Falling Off the Ground

Last night I took myself outside after two failed attempts to nap. (I’ve been battling a head cold for about three days already. It’s been quite the roller coaster and I’ve been craving rest.) It was around dusk and I decided to untangle some of my Morning Glory vines and encourage them in new, specific directions. After that was done, with my laptop at our sun table I decided to do anything online except school work. This made me feel lonely, so I texted The Best and reminded him that he hadn’t left his room since coming home and that his nicotine levels were surely running low. (“Don’t you have to come outside for a breath of fresh air soon?”) Sure enough, he had joined me outside within 5 minutes. A short while later I found myself out at our sidewalk, sitting and staring at the dark sky. I watched the stars while suspended in Navasana (boat pose). This led to sprawling out on the sidewalk – which actually is a much better way to watch the stars.

While I was still really young my father taught me how to see the stars move. It’s one of my all-time favorite things to have learned in this life so far and having been given that wisdom from him makes it even more precious to me. After he’s gone I’ll continue watching stars move with him. The best and I also saw UFOs, no joke.

Resting later in Shavasana (still on the sidewalk), I experienced something cool. I suddenly felt like I was on a ceiling and was looking at a celestial floor. Of course, humans aren’t meant to relax on ceilings, so the celestial floor felt like the better, more natural place to be. I sensed within me a very subtle yearning leave the ceiling for the floor. I found myself practically craving a launch from the pavement I relaxed on and expand into the speckled indigo Everything I saw before me. Usually closing my eyes helps encourage these kinds of expansive experiences, but this time it proved only to limit it – so I kept them open, without blinking, for as long as I was able. In his own way, I think The Best (who joined me on the sidewalk after his nicotine dose) was probably also having a similar experience because he started a conversation about gravity and being thrown out into space.

I’ve said before that when this life is finished and I’m done with this body, I will refuse additional bodily cycles and instead adopt the myriad forms of this planet’s weather system(s). I now suspect that this will not suffice. Even being a part of Earth’s weather is likely to feel too much like still being stuck to the ceiling. Rejoining the aforementioned floor will be far better and I will do it.

Aum Shri Mahaganeshaya Namaha
Aum Shanti

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Zwei bis Sechszehn

I’m perhaps looking too hard, or looking with glasses that are too narrow, but in the chapters I’ve read until now (chapter 2 – chapter 16) I’m not seeing the Dharma my bloggering friend said he saw. As noted already in a prior post, I did see a little “something” in the first chapter, although nothing that I would qualify as dharma. In chapter one, there was certainly something “deeper” that I read into his standing on the chilly hill getting his good-bye before leaving the school against his will. I wouldn’t say that was dharma, though. It was a very human moment and it was sweet to be able to relate to him, but all of that – his preference for actual good-byes and me relating to it – amounts to little more than sympathy/empathy. Not dharma.

Since the first chapter, I’ve been mostly thoroughly entertained – mostly. Much of this book has proven to be little more than rambling, which is something I’m good at, although it’s not usually appreciated by most people. This characteristic of the books kind of makes me wonder how it gained such popularity. I also appreciate Holden’s thought shapes. He’s a typical human of his variety. And, truth be told, all generational jargon aside, his thought speech isn’t too unlike my own. In fact, I have found myself giggling out loud because some of his words or reactions are totally my own.

In these first sixteen chapters, though, he’s mentioned how one thing or another depresses him or makes him sad. The oddest things, he claims, make him depressed. I’m suspecting this might be attributed to a generational difference in the use of the word. Same goes with his use of the word lousy. Beyond my attention to the language used in this writing – something I do with all things I read – I haven’t found much to keep my attention.

Literally, not much at all has happened in the first sixteen chapters. I mean, sure, he’s been lectured by the teacher, slugged in the face by his old dorm mate, got a hotel room and got into a scuffle over a hooker, and then walked around the city debating all the people he’d like to call but not really as he’s on his way to a date he regretting setting even before he set it – but that’s not really much for SIXTEEN chapters, especially in the context that most of those things being mentioned are mostly only mentioned for him to detail how he felt about them, which is literally a recycling of the same glass-half-empty outlook. As much as this book has been read, I can’t help but wonder if I’m missing something.

I’m amused at how much he smokes. His breath and lung capacity surely both suck. I think cigarettes were made differently back then. Probably less additives, but just as bad for your health.

Om Shanti