Let the contrast enlighten you.

To be here now, is the most important thing.

Of late I have been oriented to the near after now, the future, the immediate comings which my mind turns towards like a flower facing the sun.

However, the future is not the sun, the future is not a definite thing, it doesn’t have weight or pull as does the now. The now is a physical thing, tangible, you can touch it, feel the weight of everything pulling you into this immediate existence. The future, not so much. The future remains a hazy thing, a probability in the mind, an idea. It remains so airy an ideal,  it cannot be said to ever even manifest.

We cannot put into imagination enough detail to ever create and know the future.

After all, do you imagine every grain of sand on the path you will walk tomorrow? Do you know exactly which time every breath you take will escape? These things are the future, these things aren’t real. These things will never happen, for you can’t predict you every step tomorrow and what it will effect. You can’t predict every breath, the inhalation and exhalation remain, while a probability, not easily determined. What random occurrence could make you breath faster? Or cease breathing all together. Will you blow out a candle tomorrow sending millions of dust motes into the other end of the room, with your essence and bio material upon them. And what will they do, these dust motes and bio-material? Are you sure you can predict the future? Are you sure you know what will happen? Do you even know if there will be a tomorrow?

You don’t. It is possible the future doesn’t even exist in this physically manifested world. It is possible the future doesn’t even exist until it happens, as a physically manifested thing. It is highly likely the past is just your active imagination parading about with a grin having convinced you of its actuality when in reality it was all just a dream too. It is possible the only thing which is physical, tangible, and whole is the very ground on which you stand right now, the wind which blows your hair, the keyboard your fingers type on. It is so possible that you only exist as a physical thing right now that to orient yourself to a future, or past, happening is a denial of what you are right now. This is why we worry these events.

Imagine the last birthday you enjoyed. Imagine the cake you ate, the people you saw, the gifts you received. For my last birthday I ate a vegan cheesecake made of cashews and dates. I still recall the way the texture of the cashew filling filled my palette. The way it was heavy on my taste-buds, addictive, and was eager to go down and I was eager to swallow. I recall eating it frozen, because it wasn’t hard enough just chilled. I recall hoarding it to myself, and not sharing. It was that good. The cashews were so sweet, nutty, earthy, like the color of it, and I was in love with the entire thing. I had made it myself, so it was myself eating my own energy. It was lovely.

It was also the past. I just took you there, in your head. I just took us both there for now I taste the cashew cheesecake in my memory, in my head, my mouth waters in reaction, but it is just reaction. It is just a physical anticipation of the past. A focusing on what has already gone by. It can no longer be a physical thing, it now only exists in the mind. And I can sort of feel my mind wanting to push it to the future, go make another cheesecake, which orients the mind and tongue and anticipation to the next event, and absolutely ducking the now which is the only one of the three which is physical and can be physically enjoyed.

Do you see it now? The now is the only thing which holds weight. The only thing which can be savored and enjoyed in a tangible way. You can only hold your lover now. You can only touch your cheek now. It is only soft right now. The rest is illusion, imagination, memory, a product of the brilliant mind.

I recently meditated on why I have no money. It was an annoying thing in my existence this lack of money. The idea to meditate on it was born of the frustration how I want these things I want so badly, but have no money to go out and buy them. I turned on music and fell into a sitting meditation, which became so still I was like wood. It wasn’t like stone for there was breath, but my attention became so focused on what was physical, without control of the physical, that the mediation took my breath away, metaphorically. I have had an experience like that a couple times before, but this was completely out of the blue. I had intended a moving mediation, hence the music.

And I had a question, two actually but we will focus on the second for sake of condensing. My question was this, How does having no money serve me? Why is it a good thing.

The answer came from my pen, which was the only thing which moved and was later smoothed out by myself into this.

Money focuses your attention on the future always wanting the next thing. The goal here is to want the present.

