Life of Wry

Photo has no connection to my comments.  It’s the flower that was in the vase on the dining room table in Dillon Beach.  Intoxicatingly heavenly smell.  Common flower, just don’t know what it’s called.  Photo credit: Jim.

Hi. Feeling a little aimless at the moment.  Thinking about much.  Dipping my cup into the flow, I come out with a cup full of random thoughts, though not uninteresting.  Pouring it out here: Just watched a couple of beautiful Ted talks.  One, recommended this morning by David Breaux–my friend compiling a book on compassion–featuring Karen Armstrong, a religious scholar whose charter on compassion is at the heart of the compassion movement (“the compassion movement”?).  It’s a movement that focuses on compassion and suggests that that is the heart of what religion is about.  Rejects religious orthodoxy because it’s self-indulgent guesswork about matters nobody can be certain about and makes people quarrelsome and stupidly sectarian. She says that true religion is about behaving differently, putting values into practice.  Acting, not just studying or spouting. And the root of all religions is, and should be the golden rule.  She talked about the positive expression of the golden rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and the negative expression, equally compelling: don’t do anything to anyone that you would not want done to you.  That is the core, the tora, she says, all else is commentary. She speaks of modern religion, how it’s been hijacked, abused, how modern religion speaks of “believing,” like that’s what it’s all about (only because the golden rule is too hard, truly loving our enemy is also too hard), and it’s become judgmental and hateful, seeking to impose values of hate on others (like dismissing same sex marriage as evil).. all due to ego and greed.  Gross stuff, religion, hypocritical.  We know this. She talks about dethroning ourselves from the center of our world and placing others in that spot instead, that by doing so, by being truly empathic and compassionate, we achieve a peace so strong… Her words, her delivery, brought many tears. The other, a talk I’ve listened to probably 4 times, given by Jill Bolte Taylor a neuro-anatomist, about her experience of having a stroke.  That part is utterly fascinating, but more moving was her conclusion about living in the right brain, not forsaking the left, but learning to trust and excel in the boundless, expansive, ego-free, un-judgmental world of the right brain, and further, that that is where you find the power to love and be truly compassionate. Moved this morning by all that.  Plus thoughts of Nepal and the choice not to go and the reasons, all having to do with Peter and family, good reasons, all the while, Peter is in full pre-teen mode, easy to love, not easy to tolerate.  He just bolted out to a baseball practice after which he’ll attend a casual girl birthday party, I think his first organized–sorta–boy/girl social event, and he struggled with, but rejected advice on, how to present a card and Baskin-Robbins gift certificate, which is fine.  Last words as he ran out: “Don’t come to watch my practice.” Which, of course is all I want to do this afternoon.  My decision to not go to Nepal was loaded.  Would love to write about it.  Would love to write about parenting a teen.  Would love to write about my latest thoughts on writing.  On gaining weight, on rejecting diets, but realizing for the umpteenth time that I cannot shed pounds without a plan, and the plan must be absolute. And all the oft thought but ill conceived ideas about weight, body image, and good fucking god, don’t get me started on that.  On wanting a kitten (which of course has more to do with the reasons we can’t have one, than wanting a kitten, though I need a kitten).  Putting any of these thoughts into a coherent, readable form is too much work for a Sunday morning. So defaulting to stream of consciousness, lazily putting down some of this morning’s random thoughts, all of which have just spilled out of the cup. Drained for now.