This morning, I woke up with a full bladder, as I often do. I walked to the bathroom feeling the fullness, and with what is often considered pain. As I walked, a thought appeared: “It’s always been like this, and it’s always changing.” As I was peeing, I noticed the texture on the wall behind the toilet. It was all that was happening, well that and the feeling of urinating, and the sound of the pee hitting the water in the toilet. All of that was all that was happening.
Back in the bedroom, I said to Cindy, “There are preferences. This early morning darkness, for example. It’s preferable but preferable is just another flavor of perfection.”
I remembered my son jumping from great heights, from his bunk-bed, and from the top of a flight of stairs. I said to him, “I don’t want to stop you from doing that, but I want you to know that I feel scared that you might hurt yourself.” Tears came into his eyes, and I asked him what seemed to be producing them, but he couldn’t tell me.
After recalling that this morning, I noticed sadness arising and then I noticed judgment: I am a bad father. When I told Cindy this story, she said, “You were clipping his wings.” Yeah, I was teaching him about fear. “You might break your leg,” I told him. I had recently broken my own ankle. Now the thought comes, “So what if he broke his leg?” I guess he would have learned about fear one way or another.
There’s no way to change what was, and there’s also no way to change what is. These thoughts are appearing. These feelings are appearing. All this experiencing is happening.
A year ago, I wrote as one of my goals, “I am calm and confident at all times.” I had no idea how that would be possible. I saw no path to it, but I chose it anyway. Little did I know that I was choosing death. Now, in spite of fear, I seem to be falling endlessly to my death.
After years of searching to find my way back to the unconditional love that appeared while I was meditating on the floor of what would become my son’s nursery, I’m finally understanding that I was searching for a way to get back to what is always blindingly obvious.
All hope is slipping away. All hope of having any control, all hope of reality being any different than it is. On and off, it seems to be recognized that this has always been obvious. I have always been endlessly falling to my death; I was just pretending that I could do something about it. Anything can happen, including worry and irritation and self-judgment. All of these are just more flavors of perfection.
Life clearly has no meaning or purpose. Nothing is happening for any reason. Yet, when it is allowed to be like it is, there is nothing lacking. There is no hole that needs to be filled with meaning and purpose.
If I am anything, I am the experiencing. I am the seeing, the hearing, the feeling, the thinking. If I am anything then I am all of this. If I am this, then it’s impossible to reject any part of myself. It’s happening regardless of what I think I want. If I am the fullness of what is obvious, then what else is needed? If I am this, then I am no “thing,” and I am always changing. If I am this, then I am inevitable, and I am death.
But there is no need for me in this. It has always been complete without me. This is just ever-changing flavors of perfection.