forgive

After a long hiatus, listening to my Buddhist teaching recordings. In the car they make me go to sleep, but while walking I have no such excuse.

"How we usually proceed is like heaping suffering on top of suffering." ~Pema Chödrön

They say what we practice is what we get better at. What have I been practicing?

Selfishness. Self-loathing.

I am eager to give up the self-loathing. It destroys everything. I compulsively destroy what I want, what I love. I make it impossible for others to allow what I enjoy.

So. Self-loathing. Bad. Kill it.

But selfishness? I've been enjoying selfishness, haven't I? I grasp it to my heart, curling over it like a dog over a bone, growling; like a child over a toy when threatened with sharing. I love my selfishness. It has brought me untold joys. Hasn't it?

Reluctantly I have to see a glimmer of truth: selfishness and self-loathing are the same thing, aren't they. Grabbing, grasping, not thinking, not caring. That's how I destroy. That's how I lose what I love.

"If you can just make a little pinpoint in the narrowness of your heart and mind, by doing [compassion] practices, you can really trust that you can begin to go from frozen to begin to melt...of its own accord...But if you don't want it to happen, it won't." ~Pema Chödrön

Not yet exactly wanting it to happen. Maybe having a glimmer of possibly thinking about wanting to maybe want it to happen.

Dimly I remember what it felt like when I did these practices every day. Open and fresh. Or is that my imagination? Just a few moments perhaps? Amid a bleakness?

Part of me feels like letting go is a loss. A terrible loss. Must clutch. Must grasp. Must scramble to hold on. Must curl around what's left like a dog, like a child.

Part of me struggles to remember what it was like to practice regularly and feel clearer. Buddhist paintings arise in my mind: the people burning in the hell of their own minds; meditators among peaceful clouds.

I don't even know what's in my heart anymore. I don't even know all my feelings. Sadness, anger, I guess. It's a hard lump, compacted. Like a piece of dog shit after the dog's been constipated. What a terrible image for one's own heart and mind...

I think before I go any further... I need to sort this out... try to calm my own mind first. So that as I gingerly try to rebuild, I don't end up destroying everything again, don't hurt everyone around me again.