I went to a party last night. I spoke with some women who were similar to my self in some ways. First, there was this woman who had lived abroad for some years and returned to the states. She had been interested in drama and studied this in college, had followed a man to Spain and lived there for a number of years. Then she came back to the states for a couple of years before moving to England. In England she had worked for a corporation where she developed integration of diversity into the corporate work place by ( this is my understanding) looking to find people who were not the classic white Englishman but had the same characteristics and responses from people of their culture as and Englishman does within his own, in other cultures. She was looking for the perfect business man type to take the “business man” role of an Englishman within the culture of his/her origin. She studied and looked for personalities in other cultures to take the role of the leader.
I talked to the drama woman about desteni and she listened, but by the end of the night all talk went to her hip replacement. I notice that as the people around me are older ( because my friend is older) that they talk about their bodies and all the “procedures” that they are making. Something about getting to your mid-sixties and the slow focus on health and medication. The “elderly” ( the diminished) are slowly consumed with medication and doctor’s appointments. Then the medications stop working and body continues to diminish and friends and acquaintances start becoming cloistered in their homes because physical movement is too difficult. I am watching this with my parents.
So, I moved from talking about this party and the women I met, to talking about the health obsession and attachments to our present medical system in the “elderly”. I talked with some other women and men as well. And listened to their “facts ” about life and their “obsessions”. I drank three small glasses of wine, which effected my a lot because I don’t drink too much, only the occasional glass of wine. I went outside to get some fresh air and to get away from the people. The night was full of stars. The road was black. I breathed then I became very dizzy from the wine and could not walk too well. So I started to breath and concentrate only on my breath. Now , sometimes when I do this all I see in my self as I shut my eyes is total blackness, a nothingness and I am this. Sometimes I wonder if this is the mind because it reminds me of that one time in my thirties when I woke up in blackness and did not remember my self ( myself the mother of my children, my name, where i came from etc.). I was in blackness and only knew that I was. The “light ” thing appeared in the distance and I moved towards this until the voices from this told me to return. I said no, they were very insistent etc. Eventually, I went back. But my mind as blackness is this same kind of blackness. As I breathed I was this. and I returned to the party ( after I walked into the woods and peed).
Back at the party, I remember wanting to leave because I did not want to talk about doctors and food and “who was who”. So, I left with my friend and went to his house because my son was sleeping over at a boy’s house. ( first we went to walk the dog).
I am writing this post and not finding anything to say. Because, non of this matters.
I just feel like being “blackness’ and breathing. Where am I going? Am I just sad about really trying to change the world? To stop the acts of “impression” taking place at dinners parties, to stop the enslavement to “school” /corporate medical systems?
I talk about health and the body with people but their obsession is so extreme that they cannot see anything else. And so they find others to talk
the “talk” of their physical problems and the medical operations and protocols as dictated to them by the present system and believe that there is no other way. Meanwhile their bodies disintegrate and their problems to not go away. Insanity!
Marco Polo’s discoveries where thought to have been fabricated. Europe did not believe he had done what he said he had done. It was not until the West encountered the East’s historical account of Marco Polo that the west (had to) accepted what Marco Polo had done. ( Someone told me this recently) Pretty embarrassing for the West!
Marco Polo kept sailing and keeping notes. He kept going and his words were eventually accepted.
So, I am here. I am taking notes. I am watching my mind and returning to breath. I am here. I am on a journey of becoming life, and somehow life will be what is here.