sublingua | |||||
The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
Nirvana?
Okay, chicken-babies, it's snowing outside and I'm at the gym. I haven't actually worked out today (which is not to say that I didn't get any exercise today, because I did my Judi-walking gig this morning before it began to snow), I'm just here in the computer pod at the moment. So, like I said, it's snowing. I've spent the last couple of hours studying Japanese in a coffeeshop. (Kissatten--which I don't think is the correct romanji spelling for that particular word, but no matter.) I find that I still--eighteen years after first studying Japanese--have a tremendous resistance to learning the days of the week in Japanese. I recall just memorizing them for the test when I was fifteen, then promptly forgetting them after. It's so funny how my brain is about things like that. I mean, what's the blockage there? What's The Brain's beef against the days of the week in Japanese. I think in part that I resent that each of them have different names and so they seem very difficult to memorize because of this. That makes very little sense, I know, but there it is. And it makes even less sense when you consider that, in Japanese, the months don't have names, they're just numbered--and I resent that the months don't have names which would make it easier for me to remember them. The Brain and logic? Not such good friends. Never have been really, and it would take a miracle to get them to agree on anything at this point. But I do believe in miracles after all, so...But now that I think of it, I really only believe in everyday miracles, because whenever I hear about a miraculous, non-everyday type of miracle, I get very sceptical. Like yesterday, I was reading Rinpoche's book Virtue and Reality, and he's writing about how a pigeon died after hearing a sutra recited by a priest. The pigeon was reincarnated and the priest used his special priestly powers to see where and how the pigeon had been reborn. Turns out that the pigeon was reborn into the son (is that the correct idiom for reincarnation, "was reborn into"?) of a neighbor. There was more to that story, but that's miracle enough for this entry, I think. So, I read this and The Brain started to get all sceptical about things, so I put down the book and got up and ate some soynut butter. Because I've been binging lately. Like, whole jars of soynut butter kind of binging. (See also: At the gym at this moment.) Just let me quickly note: Friday: Tibetan ring from Mitch, party at Stona's house with The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing. In the grip of The Sugar Demon. Saturday: Yoga: shivasana, downward facing dog, bridge pose, two others that I don't know the name of. Smiling and crying through it all. Walking and coffee afterward. Half a jar of soynut butter and hours of Japanese. Sunday: Snow. Coffee. Japanese. Working out like mad. My thighs touch at the very tops when I'm standing, and it makes me crazy, though my weight is stable. I don't know about this body of mine. Though I love it, we're still very much getting to know each other. Let's make it a long and happy relationship. Plans for the afternoon? Workout. Coffee. Study. Be grateful. I am. I am grateful for Patrick, for Mitch, for Max, for Demons. I am grateful for snow, for coffee, for Japanese, for x, for May, for The Enforcer. I am grateful for the gym, for empty quiet streets, for Judi, for Paul, for Coop, who ran my ass off yesterday. I am grateful for coffeeshops, for water, for time, for an eternity of time. I am grateful for Sunryu Suzuki, who said: "Nirvana is seeing anything through to the end."
More lies:
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