking pals/nemeses. There are times when my body is angry at what it's doing and the volume gets real loud, like my heartbeat ends up in the roof of my mouth and my fingers get hot and nervey. I just keep cranking away, because the black hole sure ain't going to stop churning, so why should I? The electric current zapping around has to be some sort of sign or warning. I don't know, I'm just an animal looking for a home, right?
The last couple of days my legs have felt like there's something about to snap. My toes on my right foot went bright light and then numb earlier today, but I kept it moving. I've got some time off coming this weekend, and I'm going to hide under a bed like a dying cat and see what comes for me. Probably no-thing.
******
Trying my best at all times to practice vipaśyanā---to allow myself the grace to accept/see what is hidden but also present---and it proves difficult when caught in the cycle of living paycheck-to-payday loan-to partial paycheck due to payday loan. This isn't just me, and I'm aware, but, fuck me, how does anyone make enough to shuffle their way into death at a ripe age and not an early exit due to the stressors of this physical realm, right? This whole capitalism thing really fucks up my spiritual pursuits.
I've joked before about ditching it all and just showing up at the door to a monastery and asking to come inside and promising to be a dutiful and loyal student just to get away from all of this other shit and really let go. I don't know how much longer this will be a joke.
My heart hurts.
******
Tonight I've been struggling with some emotional stuff that's surfacing and I'm doing my best to try and stay within my decaying body and not let it run the show. The problem with this is that when emotional stuff starts to uncoil inside of me, my body manifests all these symptoms that remind me of the heart attack I had that killed me, and then I'm sitting here in the dark checking my pulse and my respiration over and over again when what I should be doing is sleeping. The problem with sleeping when this emotional stuff starts churning is that I become convinced that if I go to sleep, I'm not going to wake up and my roommates won't clock that I'm dead for a few days and everything will be my fault and I've ruined shit for everyone.
What this really means, is that this election needs to hurry up and be done so I can figure out if I can afford health insurance and get back on the medications that used to help regulate all these faults in my system. Problem with that is that I don't trust anyone to do right by any of us. At all.
I just think I'm tired, is all. I've clocked over six hundred thousand steps in August alone. My body wants me to stop for a bit.
******
No-thing more to report.
Stay.