Post, don't post. Do, don't do. It's all kinda the same these days.
Life shows me the next thing to do. It's obvious, because it's now in neon. With so little noise in my life, Life is so much easily heard.
There's no need to call anyone to ask for an opinion or feeling or viewpoint. Although if it appears that someone may be able to answer a question, it would be silly not to ask. It's fine to wander around, but it makes practical sense to use a map if a reliable one exists, or to simply ask someone: do you know where the corner of Hollywood and Vine is?
What's pointless is to ask another person: is it important if I go to Hollywood and Vine? Will I get what I need on the corner of Hollywood and Vine?
If you feel to go to Hollywood and Vine, pursue it, and either end up on that corner, or realize it's actually 74th and Columbus Ave you need to be at, or that you don't even need to leave your driveway.
There is a sense that grows stronger every day that I have no say whatsoever in my life. My only input is surrender, because its opposite, fight, only prolongs the inevitable, and is a frak of a lot less fun.
I watch as Life lifts up things that use to be outrageously noisy, and how I lean in for a moment to see if there is anything new worth listening to, and if not, just shrug and turn away, no matter how much the situation, the person, the issue shrieks or pleads or sweet-talks its importance, its relevance, its right To Be.
I just made a huge pot of soup, clean and healthy and soothing, because my digestion issues are entering into the red zone. I don't have the sick/vaca time, nor the money, nor the desire to re-enter the western medical system for another round, and so re-entry isn't indicated.
What is indicated is to stop eating anything denser than fruit, vegetable, unprocessed grain or bean. This body doesn't want bread or cheese or wheat or soy or gluten-free pasta or gluten-free cake or french fry or egg or organic blue corn tortilla chip with seven layer gluten-free mexican bean dip. But I eat the latter, and wake up at 3 am, stomach distended and wish I were dead, or 7 am with belly near bursting and can barely get out of bed.
There's nothing wrong going on, nothing to get upset about. This is just the next wall, the next seeming No, the next bit of hilarity in this Waking Up stuff: that I hold back infinity with a corn chip and forkful of cake.
And things are so quiet around me that it's obvious what the next location on the map I'm to walk to, or appear in, or drop down into.
I don't owe anyone anything. Neither do they owe me anything. I give when I feel to, accept when it feels Yes. I ask and am ignored. No worries. I'm requested of and I shrug. All is well. No fight. No deep explanation. And if it doesn't suffice, walk away, no problem.
The chatterers, the energy vampires, the groove harshers - no judgement, just acknowledgment as I smile and turn away and walk off. I use to explain, try to get them to stop, or be with me in a different way. Now I just say as gently as I can "would you please excuse me?" and then simply disappear. Because they don't know what they do. And they don't care. And it's okay. It's all fine. Everything is as it should be. There is nothing to be done other than smile and walk away.
What do you do when someone has their music too loud? You move to a different part of the beach, or to a different area of the park. And if you can't move, you get a white noise machine, or earplugs, or put down thick rugs. The noise of the world is no different. If you can, walk away. No problems, no worries, walk away. There is so much quiet when you walk away.
If you want to, you can stay on the playground and try and talk the kids into being quiet. But really, they just want to shriek and tackle and dare each other to eat the bug, the one with the million wiggly legs, and poke each other in the eye with a stick. And that's fine. If you feel to join in the fray, or try and keep them from poking one anothers' eyes out. But me? I'm walking over to the park to sit in the sun, and listen to the birds, and eat a honeycrisp apple.
Snuggling kitties, writing at dawn, drifting through days in Hiveworld, watching tv and movies off of side*reel, watching the play of light and wind in the backyard world behind my apartment, watching as the totempoles of the past still alive inside of me line up for the pyre.
Life is Yes. All is well.
It's very good soup . . .