Three days ago I summoned my favourite computer nerd (also amazing friend) on FB to help me with an issue (and also to say hi). Before he would consent to an ichat chat, he asked me first if ashram was over. You see, I had already asked him for help early into ashram. Both times, then and on Friday, he was willing to help, but he equally wanted to support my self-imposed isolation. So, he did what a true friend does: he did both, telling me in no uncertain terms (when he was done fixing my computer problem) that he hoped not to hear from me again until ashram was really and truly done. So, on Friday, I assured him it was mostly done (only a day left), which is probably why he decided it was OK to ask me what I had learned on ashram (after first instructing me to down a large order of burger, fries and Pepsi).
[Thank you jgnly for this beautiful pic!]
If there's one thing that will make me break a rule faster than you can say "rule" (pretty much on the spot) it's a rule. Especially one I make for myself. I won’t tell you all the ways in which I transgressed my own ashram rules because they will probably make you mad. But rest assured I suffered for it. Major guilt.
Which brings me to the next learning, and which comes as no surprise: I suffer from guilt.
Did my daily meditation help me overcome that guilt? Nope. Why not? Well, for the very simple reason that I did not meditate daily. I meditated once at home and once at a meditation centre I was testing out. I didn’t meditate at home because I got distracted by my unfinished book, which has been lacking a final chapter for over a year, so when the final chapter came to me in a flash within the first two days of ashram, I had to capture it. There was no time to meditate. You see that, don’t you?
By the end of week one of ashram, I had broken free to visit with two friends, one of whom was leaving town for a very long time, the other for my own reasons, and talked to two other friends on the phone who were in crisis. In all cases, I felt my decision to interact was far more ashrammy than sticking to isolation.
At the start of week two, however, I re-dug in, or told myself I would, determining to see and talk to no one.
Turns out I didn’t have to work hard to remain isolated because I got outrageously sick, so sick my kidneys hurt. Every day I was sure I’d get better but I got worse. By the end of week two, I began to wonder about the size of my brain because there is no way my cranium has enough room to house all the phlegm I was producing as well as my grey matter.
I am convinced my robot tooth implant is to blame for my worse-than-a-cold/not-as-bad-as-the-flu sickness. Or, more positively put, my body decided that since I was not going to slow down and let my robot tooth heal – I kept up my running routine even through relentless fatigue and robot-tooth pain – my body would simply make an executive decision for me. It got sick severely enough to put me out of commission until I got some rest.
The dumbest thing I did during ashram was step on my scale. I seriously did not need a number to corroborate what last year’s summer clothes are telling me. But sometimes we hope against hope. I guess that just proves I still suffer the samsara of delusion.
The best thing I did during ashram was buy a bike. A folding bike I’ve been coveting ever since riding Abi’s in Berlin last fall.
As most of you know, it pains me no end to part with my money, but two things made me do it. One, I don’t want to become like my renowned family member who only measures a thing’s worth according to its price tag (people included). And, two, because what else am I going to spend my money on, and why can’t I treat myself with some generosity (and you can’t take it with you)?
The colour of my bike makes me happiest of all. When I told the sales guy I’d take the off-white model, he told me it’s called, poetically, “cloud.” Yes, I am a sucker for good marketing. I once almost returned an xmas gift from an ex -- a watch I thought I didn’t like because, as I told the shop gal, the face was baby blue, and I am not a fan of baby blue.
“Baby blue?!” she said incredulously, as if I’d said my watch had taken a dump, “This isn’t baby blue! (you idiot!)”
“It isn’t?” I asked, looking at the colour again in case I had been mistaken, but it still looked baby bluish to me.
“Not even close, ma’am. This is robin’s egg blue!” And with these words she was able to do what my ex was not able to do. Make me fall in love. With my watch.
Ashram successes: My ah-ha moments
I have boundary issues. SURPRISE! That is, I am not good at maintaining mine. Often I share information about myself with family and friends in the hopes that someone will step in and set my mistakes aright so that I don’t have to. I am like one of those participants on HGTV who invites some eager designer into my home to upgrade my look and then I have the audacity to be horrified when I behold my new jungle-themed living room.
Why do I think other people know what's best for me? Here's the thing. I’m 41, goddammit. When will I start owning my decisions? NOW is when. From now on, my decisions, as misguided and clearly-headed-for-disaster as they are, are no longer up for grabs. That’s not to say I won’t share my stories with my friends. I will. I am never going to be the quiet, circumspect girl who hides her neuroses. I wish I was, but that’s just not me. Still, I have decided I will not solicit advice in quite the same way anymore because I think I finally understand that no one really knows what it’s like to be me, in my context, with my heart and mind, just as I really don’t know what’s it's like for others, or even what's best for them (although I have also generously donated my unsolicited advice whenever I have seen an opening. But that will have to stop, too, I’m afraid.) It's time I just walked my own crooked line.
I’ve had this realization before, of course, and I’ve failed to hold my boundaries before, but that’s life. You deak out for a while to regroup and it helps you remember who you are and what’s important to you. This is it for me: boundaries. This is one of my life’s works. I have a few other things to work on in this life, too, but they come in and out of importance depending on my circumstances. I’ll deal with those as necessary.
Finally, one of the best discoveries during ashram was Elliot Smith’s Either/Or album. How is it that NO ONE informed me of this genius before (thank you, jgrnly for informing me now)??????? If you don’t know him or this album in particular, go out and get it (or download it since he's dead)! I can’t begin to describe its perfection. The lyrics and tunes sound like Elliot Smith composed them on that lonely chair, in that wood-paneled basement, with that longing-for-its-master dog.
All it said was, “You are wonderful.” No name. I asked everyone I could think of if they’d sent it, but no one claimed responsibility. And then I realized – duh! – the sender doesn’t want me to know. So, as much as I would like to thank the person, I also know they must know in their heart how much that postcard meant to me. (Even if it’s from a stalker, I don’t care. The sentiment is lovely and I’ll take it, thank you very much!)
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1 comment:
Nicely done. :-) Just one small note concerning your 'guilt.'
I don't know the ins and outs of Ashram, but it appears to be a journey of sorts.
With that, journeys (in whatever their form) are not meant to be perfectly executed the first time through. You may have missed meditation--may have felt guilt over that--but now you know what it's like to miss meditation.
And that makes your journey (of whatever it is you're trying to discover) that much more fulfilling.
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