Ode to an Outlier

All of us are watchers - of television, of time clocks, of traffic on the freeway -- but few are observers. Everyone is looking, not many are seeing. - Peter M. Leschak in the Zen Calendar (May 19, 2003).

Day 258. I feel like a freak. A deviant. An anomaly. A point way off the scatterplot. A mistaken zygote. A being born into the wrong century. I do not belong in this millennium. I identify far too closely with the Bronte sisters and the characters in their novels. My talents at chopping wood and carrying water far exceed my capacity to manipulate apps on tiny little screens.

There is a precipitating factor for my tirade on personal abnormality. I just noticed (after a mere 257 days) the tabs listed at the top of the screen from which I compose my blog. They say things like "Comments" and "Settings" and "Monetize" and "Stats." I clicked on "Stats" and - Voila! In a heartbeat more numbers than my Captain's Garmin after a century ride flickered before my gaze. Statistics on pageviews broken down according to country and specific blog. Pageviews categorized by browser and operating system. Number of views by week, month and all time total. There was a tab summarizing comments on my blog. My brief tour of the "Design" tab floored me with infinite ways to customize colors and fonts and photos and videos and music for my blog. I just want to write some fairly well arranged words and post them. The leap from paper and pen to keyboard and cyberspace was daunting enough. I doubt I'll be clicking on those intimidating tabs any time soon.

There is such irony in the endeavor I've undertaken for this year. I distinctly recall my original investment in a hope that someone might actually read what I write. Though I joked about it, I spent a lot of early cushion time wondering about what the blog would bring (book, personal relationship with Kate Hudson, and movie -- in that order). I was certain I would be involved in intimate correspondence with the innumerable like minded people I met through my insightful meanderings. Enlightenment, Nirvana, and contented bliss awaited me within the next breath. I would lose weight, clean the garage, pay off my debt, quit my day job and change my residence to a stimulating and invigorating locale. World travel and rectifying global suffering were listed at the top of my dance card. Ego, ego, EGO!!

In less than nine months I have simultaneously achieved astonishing change and mundane ordinariness. As to the latter: I'm still typing on a dinosaur; my followers hold at a steady 21 (Gassho to you all!); my garage remains cluttered; my blog screen is black-and-white and photoless; my evenings are spent utterly alone as I agonize over a keyboard followed by sitting still and breathing for 40 minutes; I am not on FaceBook and have never tweeted, twittered, or held a Blackberry. I have not corresponded with a single follower outside the comment box of the blog. Regarding the former: The idea of sitting sessions lasting for 40 minutes used to be terrifying and intimidating; now I plunk down on the cushion each night with nary a twitch. Sometimes the Monkeys are silenced for more than two seconds in a row. I've danced in and out of a sublime connection with Love and The One. For tiny segments of time, my mind or body (never both) have fallen away, leaving no boundaries separating me from the harmonious perfection of the universe. I know what it feels like to be completely void of fear. There are times I feel I've almost touched the face of God.

When I look, sometimes I even see! I see myself retreating even further from the superfluous and indiscreet revelations that appear to comprise modern social infrastructure. I see myself reading poetry rather than superficial reports of everyday activity. I see myself talking less and listening more. I cultivate silence. I say three (or more!) "No's" for every one "Yes." When I give a "Yes," I try to be impeccable in my word. In minuscule increments, I form fewer opinions. Aspirations for the future have yielded to focusing on the moment. I strive for quality in relationships rather than quantity. I am mindful about how I allocate my time. I am much less attached to my version of the outcome of things - including the blog. I haven't thought about Kate Hudson in months. I eat a lot of rice. And I can sit really still.

When I read the former paragraph, it is hard not to conclude that I am evolving myself right out of the realm of social normalcy. Separated from all that is cool. It's lonely sometimes, and then confusing that the loneliness is not particularly bothersome to me. No wonder there are few who read the blog: no sex, little cussing, low drama, minimal conflict (except within myself - the ultimate battlefield), discretion regarding self disclosure, fixation on the ordinary. Not exactly the stuff popular culture brandishes. I am observing that popular culture may not be the mechanism through which our suffering is healed. It makes being a social misfit a bit more bearable. That, and my knowledge that - beneath the pervasive delusion - there is no separation at all.

Gassho,
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