SOC Writing_ 22 September 2020

Meaning

Meaning. Meaningless - meaning this. Meditation tells me that if I pay attention to feelings – it robs them of meaning – and thus my capacity to build stories and suffer. Strange, because I think I really like making meaning – and I work with the material of my stories to do this. But fascinated I am with this idea that if I really bore my attention into the feeling – the meaning making machine grinds to a halt. Meaning, so why do I love it so much? Is it really – yes it’s important. And the thing is not to be lost, so lost that the machine of mind and feelings cloud me completely. The clouds arise and depart – their shapes definite for a moment and then off again. Monstrous to medicinal in moments – this is like my mind – so prone to shift – this is like my life – ever shape shifting – does it matter? Does this sort of enquiring shift me, make me a better me? Yes, more capacity to notice, own and notice and own my own bone – the scent that drives me crazy – makes me want to get up and run, yell, thump something – retreat scream inside at myself – cover my face in shame – all these big feelings that the little boy had, or was not a loud to have – inside or outside myself – all these things are tempered by this inside inquiry of consciousness. Consciously still becoming; me. My own fractal of the universe – not abstract but concrete in my own divine way. We are hurtling through space in a spiral around the sun leading us – each planet follows invisibly at great speeds and it all remains constant – remains life giving – has a breath and a heart beat – how and why and what is so new to our small human mind – forest mind, ocean mind, cosmic mind – now there’s intelligence. So centric are we to what we suppose we are – what we suppose it is – the other – and still I go on supposing in the most 10% way of actually having known ever the experience of the other person – Or anything much about this incredible universe of sight sound and strength. Rolled in the carpet of the whole sandwich – wondering why I am getting nowhere but becoming precisely the somewhere I am supposed to be.