It’s not Tuesday, but I’m in the mood for strong drink and reckless typing nonetheless. Sometimes you’ve just got to rip your shirt off, bark at the clouds (they’re always moving!), and see who’s left to bark with you.
I get tired tired tired of constantly struggling with my own lackadaisical and haphazard nature that grows the incredible piles of steaming bullshit that eventually come toppling down on my head. Sure, in some areas I’m a model of persistence and devotion. This has been the summer of running. I ran fifteen on Friday, the farthest ever. Tomorrow I’m going to run up a small mountain. I’m going to get that marathon! I’ll have it for breakfast AND lunch on 9/15 since it’ll take me about that long to get through it all.
Most everything else has slipped a bit. Hardly any writing, barely any reading, doing just enough to get by on the freelance projects. I still have the 9-5. My wife still loves me, I think. Of course, she’s in the woods of Denali right now so I’ll have to verify upon her return.
So I’m fed up tonight. I took care of paperwork and other clutter, then cleaned and polished the desk. I turned up the music until it hurt. Now it’s time for strong drink. Alright, I’m now through lamenting life’s minuscule frustrations. Let’s put things in perspective.
I miss my friends and hope they are well. I had a dream about an old friend last night who was killed in Iraq. He was a running buddy in high school and beyond that was one of the most absurdly comical guys I’ve ever known. In the dream he, some other friends and I were swimming in a giant swimming pool. At first I was concerned about the enormity and depth of the pool, it was more like a small, murky lake. The pool was also convexed to a laws of physics defying degree. Travis’s presence somehow put me at ease. He was jumping off giant diving boards and screwing around as I’d expect from him. After bobbing atop the surface for awhile I realized I could hold my breath indefinitely. It was almost as good as flying. Everything was at peace under water and I could see clearly, unlike when I was floating with my head above the surface.
I watched the entire Band of Brothers series over the last five days. Those guys went through some shit. When the actual soldiers, now quite advanced in age, reflected on the deep bonds forged by their mutual suffering, I was reminded of something that is not really comparable. After the long Zen retreats in Nebraska, I felt closer to many of the people I sat with there than people I’ve known my whole life. There’s something about shared suffering in close proximity that truly reveals the essence of a person. Sure, trees weren’t exploding around us from German artillery and none of us were at risk of injury any worse than muscle fatigue and perhaps minor joint strain. Still, we were all dealing with our own personal demons and doing our best to make it through the battlefields of our minds. Once again, not a fair comparison, but hearing the survivors speak of their comrades from the 101st Airborne Division reminded me of my sangha members in Nebraska. I hope they, too, are well.
Life is marked by dissatisfaction, it’s always something isn’t it? Yep, always something. All in all, I still say “pretty good.” Some days I even say “pretty damn good!”
Here I am, filled to the brim.
