I am, I'm afraid, fighting a losing battle against the death of my journal. The actual book itself, that is. It's falling apart! I've got the edges taped, I've taped the spine back to its mounting, and not the spine itself is disintegrating. It I were sensible I would be retiring this old warhorse and getting a new one. But, while it's true that I've already ordered its replacement from handmadebooks.com, I really want to finish filling this one up.
So I went to see the Dalai Lama.
In the end, I went with my gay.com friend Marc, as he was the only person I knew who had any interest in seeing the Dalai Lama... I couldn't interest anyone in it! So I had to go (well, "had is a bit strong, since I only discovered his interest after I'd already resolved to go alone) with a guy I'd only met once before at a gay.com happy hour.
But, as is often the case in my dealings with the universe, he turned out to be the best companion I could have hoped for that day. Marc is just finding his way into Buddhism, relatively speaking, so he was a great guide to the goings-on surrounding the event. The East Meadow of Central Park didn't open for seating until 10 a.m. -- two hours before His Holiness' talk was scheduled to begin. Marc and I met at 8:30, so we were queued up to get a seat at around 9:00. At that point, the line already stretched all along the horse path on the eastern side of the reservoir to the reservoir's southernmost point.
Anyway, we were seated dead-center on the meadow, perfectly placed for seeing the stage. While we waited for the Dalai Lama to arrive, we got to listen to Tibetan monks chanting, which is a pretty amazing thing. It doesn't have the structure and managed beauty of, say, listening to Gregorian Chants of Christian monks, but there's something strange that happens when you just give yourself over to the experience -- especially if you practice some sort of meditation. Their low tones are hypnotic and gravelly, and when amplified for the crowd, I could feel the resonance in my chest. I could feel the sound waves washing over me, through me, and I imagined I could feel it moving through the other people on the lawn. I felt really a part of everyone else there. It was very affecting.
Eventually, after we baked in the sun for a couple hours, the Dalai Lama arrived and began his talk based on an 11th century buddhist saint's "The Jeweled Garland." It was on the topic of the cultivation of compassion and kindness. He said so many things that made sense, I feel kind of inadequate to the task of even capturing their essence here. the thing that struck me most, though, was when he said, "peace is not the absence of violence." I don't know why I should have been so floored by that, but I was. Again -- something so obvious, that I think we just overlook. He was, I think, in saying this, giving a gentle knock to those people who were -- I don't know -- knee-jerk against the war in Iraq without knowing why. But his point was that to replace war with peace, you have to relieve suffering, and you have to find a way to counteract hate, to eliminate that particular human emotion.
It was, when all was said and done, a very inspiring talk. It's made me hyper-aware in my life this week of my own unreasonable anger at others, and my amazing lack of charity and compassion. So I've been putting effort into trying to be less judgmental, into showing compassion. It's not easy for me, actually. There's something that's built into my make-up that identifies with being a victim; with being wronged.
It's hard to admit to something like that, but I'm also sure that it has a big effect on my inaction in going after the things I want. It's easier not to try, not to get what you want, and play the victim than it is to take responsibility for your own life.
So I'm a lot more aware of my own inner-workings these days, which seems to me a little crazy to say, when you consider how much of my writing in the journal is given over to self-examination. But really, how much of it is deep self-examination. I don't often go beyond "it's easy to fail if you never try" to the why of that thought.
I spend a lot of time going through the motions of self-reflection. I put a lot of energy into maintaining an image for myself, to myself, of a guy who's working toward the things he wants without really putting the effort in.
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| What? Me? Not let you sleep? |
Now, here's the hard part: It's Sunday. I've been at it for two weeks (twice the first week, three times the second) and I think I wore myself out to the point where I'm tired and susceptible to something. I think I'm getting sick which, historically, has been the catalyst to killing momentum and making my workout/exercise regimens go belly-up.
I have a weird feeling that this all -- the rest of my life as a healthy individual -- rests on getting my ass out of bed and riding to work tomorrow morning.
Oh, wait!!! It's not tomorrow! Tomorrow is Sunday! I can sleep in tomorrow!
As if Truckstop would let me do that.
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