A 27 Minute Reel

The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing - to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts. - John Keats in the Zen Calendar (January 8, 2002).

Day 282. Dual Peak Experiences! This morning after I poured the last of the milk on my cereal, I happened to glance at the expiration date on the carton as I carried it to the recycle bin. It was dated today - the precise day I finished the milk! Hang on, it gets even better. I opened my checkbook to write a check for the lawn guy, who is broke and sent a text asking if he could scalp my lawn and bag the leaves. I was dating the check, and noticed that today is "11/11." Then I looked at the check number. Yup, believe it!! Check Number 1111! Couldn't be going to a nicer guy. A college kid with depressive tendencies who apparently relies on my business to pay his rent. Symmetry rocks.

I have an entire blog clanging around in my head, and the one DramaRama friend in my life has just appeared on my doorstep. I will briefly interrupt this post to go make nurturing noises. They may sound a little forced, as I saw nine clients today. No worries. Sometimes my pool of Loving Kindness runs exceedingly deep.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc

To continue . . . .

While listening to NPR today, I heard a portion of a show featuring Linda Berry, a cartoonist speaking on the importance of writing and drawing by hand, rather than composing at a screen. She had the kind of dry, sarcastic humor that absolutely captures realities of the human condition. While explaining how putting a pencil, pen, or brush to paper results in writing that might never be produced at a keyboard, she emphasized the hazards of the Delete button, noting that it provides a writer with a method for eradicating imperfect prose that is too expedient. She went on to say, "If I could delete all the moments in my live I am unsure of, my reel would be about 27 minutes long."

I grabbed the pen I handily keep in my car door, and jotted down the quote (after safely pulling into my driveway - I am still dodging karma from the Dumbass post). It made me smile. I began to wonder about the infinite moments in my life over which I might have pressed the Delete button. Most of us have imagined various versions of a "do-over" capacity. Several movies have been made on the subject, in which a gigantic proportion of the yearned for deletions involved alcohol, a best friend, and road trips (not necessarily in that order).

I focused more specifically on the wording of the comment, noting that the moments being considered were "unsure" ones, rather than regretful ones. Interesting that my initial associations about censuring my own life had automatically centered upon memories I regretted. Kissing Lee Hodges and losing my best friend Donna took front and center stage. After reconsidering, it was a relief to determine that, minus the life segments I truly would like to "cut" and not "paste" back anywhere, my reel would still be at least the length of a feature film.

I then reflected upon unsure junctures of the past (almost) half-century. Paradoxically, several things I feel quite certain about splayed across my consciousness. I had the extraordinary good fortune of absolute clarity regarding my profession and career (as though my family life prepared me for anything else). I know in my bones that I am suited for private practice rather than being a cog in a university machine. I am certain I was gifted with the only child in the cosmos I could raise to adulthood without a premature listing on E-Bay. My passion for pedaling is undeniable. I treat the biological etiology of OCD as fact, and believe unerringly that my Monkeys are among the most chatty in the galaxy. I am certain of my zazen practice, and know that if Reality conflicts with my attachment to a certain version of it, Reality trumps me every single time.

Outside of this rather short list, things get pretty shaky. Uncertainty reigns. I don't know why the world is such a proficient incubator of fear. I don't know which relationships are lasting or fleeting. I don't know why feeling states vacillate so much for no apparent reason. I don't know if I will ever be published, own a laptop, or finish painting my kitchen cabinets. I am vastly uncertain about the purpose of acquiring a bad cold, resplendent with sneezing, precisely two days after a crash left me with agonizingly tender ribs.

Upon reflection, I am grateful that there is no delete button for the Uncertain moments of life. If there were, I fear my reel would last a mere 17 minutes. How spectacular that Reality just keeps spinning out moments, one after the other, that cannot be undone.

Gassho for the Second Time,
CycleBuddhaDoc