The Mask

A recent (2012) photograph by me of a 1970's
drawing by me of a 1960's photograph
of me with my cat in the dryer

This post is about conflict.

The conflict I felt when my mom wanted to take back the stereo she had just given me, which I didn't want, but had accepted so that she would get rid of it. Irritation at nothing, at air, at air acting the way air acts. She assured me if she didn't use it she'd remember to give it to me later. I assured her she would not remember. Why? Why be so linear? Why start a sword fight with a windmill?

I left San Francisco motivated to be kind, to see behind the masks. George Orwell: He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it. People do stuff, they can't help themselves, they want something. We want something, we grasp, harden, soften, loosen, tighten, half the time not knowing why, what's underneath. There's confusion behind a lot of what we do. So I resolved to try for a time not to be so deeply distracted by appearances. To look beyond the mask and see that compassion is the only sensible response.

...And then the internal conflict about applying for SSDI (social security) which I finally did yesterday. Do I really want to? Am I sick enough? Will they give it to me? What if they don't? Why didn't I apply earlier? Because I thought I would be, at this point, either very well, or very sick. I didn't consider other scenarios, nor did they occur to me, even once. Yes or no. Yes or no.

My mom's hands, a few days ago

...And seeing how I use food for comfort...for something that is not technically what it is for. The conflict is some sense of, it shouldn't - I shouldn't - be this way.

...And always, I should meditate more. Especially lately, feeling disconnected from my formal sitting practice. Shoulda coulda woulda.

Conflict is painful, and yet trying to get rid of conflict is to add another layer of pain.  In a way, trying to be kind makes not being kind more painful. And that's ok too.

The kindness that I cultivate for others must also apply to my own failures, my own confusion, my own irritation, my own losing of my way...

I would like to edit this more and write more, but I must leave now for a week's meditation retreat up in Marin county.

"Through Love all pain will turn to medicine." Rumi