I am a Gemini. I am always in my head. I am actually a Gemini Libra Libra so I am thrice the air sign. This means, to the layman, that I have a very hard time being grounded. I lived in my imagination as a child, and I still do a lesser or greater extent based on the day. It is me, my mind, my imagination, my dreams. I meditate and feel free boundless and bigger than galaxies. I could write you of these experiences and blow your mind with the exact feeling of being in space, of being space.  It is my favorite mediation.

But lately I have begun to acknowledge we are here for a reason. We are physically manifested into the human condition for the sole purpose of being physical. This body, this world, these people, sex, food, action, emotion, it is all for a reason. We are meant to be here. We are meant to live like this, there is purpose in being in a body. You can experience things from this perspective like you couldn’t if you existed as a gas or a light or an idea. And I want you to take it this one step further, if you are still with me.

Being a physical part of the world doesn’t mean everyone incarnated here is a person. It means we are living in a stew of spiritual beings gone corporeal, the very plants we enjoy, the animals obviously, the rocks, the water, the cells in your body, and even the air we breath are all manifested here for the purpose of being corporeal too. Even the space we sit in is a perfect mass of expanded life.  We are always living in the physical world full of spirit.

And so to close, I want you to enjoy the world. Feel the body. Live the experiences you encounter. Meditation is one thing, dreams and ideas and the past and the future are all well and grand but the world is where we live. We are here to feel it. So feel it. Right here and now.

And when there is love expand into it and feel it make you lighter, more like spirit, non-corporeal and let the contrast enlighten you.

Too Small and Separate a Drop in the Uinverse

I have been struggling with my weight.

Not just to lose it, but as if in physical altercation, locked and straining to wrestle it into what I want it to be. I have been struggling WITH my weight, as if it were another person I must contend with. A very contrary person who exists just to torment me and hold me back.

I have used spiritual means to exact the desired end. I have meditated, chanted, done spirit journeys and tarot readings. I have delved into my painful childhood and held the bereaved child me. I have acknowledged the weight as my assistant, my protector, my body’s way of speaking to me, as pain held in my body unhealed. I have done it all, in aid of losing this creature who makes me not as I feel myself to be but as a grotesque caricature of myself. I have done it all because I want that creature gone.

Yesterday I was on the train. The subway car window across from me was darkened by the tunnels we traveled through and alas the creature that is my weight was very visible. I was horrified. My arms were the worst of it. My hips the next glaring thing.

And I couldn’t help but feel the disorientation.

In my dreams, my mind, my astral wanderings I am not that girl. Am myself and I am … Normal. Not overly thin, or too thick for my aesthetic preference, but normal. I stared at her, this imposter of me, and just felt defeat. And then a man skinnier than me took up that spot and I felt even worse, seeing the reflection of me out shadowing even him.

Once, a while ago, a girl took me into the bathroom and told me to stare into the mirror. This was before my spiritual journey and she was intense and alarmingly so. It didn’t turn out well between us, I wasn’t ready I don’t think, but she and that incident still affects me today.

She said I was to stare in the mirror and tell myself I loved me.

Tell my reflection I love her.

Tell that … Thing in the mirror I love you.

Then, I couldn’t do it. I tried but there were too many distractions, too much going on. And I wasn’t near ready. I do recall the trembling. It made me tremble to imagine doing, before I even tried, this trembling feeling deep inside in the core of me. And when I tried it was with half hearted effort, and less understanding than I hold now. And when I looked into my reflection’s face, her eyes turned sad and she looked more child-like than ever. And I felt such .. Disgust. As if in her vulnerability she was akin to dirty and should be rejected.

That girl who forced me to do that, I ran as far away from her as I could get.

Ironically her name was Angel.

But that in incident in my head stands out so strongly. I feel as if sometimes a part of me lives in that bathroom, a public one with women rushing in and out and staring, and my ex/girlfriend huffing jealous over the girl in question. And the girl, Angel too close to my arm, insistent in word and will, that I see something. Something in the mirror. Something in me.

Since then I have tried in on my own, in private, by myself. It took a long time to work up the courage, its been 18 months since that day. I have stared at myself in the mirror and tried to see what she saw, 3 times. Every time I feel the same. As I look at her, the girl in the mirror who is my reflection, there is this pulling in her eyes. She wants so desperately to be loved, it is a literal drag on my energy to feed her. I feel drained looking into her eyes. She is so .. Bruised by life. And her pain begins to become mine. And I feel such anger at her for being so weak I just hate her. And invariably I give up and leave trying to forget why.

She is not me. She isn’t. Myself from this vantage point looking out is so beautiful. And I do love her. And I know myself so much better than I did then. And I feel so whole inside. The dichotomy is this shell I wear, this body, this weight, this reflection in the mirror. She feels so alien. So separate. So apart from me. Looking into the mirror feels as far away from understanding her as looking at a picture and trying to know that person from it. I feel disconnected when I look in the mirror.

But I must acknowledge a few things. The first being a truth I believe in. That what I believe is reflected in my reality. And the second being I feel the First Noble Truth of Buddhism applies here, somehow.

There is suffering. Suffering should be understood.

I really feel the second insight is key but I have tried to understand it. I have tried. I simply don’t. Understanding it, in this way as done by Buddhists, is to embrace it. Welcome it. Become it.

My pain is so great I feel it would overwhelm me were I to become it. I fear I would be lost.

It helps to imagine another as the source of attention. I would say another person, whose size is equal to mine, is starving. They are so hungry all they can do is eat. And the food piles up on their body but does not feed what is really hungry inside. I think it is their spirit which is the hungry one.

I remember being younger and always feeling hungry. This was long after I had rejected feeling hungry physically and made sure I wouldn’t feel my stomach sour and growling ever. Then the feeling of hunger moved, and became an internal thing. It became not a physical sensation this hunger but a felt thing like emotion. Indeed it feels like a pulling sensation. I have felt it often throughout my life I now see: For things. For people. For love. For sex. For change.

My mind expands with this insight. Feeding is not just about food, although I admit this idea is what sparked my turning vegetarian years ago as well as my spiritual path. We eat to become more than we are. Food fuels us, but so does poetry. Stories. Love. Laughter. Happiness. Joy. Fear even, just go see a scary movie and you’ll see yourself react in one way or the other. We are fueled by so many things. We hunger for so much.

Right now my main hunger is aesthetics. I am putting a lot of time in my physical appearance, mainly my hair. I hunger to make myself look beautiful. I am beautiful I acknowledge but these days I want to look a certain way. A way that feels more like myself. It is almost similar to this struggle with weight. I want my insides and outsides to match. I want them to match and be beautiful, beautiful to me that is. I hunger so much to look a certain way.

It makes me wonder if that is how a transgender person feels? So hungry for their shell to match their soul.

I buy things which feel like me. Make me feel even more like myself. I read things that do this as well. I am attracted to people who make me feel more like me. I feed myself all these things in aid of … What? Is it expansion? Connection. Do I feel too small and separate a drop in the universe that I must reach for reintegration? What exactly is it I am so god damn hungry for?

Is it god?

And if it is, well I believe I am god, we all are. That god and universe and people are one. If it is god I am hungry for, how can I really feed myself me?

If it is god I am hungry for, must I wait until this corporal existence ends to be free and whole again?

Divine Eats

Honey and blackberries remain right now the most heavenly piece of my day today. Anne had honey and blackberries which she shared. But more accurately it began with cilantro.

Upon my arrival in the cafeteria I found Anne sitting with a small horde of freshly bought fresh things; like a glorious array of life; like a bounty offered as feast for esteemed guest, and I wanted to cry at the sight of the cilantro, which remains my favorite of coriander plants.

Immediately I began that deadly of sins, to covet the bundle of chinese parsley, its tall skinny stalks ending in waving leaves all wrapped in red rubber band and still wet with a grocery store sprayed dew. I could practically taste the crunch of the stalks, the lemony flavor unique to cilantro which has a slight soapy taste which I adore; my memory of cilantro so exorcised it was almost as if I already had it in my mouth. And so immediately I said, niceties aside in favor of greed, “Cilantro!” As a way to introduce my asking, hunger, and nearly unbearable excitement. “Can I have some?”

