And here is the challenge once again... can I find a way to have success when the datebook isn't filled up with interesting gigs? Can I keep my energy up, my habits clean, my intention focused even when there are no flowers to buzz around? In short, can I be the ant instead of the grasshopper?
It was such a fun week of work, and I felt very fulfilled on many levels, largely, I suppose, because I got to connect with lots of appreciative people, young and old. I was nearly giddy with it, and I wonder if that giddiness can lead to a crash, as it might violate the 'walk down the middle' philosophy which has been my mantra the past few months. I suspect it is so, because I had this reaction of wanting to keep the buzz going, by 'any means necessary' so I've had a little indulgence the past couple of days, and I feel that sense of 'be careful', because I know that later today, If I don't nip it in the 'bud' so to speak, I'll be setting off on the roller coaster of mood swings and highs and lows.
It feels grounding to actually write those words, as my spirit knows it to be true. So what is an ant to do? I had some kind of a manic sense that I need to 'replace' the high of performing with some other kind of high, but that anxiety is a function of seeing things from the high spot, as if life were to be experienced as a series of loop the loops, one after another. And when I try to conceive of another way of conceiving, I feel this deflation and pang of sadness, a wanting to not let go of the thrill. It's a pang all right, and it's a signpost on the way to 'what's the use?... I can't be any other way, Who am I kidding?' Because those thoughts surely follow that little pang of deflation.
And if I were to take it further (before I try to reel it back in), it conjures up a world in which my true nature is frustration and being unfulfilled, and the peaks which I do experience are exceptions to the rule. I can fight off the self loathing at different times, but I don't really deserve it, as the happy times are based on my talent and gift and charm, and not really on any sustained ant-like effort on my part. It's a gold leaf facade on a crumbling foundation. 'Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, the carny show begins in ten minutes. See the incredible shrinking man!'
I'm having this experience that is like looking down from a skyscraper and imagining what it would be like to step off. It's a sickening and heart quickening meditation of mortality. I remember being at the CN Tower in Toronto, and they have this glass panel that you can walk across while looking down a thousand feet. It's really hard to actually step on it. All of your senses are telling you to not do it, we're just not made to walk over a thousand foot drop. But you want to do it anyway to feel that queasy thrill of fear.
Back to the gold leaf.... It's so easy to disparage myself at this point, and I guess I'll keep doing it for a bit so maybe I can learn a little something more about the process and perhaps stumble upon an antidote. It's spring, most people are spending time getting their gardens in, working the soil, planting seeds, tending the earth, immersing in a linear process that eventually will yield a harvest of good feeling and good food. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. I'm the opposite of that process. I'd rather 'plant my seed' you know where, and go ahead and visit your garden one night when no one is looking so I can enjoy some ill-gotten green stuff. Who wants to get dirty in the garden? I know people love it, and I'm jealous in some way, feeling that I'm missing some fundamental human channel of earth connection. But I don't want to garden alone. I'd be into it as part of a group, that sounds fun and do-able, but to just tackle it alone does not appeal.
Aha, alone... That's probably part of it. I'm quite solo these days, another function of my rootlessness. I've got no partner, I've got no this, I've got no that, and it's a little scary, while at the same time, it feels like it's the way I'm structured. Or as I goof on myself about relationship... 'It's either an amazing run of coincidences, or maybe it's me?' There is definitely something in my make-up that is ungrounded and rootless and solo. And at this juncture, I walked to the refrigerator to grab some pasta and sauce and put it in my mouth, try to fill up the emptiness I suppose, or maybe I'm just hungry? Ah the mysteries of the examined life... sometimes it can be ridiculous to think too much. (but I'll keep doing it, I imagine) mmmm pasta...
I can see that it's so easy to indulge the 'what's wrong with me' side of things rather than the 'what's right with me' side. Maybe what's wrong with me is that I want to indulge the 'what's wrong with me' (MC Escher just threw down his pen in frustration)
And I resist going to the 'what's right with me' card because I've gotten the message (from my brothers primarily) that I'm egotistical and attention seeking, and I've internalized that message somehow and then my 'gift' becomes distorted like I'm seeing it in the funhouse mirror. Now they don't have to attack me anymore because I can do it myself, thank you very much. And it becomes my existential inquiry. How do I deal with my own gift? If I try to describe it, I sound like an asshole. Hmmm, maybe I shouldn't try to describe it... there's a thought. Maybe just fucking give it. But that anger comes out because I feel short-changed somehow. Don't people understand the depth and majesty of my brilliance? he said half-mockingly on the asshole highway)
I do want the recognition, I am attention seeking, I have a need to express music and comedy and 'the moment'. It's a gift and a burden both. It's the Rich Glauber dues.
