Greed is life best and worst trait. I watch it constantly seek more and feel torn apart by its relentlessness. I watch it turn yet another corner and I am in awe at the fact that the building we are squaring has more than four sides.
Whenever I encounter one, I am reminded that life is an infinite source of beauty. And that reminder is ever too frequent and poignant because I always forget. Inwardly focused, I seek for unchanging familiar bits that give me a torturing handle of opportunity.
It’s Friday and this week was bleak. It first started with me being sick. Monday saw me lying in bed all day, snoozing in and out of consciousness. But being sick is both a curse and a blessing. It allow you to hit reset on all fronts. You can game over and, after some waiting, start anew. When I was very sick, on Monday, I spent long interval on time doing nothing, in bed, neither sleeping nor moving.
I have a strange taste for purely doing nothing. I don’t really know how to name this activity. Being alive and not lively, giving up any attempt at moulding substance and letting go of any reaction. I find beauty and pleasure in the purity of this act. Few things feel as pure and complete as abandonment to disengagement. I think I even got better at it during the years, if I can say that. It has definitely gotten purer.
Yikes to the fact that that sicken sickness sneaked into my other days crumbs of physical precariousness. Wednesday I pained when breathing. One nostril was too full and the other was too barren. This glitchy sensitivity irritated me and irremediably polluted the grounding calmness of Monday’s pure abandonment. The result was an alternate current of calm and irritation, which made me neither calm nor irritated overall, but both throughout.
This week also saw me writing down my values in an unprecedented preciseness. It wasn’t me, by the way, who took the initiative. My guide tasked me to do so. My guide is good, and their guide is very good too. Writing values when guided by experts in values is pleasantly smooth. Like a mellow song that cuts through the quiet night. The pleasure of witnessing expertise is golden, and that of being guided by it takes us to a whole new level of jazz. I was going to say that quality infuses are the best drinks.
But then again, life is so greedy and it annoys me how I cannot stop mentioning the few brand new things that it just bought during the last sale. Quality for example. People say that quality comes at a price, but the notion of it made itself explicitly known to me on December 17th, 2021 and I can hardly take my eyes off of it. How long will this last though? When will be it before the next product drops? And then what? Will Quality become like all those old friends I have scattered around the world that I rarely message and even more rarely hear about?
Zen preaches silence, so I talk to walls. I write to walls, like this black one. I have defences in place against being myself. I meet them Friday morning. They were pretty weakened and looked like they were falling apart. But they are still there and unabashedly being oneself remains scary. Oh, and you may have noticed that my distaste for the greediness of life is one such defence. I am greedy by virtue of being alive. I am the one constantly stranding to new shores and meeting new characters, and I feel scared of this.
But being scared of oneself is like walking away from one’s shadow. You can’t go that far, can you? And so those defences weaken every passing day. And if we are lucky, they fumble down before we still have some quality years to spend with ourselves and those that are interested in that. If I am lucky, those defences don’t crowd out many of my weeks like they did this time. But I ain’t no lucky and here I am writing to this black wall about the defences I have against being myself and my crushing into them on one bleak sick week.
On Friday some of those defences came down and I made a pie and had a swim. Both were pretty epic. My pie was blue and turquoise and aquamarine and I made it move round round with my elegant codes. My swim was transparent and chlorine and the humans around me were as beautiful as dolphins and probably a little more, especially the fast-pacing girls which I needed not to run behind.
So many humans can do and make so many beautiful things and sometimes I cannot help but looking at them and comparing, comparing round and round the things they make and they things I make and feeling sad. But that round and round comparing doesn’t seem to be a high-quality thing to make. Is pretty cheap and repetitive. Is funny because is true. When I am crowding out comparing, I am most definitely, in the moment of comparing, the lesser and loser one. When I am not, even if I am not, I am not. As simple as that.
And if you have noticed, here is another defence against being myself. Comp-airing, comparing. The art of averaging out humans in labels and boxes, so that we can have a good motivating excuse for rejecting who we are and is present. This wears down too. Life is a greedy potluck that wants to see new places and meet new friends. The labels and the boxes are quickly brown and boring.
Yesterday night we watched Schindler’s list. I watched this emotional scene at the end where he starts comparing the little wealth he has left with how many more lives he could have saved. Unmovable and in control until that point, he let himself go all of the sudden. For me, the point was not what he was saying but the fact that he was just saying goodbye to his friends and to the bond they had formed around the fact that they were the only humane humans left around him and so he saved their lives. Similarly, if these defences against being myself were and are there, I may as well love this boy and make him happy regardless, since he is the only humane human left of me.