The Dreams That Tear You Apart

Gonna be a twister to blow everything down
That ain't got the faith to stand its ground
Blow away the dreams that tear you apart
Blow away the dreams that break your heart
Blow away the lies that leave you nothing but lost and broken hearted - Bruce Springsteen from "The Promised Land."


Day 229. I returned from a tandem rally tonight. I thought I had plenty to write about. My psyche, however, seems to have twisted into overdrive. I would blame it on hormones, but that old faithful excuse as the etiology for all the ails me doesn't feel applicable tonight. Strange. My endocrine system is usually in such reliable chaos that I can attribute almost everything to it.

I came home from the rally to a traumatized dog. I don't know what got to Ruby, but she has clearly been in a fight with something that wounded her. Physically and emotionally. We left both dogs in the care of the next door neighbor, who couldn't provide detail other than she "heard something" Friday night. It is breaking my heart. In the almost three years that we've had her, Ruby has never been an aggressor, though I suspect she would defend me to her death. The thought of her protecting the house and land without me to protect HER from the trespasser is almost more than I can bear. Will take her to the vet tomorrow. No doubt the external wounds will heal quicker than her amygdala. Same here.

The fact that Ruby's well being brought me to tears, whereas my captain's bad day on the bike Saturday did nothing but enrage me, has left me seriously questioning where on this compassion boat I am currently sailing. We think we ARE many things we are not. We think we are NOT many things we are.

To further complicate my emotional status, I came home to a heart stopping Bruce Springsteen concert on TV. It was filmed during a concert in Barcelona following the release of his album "The Rising." I have seen Bruce three times in concert (all in the U.S.) and, as earth shattering as those performances were, they bore only a trace resemblance to the man in Spain. He was on fire. So was the crowd. Something was stunningly different. Sometimes I believe that Europeans live closer to their souls than we in the U.S. I recognize that is a gross generalization. Tonight I don't care. I just wish I could see Bruce in Spain.

I must be on my cushion. I don't expect it to soothe or clarify or enlighten or solve anything. It's just the least worst place to be when my heart is broken.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc