Well, here I am in week five, feeling absolutely disoriented, as if I no longer know who I am or what I desire. The DMP crumbles in front of my heart’s eyes any time I say it. Everything I think I’m passionate about when I first write it, after two days appears as if some other person, not I, must have ever thought that that is what I want.
I am practicing assigning a desired feeling to my thought about the successive failed DMP’s and come up with one big blah! I am faithful in my exercises; but often feel as if I am going through rote motions. My style is HEM rather than booming enthusiasm–and lately my HEM sounds like a chicken pecking.
And opinions! They crowd around me laughing hysterically when I assert that I am practicing letting go of judgments and opinions. Have you ever been married for 29 years?! Do you know how many opinions on how many things your mate does, doesn’t do, does halfway, does badly one can accumulate? How about when he comes at me with his opinions of me and my shortcomings, or his opinions of my opinions of him!
In a word, I felt very much like a failure, distant and disconnected from the material, wondering where the enthusiasm of the first four weeks had gone. And mostly, drifting with a sense of not having a handle on who I was never mind what I might want specifically, in detail and by a specific date. The movie screen had turned gray!
To top it off, the Universe decided to mirror to me my inner gray: Two checks scheduled to come were delayed– one, lost in the mail,; the other inexplicably caught in the web of bureaucracy. And in my intestinal body, nothing moved. Had I gained more skill at not taking myself so seriously, I would have laughed, life was so ludicrous in its accuracy.
What remained, however, was Lesson Five and the 15 minutes. 15 minutes of total bodily and mental relaxation. In my gray state even the mental screen was gray: no geographical place had any appeal for more than 15 seconds before doubts assailed. But it was the 15 minutes, so doubts were not allowed, they vanished like soap bubbles in the sun. And the daily immeasurable peace was undeniable. The window of the solar plexus gets clearer and cleaner daily. The peace! The restorative peace–where nothing else matters; where it becomes totally logical to accept that all the former pieces of self were fake so what a great thing to not know anything. What a celebration to have gotten to naked rock bottom! The way from here is up! Let’s goexplore who we are: stained glass fragment by fragment.