Assaultive Debirs

Modern civilization is largely devoted to the pursuit of the cult of delusion. There is no general information about the nature of mind. It is hardly ever written about by writers or intellectuals; modern philosophers do not speak of it directly; the majority of scientists deny it could possibly be there at all. It plays no part in popular culture; no one sings about it, no one talks about it in plays, and it's not on TV. We are actually educated into believing that nothing is real beyond what we can perceive with our ordinary senses. - Sogyal Rinpoche in the Zen Calendar (March 7, 2006).

We need to find God, and He cannot be found in noise and restlessness. - Mother Teresa in the Zen Calendar (November 15, 2002).

Day 328. I feel horribly worn out. I think Mr. Rinpoche just helped me understand why. He, or Libby, my friend from Pilates, who walked into class last Thursday and said, "Why are there so many people out today who only drive at this time of year?"

I seem to have checked my equanimity at the Dojo door when I exited yesterday. Today felt like I was wearing my nerve endings on the outside of my skin. The world is exquisitely too light, too noisy, too crowded, too busy, too stimulating. I long to be back at the Dojo, contemplating True Nature while staring at the irregularities in the cinder blocks I faced during zazen. I sense a need to tread with caution; I am dangerously close to writing another blog about dumbasses. Though I suspect the cause of my current disgruntlement derives from within.

Watching Angelina Jolie in "Salt" did not help. Especially in surround sound. My amygdala is filing a formal complaint. I have an obsessive yearning to be isolated in a soundproof booth (sight proof? kinesthetic proof? relationship proof? - sounds mysteriously like I am describing Enlightenment) with nothing but a jigsaw puzzle and a coloring book (a toddler level coloring book - nothing that requires detail or fine eye-hand coordination) at my disposable. I cannot recall a time when my body and mind felt this exhausted and depleted. Wait - just thought of one: the days after returning home following my son's ski accident. Which is confusing, because I truly don't think a couple of weeks of heightened holiday activity is on a par with a week alone in the Grand Junction ICU.

Perhaps the incessant Monkey chatter prattling through my brain about the insanity of the "outside" world is wearing on me in a manner comparable to watching blips on a brain monitor. Even when I do my best to avoid the absurdity of TV commercials, traffic, Hollywood action films, conspicuous consumption, electronic devices other than my cell phone (circa 1998), and news delivered via mediums other than NPR or the BBS, it still feels like I am constantly being assaulted with extraneous, abrasive debris. I know I am not the only one feeling this way. But I probably analyze and resent it's deleterious effects on my well-being to a far greater extent than the average consumer.

Simply expressing these few words about the ludicrousness of the world beyond (and within) my skin makes my head pound and my eyes scratchy. I shall stop writing and go in search of that sensory deprivation chamber I long for so excessively. I'll probably take my cushion along with my puzzle and coloring book. Now if I can just shut the chamber door fast enough to keep the Monkeys out.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc