Unwrapping the Wild

What writing practice, like Zen practice, does is bring you back to the natural sate of mind, the wilderness of your mind . . . The mind is raw, full of energy, alive and hungry. It does not think in the way we were brought up to think -- well-mannered, congenial. - Natalie Goldberg in Wild Mind.

Day 76. Due to inclement weather I have not pedaled anything for three consecutive days. I can't speak for all cyclists, but this makes my legs twitch. And my mind. And my right eye lid. I could not summon the ovarian fortitude to mount my trainer (er, hum, "ride my indoor bicycle" may be a better way to word that), so my condition appears to be worsening. Hopefully we will ride tomorrow. If my left eye starts to twitch, my vision will probably be affected.

I'm sure it has nothing whatsoever to do with the above, but my dinner this evening consisted of pretzels, popcorn, and chocolate brownie ice cream. I am an eating disorders specialist, if you recall. One would think this would cause mild to moderate cognitive dissonance, but I am feeling none. A bit of gastrointestinal upset perhaps, but no cognitive dissonance. I think we all bump occasional circumstantial catalysts for this type of behavior. I am unable to discern whether planetary alignment, hormonal misalignment, sleep deprivation, one too many episodes of muddy paw cleaning, or a combination thereof is the cause of my malaise. Etiology aside, I feel like crap. I'm noticing a pattern here. Mondays are not my best days. How original.

I am re-reading Natalie Goldberg with passion and connectedness. She is a writer who practices Zen, and I resonate with her in my soul. Reading her ideas on becoming a writer is like the rest time in between sprint intervals. My heart is just returning to a peaceful rhythm, and she revs it back up until it's pumping right through my chest. Inspirational, provocative, energizing. Natalie convinces me I can become a writer while simultaneously reminding me to keep up my zazen practice. I'm pretty sure if we met at a bus stop, we would have a long and stimulating conversation. I'd want to sit by her on the bus.

Noone has written a comment on the blog that says something like, "Every day you must write something brilliant and meaningful and insightful and relevant and applicable and understandable, and respectable and inspirational. Oh, and do that 365 days in a row." Yet most nights I sit down with Monkeys both in my mind and on my back chattering that I must do exactly that. Preferably after a round trip to Nirvana the night before. It's a bit oppressive. I may be able to binge on carbohydrates without cognitive dissonance, but reading Natalie Goldberg and desiring to write from my "Wild Mind" is causing me plenty.

I know there is a wild mind in me somewhere. It's bound by so many layers of bubble wrap I can't seem to access it. I wrap wildness with routine and duty and obligation and ethical adherence and raw, paralyzing fear. I think this same wrap deadens desire and chokes truth. It can make me want to walk away from the table. Instead, I think I'll play the ace up my sleeve: head for the cushion. It's a great way to discover where the wild things are.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc