Following Up "What Doesn't Change"
Because the silent rhythm of change can be heard
A couple days ago, I shared “What Doesn’t Change” by yoga teacher extraordinaire
. His post sent me into a rambling fury for days with much rising up and falling, all at once and killing me softly bit by bit.It won’t leave me alone.
Not that I’ve asked it to leave.
Aggghhh, here we go again with my lifelong nemesis “right livelihood.” A sense of purpose and play and value and serving and honoring and integrity and feeling alive and supported through work without being trapped in the concept of work nor my role as a producing somebody to achieve more, more, more.
Are you sick of hearing this warped album on repeat?
Sick of the screeching needle skipping over the warpedness again and again and again?
I am!
Maybe this is the moment I’m so sick and tired of this warped album that it changes with a surrendering sway into deep rhythmic thumping.
Hit play, pause for a moment and continue reading
Soundtrack for '“Following Up ‘What Doesn’t Change”
As the screeching needle repeatedly skips and the dark basement of the musty past lingers, I’m filled with sadness and frustration and despair and anger and apathy and tension and frenetic buzz.
A release of chaos on top of the current state of chaos being consumed. You wouldn’t think a vessel of this sort could listen to warped chaos and still make dinner in joyful peace.
One can.
Yes, one may need to pause and breathe or direct more attention towards chopping parsnips, but it is possible to find joyful peace.
It’s the chopping of parsnips in rhythmic breaths that tames all that has been consumed and continues to be consumed.
By going out of your mind, you come to your senses
Alan Watts
Normally, I’d share the rambling fury playing on repeat for days, the clever phrases rambled and re-rambled in crafting a post in my head, the insights to fix my rambled warped album to stop the Buddha awful screeching needle. Except, all the rambling saved for this moment has disappeared.
I meant to write it down sooner, but couldn’t stomach the stench to dig deep into the rotted musty past even with it’s sweet smelling lotus insights. Whatever I was saving, doesn’t seem relevant…need to be expressed…hold the same stench it once did.
It’s purpose has been served.
Usually this is when I ramble through my wide eye awakened insights followed by the proclamations.
Proclamations of accepting the beautifully rhythmic tracks of my warped album, the sweetness of screeching skipping sounds, the dance to embrace peace within this screeching rhythm.
The repeated proclamation of surrendering.
Another warped album I’m sick of hearing on repeat.
I just keep playing, warping and replacing for new albums. Holding them so tightly till they warp into screeching madness.
Play, warp, replace…play, warp, replace…play, warp, replace…
Are all methods to be avoided? It doesn't seem so. But it does seem useful to see them in perspective. Methods are ships crossing the ocean of existence. If you're halfway across the sea, it's a little silly to decide methods are a bummer if you don't know how to swim; but once you get to the far shore, it would be silly to keep carrying your boat because there is no more water.
Ram Dass
Her head hangs heavy in her hands and sighs.
No, in this moment I don’t feel the need to share my repeated warping of “right livelihood.” I don’t feel the need to share the fury of past, present and future that has been scrambling my brain while I move through my day.
You don’t need to hear that.
You see, it’s never been about “right livelihood” even though I thought it was.
I made it something to describe, understand and stay comfortable with my repeated screeching needle skipping on a perfectly warped album.
I’ve tried to cover, ignore, fix, embrace, explain, understand, eliminate.
I never fully sat to listen to the skipping screeching rhythm.
I wasn’t ready…didn’t have the skills…needed the right conditions…
There is no reason except it didn’t happen till this moment. The moment I can admit, feel and open to that which I’d prefer to not release from it’s musty dark basement.
I’m uncomfortable.
I desire other outcomes.
I want to feel alive with passion.
I need to know.
I desire certainty and control of my life.
I want a safety and fairness and comfort as dictated by my standards.
I need to be loved and respected.
I’m uncomfortable, have fears of the unknown and don’t know what to do about it. This is the warped album on repeat with its screeching skip to remind me.
It’s never been about a perfect purposeful serving work that supports me. And yet, it felt that way.
That grasping is the self created suffering driven by my conditioned habit energy.
I’ve been seeking an answer to “right livelihood,” which has no answer. I’ve been struggling to find comfort, happiness, passion in life through work.
If I find the “right livelihood,” I’ll be happy.
If I find a way to teach that feels like me, I’ll be happy.
If I work with likeminded individuals, we’ll create a happier world.
If I’m a successful somebody, I’ll be happy with me.
If, if, if…
I can see why the warped album always screeched and skipped.
We are committed to a certain idea of happiness. We think that if we cannot realize this or that, if we cannot change this or that, then happiness will never be possible. Because of our commitment to that idea of happiness, we are not at peace with ourselves. We are trying to do something, to realize something, but maybe happiness is already there. All the conditions for you to be happy are already there. You need to recognize them. How can you recognize them if you are not there?
Thich Nhat Hanh, Mara and the Buddha - Embracing Our Suffering
And for a moment, the sound has slowed into a smoother skipped rhythm. No longer a frenetic abruptly harsh screech.
No, you don’t need to repeatedly hear the screeching needle skip on my warped album.
Instead I offer my heart to you and softly say, “I’m uncomfortable and don’t know what to do about my struggle with right livelihood.”
You stare into my eyes as the glass tears slowly drop from the corners falling to kiss the cheek and fade into nothingness.
Will you sit with me and listen in silence to the uncomfortable unknowing of a warped album?
A Must Never Skip Track
When I sat to write this post, the lyrics to STP’s “Dead and Bloated” rambled in my head. Of course, then I had to play it, rocking like it was my first time experiencing the hypnotic grunge rhythm and its truthfully dark lyrics dipped in sweet smelling roses.
The first line still transcends my being. I’m lost by the first I AM…
Then I had to hit repeat and sing obnoxiously loud. In that first draft, there was word crafting to include this influence.
I edited.
It still deserves acknowledgement as my muse to get me here.