 I had this flash just now: how absurd it is that we EVER compare ourselves with anyone else. If that were a smart thing to do, then how could this ever happen? He might say: oh, no one has ever used colors like that or spaces like that or dots like that or illustrated the possibility that we are three in one or a million in one… Or he might have said: pastels aren't supposed to be use that way… I better not...
So if in art it would be a crying shame to compare your creation or that creative urge or process to anyone else's, then it's absurd to compare ANYTHING you do to what anyone else does (or feels or chooses)---unless that is someone or something you've very consciously picked as an example, or goal, in which case you only get to use it as an arrow and not a benchmark. One person's complete presence or kindness is a product of their collective experience and expresses itself uniquely: your complete presence or kindness may look different, but it's enough to know that you value kindness and presence and seek to embody those traits in all that you do. It would be unkind to that person and yourself to compare yourself to them--b/c then you objectify them and separate yourself from them and maybe put them above you and then they don't get to be human and make mistakes and suck sometimes. Why would you take that experience away from them? So you're not disappointed? So shift of perspective: why would it be disappointing to me that great, kind, smart people screw up? What if instead that made me love them and myself even more. Ohhh, I'm not there. I'm really resisting the idea that my idols can screw up and that's okay. Like no one wants to see their favorite author's photo on the book cover because often they don't look at all how you pictured them (gorgeous and smart). sometimes they dress really badly and are over weight and that means they're not allowed to write the most poignant, funny and compassionate literature you've ever read. Ummm who does that nonsense point of view belong to? Is it truly mine? 
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PANTIES UNDER THE BRIDGE I'm going to leave the explanation and description of the "bridge generation" for another day when that is inspired, and for now I'll simply share a story from my day. I am part of a women's wisdom circle and we talk once a week as a group and share blessings and ways we're growing. I noticed that I was forgetting about this supportive circle, this tool, in the rest of my moments, which meant I was forgetting to support them as well. So I decided to bring them with me one morning--I asked for what I most needed and couldn't seem to manage on my own--i asked for their lightness of heart and their humor to accompany me throughout the day, to help me have perspective: the wide, eagle perspective instead of my teeny, one mere human lifetime perspective.
Later that day I debated endlessly with my self, silently in my head, of course, whether or not to apply for a waitressing job at a local mediterranean restaurant I'd never stepped foot in. Not only did I debate the IF, I debated the WHEN once I'd decided to apply. And keep in mind, the when did not apply to when I was free and available, because I was, all day long until my son came home from school. Rather the "when" depended on my own crushing, self-imposed mandates of what I needed to do that day--and none of it was fun (improve myself, create this website, find a job, get my new apartment in perfect shape (keep in mind this could all be totally fun if I were to look at it that way)...). Getting tired of my own internal dialogue, as serious as if I were deciding the fate of a certain endangered species rather than whether or not to eat an egg mcmuffin which is more like what it resembled, I decided to do it right then (since I was already sitting in my car outside the restaurant). First, of course, I needed to make myself suffer a bit more. As I sat outside the restaurant in my car, with the engine running and my own guilt about the environment and my wastefulness, and struggled about whether or not now was the right time and if this was for me and what it would mean to my pride and whether it would make me heavy and sad... finally I threw all caution to the wind and went in. It turned out to be a fast food restaurant with no wait staff, just register people--all of whom were young twenty somethings recently imported from Tajikistan. I knew at once that this was not to be part of my life's path and felt a bit of relief over it, but not enough to walk back out right away. I decided to try the food and then the coffee and that's when someone tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a wad of something saying: I believe you dropped this. It was my underwear. It was used, dirty underwear and an elderly balding man was handing it to me and as my color turned slowly to fuscia, I thanked him and he answered: "Believe me, it was my pleasure." Only that answer could have appeased me and made this a story to share with all of you b/c it was so damn funny. All my weighing and wondering and not acting and then my old underwear falls out of my pant's leg and that's it--there's nothing to do but laugh and be ligh-hearted and get some persepctive. |
AuthorTara Lea is an author (www.turkishhands.com) and sufi and poet and energy healer and international development professional and mother of Eden. ArchivesCategories |
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