Well, it was bound to happen.
A thought about the weather being too hot.
Here goes global warming. Not having air conditioning won’t work. I have to move to another place. What are my children going to see in sixty years? This sucks. I’m uncomfortable. I’m trapped.
And another thought….isn’t it sort of pointless to question belief about the business of Reality?
Here’s the planet earth, doing its thing….at a deep level have I not discovered profound freedom through allowing everything to be as it is?
Including “acts of God”? Like blistering heat?
There is truly nothing to do but naturally move towards an environment this afternoon where the human body gets along better.
It’s called “inside”. I go to the gym, where its air conditioned.
So OK….I notice what its like to be against the weather, the temperature, my physical condition.
But guess where the sting really appears?
That OTHER person who is complaining about the weather.
She should stop talking about it. Doesn’t she know there’s no choice here? Doesn’t she realize there’s nothing to be done? Can’t she forget about it for five minutes?
She should quit complaining and accept the heat.
Let’s go, shall we?
Is it true, she should stop complaining about the heat?
This is frustrating, just to hear about it. It reminds me with every complaint there’s nothing to be done. Hopeless.
Can I really know she should stop?
No. Not at all.
How do I react when I believe she should quit talking about the heat, stories about the heat, memories of the heat.
Visions come to me, as she talks, of lying on the ground in 118 Fahrenheit in Africa to sleep at night, age 15. Nowhere to go. Slight worry, except my parents seem OK about it, thank goodness. It’s almost stifling, almost a sense of being on the edge of not breathing. Wondering about wild animals, strange bugs, creeper things in the night.
Another flash memory. Being in South Carolina on my first honeymoon with my first husband. Camping. Refusing to spend precious money on a hotel. Surrounded by buzzing sounds. 107 degrees. Feeling sweat roll down my sides. Unable to open the tent because of mosquitos.
Kansas….age 7. Baking heat. The sky flashing wildly with the most intense lightening I’ve ever seen before or since. Exploding thunder like a bomb went off.
Drifting off anyway…sleeping in the heat.
Who would I be without the belief that this world is a dangerous place?
These situations seem dangerous.
Perhaps this woman who is complaining is speaking a fear. Perhaps she is reflecting a voice inside me.
A voice I don’t want to admit exists.
“How do you know you’re supposed to hear these words? You’re hearing them.” ~ Byron Katie
As I open my hands, to the woman complaining about the heat, I know we are the same.
Who would I be without the thought there’s something dangerous going on here? Without the thought no one should say anything about it? Without the thought I can’t handle it? Without the thought I could die, or be extremely horribly uncomfortable, in pain, the body threatened with heat?
WITHOUT THESE THOUGHTS?
Wait for it.
Willing to die of heat. Noticing there’s no choice anyway.
Being the example of someone OK with the heat. OK if I live, or if I die. OK if I’m afraid.
Noticing in this moment now there are air conditioners and quiet dark places, and lots of water available to drink, and movie theaters and ice.
Marveling at the power of the sun, the earth. Stunned at the conditions and the way they move. Picturing Mad Max with excitement about the delicious and wild plot, the adventure.
Seeing how out of my hands this is.
Becoming curious about what I CAN do, my small part, if anything.
No right or wrong.
“She should NOT STOP complaining about the heat.”
That’s what we do. We sometimes complain. I do this when I feel powerless and afraid. I do this when I feel lost, when I imagine I can’t take anymore, when I’m in the experience of suffering, when I feel squeezed, uncomfortable, terrified.
I notice, so far…..it has never been “too” hot.
I’ve lived through every high temperature I’ve boiled in, and I’m alive today—in fact, I’m writing on a computer in this moment.
Maybe I’m not as frightened as I thought.
Maybe she isn’t either.