Hippyism
Here I am waking up in the late afternoon thinking, what's the point of it all? The same cereal, computers, video games, cars, jobs, money, awkward and monotone younger brother, vain and conventional younger brother, middle-class suburban family life, daily life mediocrity and my perpetual state of feeling lost.
Sometimes it's like thick sludge that I can't shake off.
But today it just so happens that I had an urge to play my meditation tape. It came from an old kit (probably from the 80s) I wrangled up from a garage sale in the suburbs. I started playing it, sat in my room in the dark, and my thoughts were still flying. But eventually the sound of the waterfall put me in a trance and I didn't want it to stop so I sat until the second meditation theme came on. It was a lightning storm and I was absorbed in it for awhile, then began thinking. I let my thoughts float around not paying much attention to the string of words and memories. Most of my thoughts were worries about the future, regrets of the past and guilt plaguing me.
And then it struck me. Everything that has happened is not good or bad. Nothing to regret or feel guilty about or worry about. Just an experience I needed to have, which brought other experiences, a whole interconnected web of experiences. And remembering that again (and again and again ) turned the uncomfortable sludge into a warm soup of relief and awe.
Uncle Joey's Story to Krowe in the book Sperm by Keith Moen
"Once a long time ago, when the Earth was green, there was a young punk who hated his body. In fact he hated it so much that he even thought of getting rid of that water sack. So, he'd drive his body around and rev its engine till it smoked and whined. Drive it over rocks, thump into walls, and never check the oil. He was all dints and scrapes."
"Then one day he bolted fast to try and leave his body behind. He ran as fast as he could and turned every corner. Hoping that at one turn or another, he would hide himself, and his body would fly right on by, and away for good...It just didn't happen. This mad shadow dash brought him as far away as he could from where he started. In fact, from the land of green, to the land of the brown - the desert. The dusty, dry call of Sand pulled the man deep into the dunes, the rolling sea of dust and piercing ball of fire in the sky. Now, not running any more but walking, he walked and walked and walked until he could walk no more. All of his horizons met shimmering sky, no vegetation, no buildings, no life. No water, just taunting heat. His body was completely out of gas. His throat and eyes burnt. He knew that he was beginning to drop that beat up old body, and leave it behind. Except he didn't move forward, or turn around, instead he found himself looking down from above at his crumpled bag-o-bones baking in the searing Sun. And he found something strange in that floating place. Something he thought he'd never find there. He found regret.
"Now the nice thing about regret is that you need a body in order to feel it. Regret needs a pit of a stomach to roll around in. It needs a chest to weigh down. It needs a neck to droop and a forehead to fret. And regret needs an eye to cry...The baking bag-o-bones reached up to regret, regret reached back and they reunited. The searing Sun must have thought this whole scene under his gaze was beautiful, or maybe he took pity on the young punk. Sun began to cry, and cry, and cry and cry. And the body, despite all of its abuse, began to pull off miracles, as bodies do. Did you know? Did you know that skin can drink? Yup. In a matter of minutes it had sucked back enough sky-tears that the young man swelled back into his body like never before.
"THEN a humungous finger of the goddamn-freakin'-divine Prime Minister, I mean, Prime Monster of the Universe came out of the freakin' clouds! The punk wasn't sure if he should be insulted by getting the finger from the PMU, or if he should shake it 'Hey, how ya doing?' Well he decided to follow the point...and it brought him back home. But he didn't run: he walked."
Sometimes it's like thick sludge that I can't shake off.
But today it just so happens that I had an urge to play my meditation tape. It came from an old kit (probably from the 80s) I wrangled up from a garage sale in the suburbs. I started playing it, sat in my room in the dark, and my thoughts were still flying. But eventually the sound of the waterfall put me in a trance and I didn't want it to stop so I sat until the second meditation theme came on. It was a lightning storm and I was absorbed in it for awhile, then began thinking. I let my thoughts float around not paying much attention to the string of words and memories. Most of my thoughts were worries about the future, regrets of the past and guilt plaguing me.
And then it struck me. Everything that has happened is not good or bad. Nothing to regret or feel guilty about or worry about. Just an experience I needed to have, which brought other experiences, a whole interconnected web of experiences. And remembering that again (and again and again ) turned the uncomfortable sludge into a warm soup of relief and awe.
Uncle Joey's Story to Krowe in the book Sperm by Keith Moen
"Once a long time ago, when the Earth was green, there was a young punk who hated his body. In fact he hated it so much that he even thought of getting rid of that water sack. So, he'd drive his body around and rev its engine till it smoked and whined. Drive it over rocks, thump into walls, and never check the oil. He was all dints and scrapes."
"Then one day he bolted fast to try and leave his body behind. He ran as fast as he could and turned every corner. Hoping that at one turn or another, he would hide himself, and his body would fly right on by, and away for good...It just didn't happen. This mad shadow dash brought him as far away as he could from where he started. In fact, from the land of green, to the land of the brown - the desert. The dusty, dry call of Sand pulled the man deep into the dunes, the rolling sea of dust and piercing ball of fire in the sky. Now, not running any more but walking, he walked and walked and walked until he could walk no more. All of his horizons met shimmering sky, no vegetation, no buildings, no life. No water, just taunting heat. His body was completely out of gas. His throat and eyes burnt. He knew that he was beginning to drop that beat up old body, and leave it behind. Except he didn't move forward, or turn around, instead he found himself looking down from above at his crumpled bag-o-bones baking in the searing Sun. And he found something strange in that floating place. Something he thought he'd never find there. He found regret.
"Now the nice thing about regret is that you need a body in order to feel it. Regret needs a pit of a stomach to roll around in. It needs a chest to weigh down. It needs a neck to droop and a forehead to fret. And regret needs an eye to cry...The baking bag-o-bones reached up to regret, regret reached back and they reunited. The searing Sun must have thought this whole scene under his gaze was beautiful, or maybe he took pity on the young punk. Sun began to cry, and cry, and cry and cry. And the body, despite all of its abuse, began to pull off miracles, as bodies do. Did you know? Did you know that skin can drink? Yup. In a matter of minutes it had sucked back enough sky-tears that the young man swelled back into his body like never before.
"THEN a humungous finger of the goddamn-freakin'-divine Prime Minister, I mean, Prime Monster of the Universe came out of the freakin' clouds! The punk wasn't sure if he should be insulted by getting the finger from the PMU, or if he should shake it 'Hey, how ya doing?' Well he decided to follow the point...and it brought him back home. But he didn't run: he walked."