Monday, September 12, 2011
Posted by Maggie May Labels: enlightenment and other pursuits of the modern suburban housewife
Everything I want to know I might already have learned and forgotten over and over and over.
It's incredibly frustrating.
I remember reading once that Scorpios- me, I'm Nov. 10th- go through periods of intense withdraw and transformation throughout their lives. I do, I do, I do. I drink and drink and drink until I am so full of the world that my eyes are drunk and sick and I am spinning and miserable and then there is a volcanic shift, always painful, sometimes dangerous, and I am stepping fresh from the fire like a daisy never burnt. It's slightly romantic. It's definitely productive for my writings. It's hard on my relationships- my husband, my children. It's hard on me. It's childish.
The phrase Mr. Curry and I mock and yet use because of it's inevitability: It is what it is. And what it is is when you take a Scorpio child, a writer by DNA and by sensibility, and then you add a terrifying Father and painful childhood, and you get The Pirate Queen. That's the name of my poem novel. It's all done. I'm waiting for a cover from someone wonderful. If he's reading, no pressure. Ha!!! I can't apply that to myself in the slightest. No pressure. No pressure. Like oxygen for me. I spend much of my life trying to relieve the constant pressure in my soul. Buddhism says that this is the path of the un-enlightened. That we experience only isolation, lonliness, worry, fear- interspersed with moments of joy or freedom. Enlightenment is when a person lives inside freedom.
Why don't we all spend all our time trying to be enlightened?
I can't answer, it's too embarrassing. The answer is I'm too busy trying to remember to take my vitamins. Or floss. Or sign Lola's homework sheet. You know. Life, or my version of it.
I spent a year of my life learning about Buddhism once, and practicing, and meditating, and I was the best version of myself I'd known in a long time- maybe ever- but I can't stay. I can't keep.
After a baby I am an other for a year, maybe two. Yes, two. For two, I'm not of. I'm other.
This post has the most I's of any post I've written in a long time. iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
I'm sick of I.
If there's anything else I want to say, I don't want to hear about it!
I'm going to dedicate myself for one entire more year to meditation and .. you know, other enlightening stuff.
I mean it.