Of course Anne is Anne and “Yes, yes of course,” emphatically in her low throaty voice like it was given, which for Anne ‘of course’ it was. And then it began.

The cilantro went into two salads, the cafeteria salads which usually tastes of fresh death, not fresh vegetables as it should, but remains salad so I eat them. After the cilantro was the offer of onion, which I only took a slice and chopped up very finely with the plastic white knife; then into the salad with care like it was fruit of aphrodite, and not plain white onion. And then ginger, which was even more difficult to cut with with said knife, but only a small amount was able to convey the taste of the ginger to the whole of the salad. And then there were pomegranate seeds, all scooped out into a single serving cup, which was little used on Anne’s salad yet. Those went over my regular lettuce,cilantro, onion and garlic display to add color, the pop of the violet fruit/seeds like the adornment of rubies upon a bodice. And then was the offer of those to go packets of salt and pepper, three of them all over the salad, sans dressing; a dressing would have covered all this ladys’ naked glory. That I could not do.

Then, the simple chicken nuggets which were served for lunch in this cafeteria today, were chopped up so fine one would swear they were nuts, for the addition of protein. And then the eating of such a wonderful concoction.

It might not have been the food, but perhaps the high Anne had already climbed to before I arrived, on sugar and jalapenos, and the good food for a change, which was what lent itself to me on some esoteric/astral/vibrational level and gave me the feeling I was also so pleased. Or perhaps it was the food. I cannot say which as I am incredibly impaired by the impressions I received all while eating.

The taste of just enough ginger, the addition of just enough salt and pepper, the right amount of salad, two servings of a regular salad, removed of cucumber and tomato disgrace, and then the addition of cilantro as the base. The onion and pomegranate seeds were just garnish; the chicken gave it body; and the entire thing was made much of over the course of a very silent, except to gush and yum, lunch.

And then there were blackberries and honey.

The blackberries were round and plump and looked sweet in their little plastic box. The richness of them led me to not even ask until offered; and then it was the last which lay coating the bottom of it, more than I expected to have. Even once offered I only took a few, too distracted by the salad to notice for a bit. I was not the sort to enjoy sweet on my salad, but then, the honey came to the table. And for a minute I contemplated the addition of it to the berries and, upon the invitation to partake, I tried it.

And dear fucking god.

Blackberries and honey are like heaven come to earth; the above parting to allow the shine of divine light fall upon mortal eye and bearing. I will swear until I die I saw the heavens part above my head, to my right, right in the ceiling white. I will swear the taste of blackberries and honey to be of the most divine, for the taste when combined cannot be compared.

The honey, when a berry is hand dipped in, coats the bubbles in the berry, until they become outlined in gold, the fruit magnified in the amber. Oh, I wished to take a picture of that beauty; oh, I wished to use my professional camera to do so; oh, I wished to document such beauty for future reminiscence. But I could not tear myself away from the meal to save my life. And so I ate it instead. I truely, at first, only meant to eat one. But …

The honey and blackberry concoction candied the bite in my mouth like no candy I’d ever enjoyed. It was like the richness of gold and the light of heaven had come together in my mouth to mate and produce this offspring of joy. And I was so awed and in such enjoyment I allowed myself to eat another, and then another.  And then it mattered not if I was modest, it mattered not if I ate them all, I had been offered, and they were so good; and the salad lay forgotten in the wake of such an event, in the wake of such miraculous beauty.

I felt high. Anne and I spoke of that feeling. I told her it felt like heaven come home. We talked about the food and nothing else. And, once, I asked her if she had any thoughts in her head. She confirmed there were none. Oh yes, it was a divine moment. There, in that space, we were in the moment. And that moment was heaven.

The salad did get finished. I ate the end of it after the berries were done. I couldn’t even speak of the event afterwards, however; it was too beautiful for words. I expected to never speak of it again but argued myself into writing of it, just because I wished to remember. And Anne was on the computer kitty-corner from me, looking up more food to eat, promising an even greater feast next saturday.

Just a minute ago she asks, ‘Is there a store that sells just nuts?”