Outside The Worriers’ Guild

The big news of the day yesterday: I turned over on my stomach and got to take the leg brace off while lying very still.

The room was quiet, the lights bright, no one was home for a few hours.

After slowly maneuvering my torso to carefully turn over, never engaging the hamstring muscles on the right leg….letting it stay relaxed and dangling…

…I found myself staring into the corner space just past my mattress in my bedroom.

Nice view, now what.

Then I stared for thirty minutes at the stack of books, the far corner behind the dresser, the wire leading to the cell phone on the floor.

My worried smaller mind started in, as if taking some invisible bait.

  • this is pure torture, who am I kidding?
  • I am trapped
  • this is depressing, boring, pointless, sad, awful
  • this is what life will eventually come down to, I’m getting a little preview
  • my time here is limited
Ai me! Life is so temporary! All so brief!

 

But oh the little thoughts fly around like gnats, don’t they? And they come in as fast as fruit flies.

 

Just when you think they are gone…turns out…its another moment. And they are multiplying again with gusto.

Good news. They can dissolve as fast as they multiply. Really.

Is this a real story? Is this a true story? 

Yes it’s true! I know this life is only for a while, even a short time in some cases! And unpredictable!

The reaction is the key. The reaction is pain and suffering, blooming and multiplying.

How do I react when I believe I am trapped, it all ends, my time here is limited, and this is depressing, boring, pointless or sad or terrible?

Physically weak, fearful, unhappy that I don’t know more, that I don’t understand. I want to understand All This, I think that then I will be more accepting, I will get it, I will grasp.

When I believe the thought that I am trapped here in this injured body, that can barely turn over today, I am frustrated, desperate…even if only for a moment.

Wringing my hands. Beating my chest. Worrying.

Feeling sorry for myself.

But who would I be without this story, these beliefs that I am trapped, stuck, bored, that my life is so temporary, that this moment RIGHT HERE is not a good one?

Without the thought that this, now, is bad?

Wow. It is so spacious. Something ungrips, uncurls. Waits.

Something is here, unknown, unplanned, far far far beyond whatever this person is who is lying in bed today. I remember other people, in other houses, other countries, words, poetry, sounds, music….life going on, life playing on.

I turn the thoughts around, the whole story right around upside down:

  • this is pure bliss, who am I kidding? (Me!)
  • I am liberated
  • this is expanding, exciting, meaningful, happy, wonderful
  • this is what life will eventually come down to, I’m getting a little preview (fabulous!)
  • my time here is unlimited
Could this be as true or truer? Could I actually feel happiness, peace and bliss here, right now, in this moment?
Why not?
Deep breath, time to turn back over. And then, time apparently to take a sip of water, and after awhile more, time for a friend to knock on the door and bring delicious food to eat.

I do not need to know what is going on next, or next, or next.

The Worriers’ Guild 
Today there is a meeting of the
Worriers’ Guild,
and I’ll be there.
The problems of Earth are
        to be discussed
        at length
        end to end
        for five days
        end to end
        with 1100 countries represented
        all with an equal voice
        some wearing turbans and smocks
        and all the men will speak
        and the women
        with or without notes
        in 38 languages
        and nine different species of logic.
Outside in the autumn
        the squirrels will be 
        chattering and scampering
        directionless throughout the town 
        because
they aren’t organized yet.~ by Philip F. Deaver

Who would I be without my story?

Perhaps finding gentleness, kindness, darkness, space, light, disorganization, no plans, and no direction. And it is OK.

“I am a lover of what is, not because I’m a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.” ~ Byron Katie

Much love,

Grace

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