Utterly consumed with practical things . . .
Clutter cleaning every single drawer, closet, shelf, cupboard, surface in the apartment. Boxes and boxes of former belongings, things I've been carting around for years, get thrown out with the trash, or passed on to someone else, or donated to a shelter.
Thanks to my "digestive illness" I'm down 13 pounds. For the past decade I simply haven't had the willpower to stop using my food lust as a way to cope with emotional distress, and so Life helpfully gave me two choices: utter agony or eat simply and cleanly. Of course it took me three weeks to settle in to choosing the latter . . .
I live on grains, beans/legumes, vegetables, and fruit. Twice a week or so I have some sort of animal protein, like an egg or some plain whole milk yogurt, but other than that, no animal fat of any kind (except for about a half tablespoon of butter I sometimes put in my morning hot cereal). I no longer eat dinner, but instead, depending on what my body tells me it wants, I make miso soup with seaweed and kale and gomasio, or I drink a quart of fresh juiced apples.
I eat a lot of digestive enzymes, hydrochloric acid, niacin, ground flax seed, colon cleansing herbs. I drink a gallon of water a day.
Sundays find me cleaning my home, making food for the upcoming week's lunches. I saute an enormous bunch of greens in water, add some balsamic vinegar, gomasio, sometimes a little hot sauce. I roast broccoli, beets, yams. I make brown rice with curry and raisins and almonds. Or quinoa, fluffy, simple, plain. I simmer a pot full of onions for three hours and make "onion butter", which gives lunches an extra hit of umami. I make daikon pickles with umeboshi plum paste and rice vinegar that I eat like candy through the week.
I'm lifting weights again. When Calhoon got sick, I simply didn't have the fight in me any longer to keep pushing myself to exercise. All violence in the form of force, as in using my willpower like a sledgehammer to shove me through a bike ride, a weightlifting session, is gone. What's left is a desire to get my body moving again, squeeze out the kinks. I'm dancing again too, but now without any wine or self-consciousness or belief that someone is watching, or that it means anything other than the moment.
I send out resumes, go on interviews. Another one five hours away. One two hours away. Several more set up over the next few weeks. I've put my landlords on notice that I'll be moving out in the next month or two.
I work five days in cubicleland, or work four days in cubicleland and spend the fifth going on an interview. I work one day a week doing holistic work. On Sunday, I rest, and cook, and snuggle kitties, and dance, and feel the sun on my face. Evenings are spent with hulu.com, and The Dollhouse, and Fringe, and Lie To Me, and Kings, and 24, and Southland, and Rescue Me. Baby Wallace passes out in my arms, doing that purr of his that is really just heavy breathing, with the tiniest of sounds. Jacinta comes around to park her sweet self on my legs, or in my lap wedged up by Wallace, or on the window sill by the barcalounger where she can watch the birds as Baby Wallace and I watch tv.
Slowly, slowly, I do another edit of the novel. I entered a writing contest on a whim, two days before the deadline for it, and sent in the first 20 or so pages. It made it to the finals in the "paranormal" category. The judge for the paranormal category is a big deal editor at one of the big publishing houses. The winners will be announced sometime at the end of this month.
I don't care about "enlightenment" or "waking up". There is only the next thing to do, then the next. I'm not lonely or in pain or in drama or fighting my circumstances. If any of it arises, it passes, and then it's back into the practical.
What I can say, without doubt, is that the seeds of whatever liberation I'm in right now are a direct result of turning, finally turning, and facing the things I was most afraid of. Then embracing them, bringing them close. All the while letting go of the old, the dead, and looking inside for where the energy wanted next to move.
It's a tricky thing to distinguish between what is really going on and what the mind thinks is going on, what it's convincing you of. But to see the difference between the two, and to go with what is genuinely occurring, changes everything.
Who knows what tomorrow brings? Right now, some rice, a dvd, and perhaps some kitty snuggles.
Onward . . .