All posts by adam@adamsatinsky.com

reflections within

Pennies

Leave a comment

I’ve always wanted to give 110%. It’s interesting that I think I can turn that off. It is my nature. I look for ways to express intensity. I can’t convince myself that it is unstable and therefore undesirable. If I have managed to curb my appetite for unbridled-ness somewhat, I’m a little afraid to imagine how I used to be.
I will suffer amazing amounts of pain in efforts to succeed and to drink in life experiences. I have two ways of behaving: 150% or 15%. All or nothing, basically. Somehow my brain and my soul are not tuned to those middle percentages; I don’t even notice life at that wattage. Is that why cats like me?

originally published on 1/28/10

reflections within

Diorama

Leave a comment

It’s all in my head. It’s all in my head. They’re all in my head. Now who they are exactly is something of a question mark.
There are a lot of them. They are hard to discern, so it often sounds like one loud voice. But it makes more sense that it is a combined effort. It’s interesting, because I give people a pass, assuming there’s no bad intention. They didn’t intend to become a nightmarish mantra in my head. So that absolves them. Not that I’m really interested in blaming anyone. But fact from fiction is important here. One must accurately identify the culprits in the course of history, regardless of intention. You can only surmise intention. Even the party in question may not know their own intent. Intent comes partly from the gut, rather than the mind.

There are those who have inadvertently or purposefully drilled their poison into my brain and soul. That is the situation, and I am left here to pick up the pieces and put myself back together. I must retrieve my shattered soul from it’s little corner where it likes to hide from the nasties. It must supplant all the chaos and hopelessness. It’s kind of like the Tao Te Ching, right? The strongest force is watery. The quiet, flowing true soul (the Way) has the capacity to erode any behemoths. Love is akin to this, too. If I were more in touch with my loving self over the years, I could have had some protection from those nasties.

originally published on 2/3/10

reflections within

Bowling Ball

Leave a comment

Pandora’s box. Another one of those expressions I should look up. Quieting the mind has the capacity to open one. It’s a double-edged sword. You get a sense of what is really happening around you – it’s extraordinary all the stuff you’re missing out on in the cacophony. But, with the good comes the bad, eh? Why is it I don’t mind the rush of positive feelings, but am so scared of the painful ones? It’s logical in one way, but kooky in another. They should both be equally off-putting. Maybe they are. The good stuff is indeed fleeting, maybe for that reason. I am just as unable to handle it as the disturbing imagery which is hiding under the surface.
Is that why religions tell you to wait for heaven until after you croak? Are humans ill-equipped to handle the extraordinary highs and lows of nirvana? I was tempted tonight. Tempted to re-frame. Tempted to look at things a little differently. With a different perspective. And something bizarre happened. I ceased fretting over the minutia which often occupies me. I saw. I witnessed. There it was, life. There were people, and objects, and sights. And of course sound. It was a concert after all. And it was a lovelier concert than I’ve heard in a while. Because I heard it differently. With new ears and mind. And then I got a rush. A joyous thrill. That one that others seem to get. It’s the one gotten from just being alive. From just being, and being glad for it.

But then I got another kind of rush. A more sinister one. The floodgates opened, and everything was allowed in. So I guess my mind had to close up shop. It didn’t feel inclined to get to know those demons further. But it’s too late. I now know the difference between being alive and being stuck. I’ll be less easily duped from now on. With all the gradations and layers and nuances, it is really very simple. On or off. Open or closed. I don’t want to go so far as to say alive or dead. But it might be right, eh?

originally published on 3/24/10

reflections within

Reading Lamp

Leave a comment

So are my awkwardness, indecisiveness, stubbornness, closed-mouth-edness, and all the other questionable traits all a reflection of something awry, or something good and possessing of integrity? Is life supposed to be easy and smooth and overtly fulfilling, or is it the struggle that signifies a right path? If I am uncomfortable with much of the expected behavior and status quo, what does that mean exactly? Could it be that I have an inner wisdom that is higher than society’s? Higher than the societal norm? Maybe a bit like a Buddha. At least, this is the proposition for the evening.

originally published on 7/9/10

reflections within

Cody

Leave a comment

Is it my usual conundrum of finding little to say when I am feeling happy and/or content? Am I incapable of talking about happy things? I guess I have an internal obligation that drives me towards a balanced sort of sincerity. Not rose-colored. If I am going to open my heart, it feels pointless and even derailing to leave out the yuckier stuff. Or even if I don’t specify the details, my overall outlook must contain the mixture of the whole spectrum of experience and emotion. I have spent far too much of my life omitting. Either I omit the positive or the negative. Usually this is done to kowtow to someone nearby. Or maybe someone powerfully embedded inside me.
I recently Kowtowed to someone, in the more literal sense of a bow. I felt a deep urge to show my respect and gratitude, and as I had witnessed this sort of gesture in the past, I already suspected what a powerful effect it might have. In this country we don’t demonstrate this way to one another, but there is something inexpressibly connecting and rich about it, eliciting a sense of our humanity rarely achieved in other ways.

originally published on 12/5/10

reflections within

Barnacle

Leave a comment

I just realized a funny juxtaposition. I love to dream about the past, but I rarely allow myself to reconnect with it. I can hold it in my imagination but never hold it in my arms. That probably carries over to the present moment, too. It takes a lot to connect. There is this gap, some kind of vacuum wind tunnel barricading me. I end up being oddly choosy about whom I get intimate/close to.

originally published on 8/6/10

reflections within

Snickety

Leave a comment

I would like to think that my ruminations in a sickly head have some application to a healthy head. At least I have a wise friend to advise and nurture me physically.
Lately I cannot blog much because things are too jumbled. I cannot write more than one word at a time. I’m also embarrassed to air certain things. I don’t know where the line always is between things I’m irrationally ashamed of and legitimate shyness or privacy. The shame is probably not good.

That is why it can be good to get sick. You can do more hard-core soul-searching, and weed out some of these discrepancies. I have developed a very deep respect for learning. My first forays into it were more out of survival and experimentation. Now it is daily nourishment. I think this enjoyment enhances the value of the learning. I don’t tend to question it anymore. I don’t bother to second-guess. If I can feel that something feeds my wisdom, then I’m a happy camper.

originally published on 4/18/11

reflections within

Faure Elegy

Leave a comment

For my close friend Dick Carter, having passed away November, 2011.

You were at my wedding! (Not much pomp and circumstance, but it meant a lot to me). I miss you. Especially when I need some sage advice from a close friend, one who knows things about my life no one else does, and could understand the way you do. I do think of you in the present tense. It actually hasn’t sunk in that you’re not here anymore. A year-and-a-half later. It doesn’t seem very long. Just a blink of an eye.

I wasn’t ready for this. Even if the thought had occurred to me. Our age difference didn’t create any gulf between us. From the first EA meeting when I heard you speak and then introduced myself afterwards, I felt a kinship with you that is rare in my experience. Perhaps a lot of people felt that with you. But it carried me far when the going went rough, both in meetings and in the rest of my life.

Remember when we had an ad hoc meeting in your living room with a few of us guys? Remember when you helped me out (!) with my crazy summer tenant? And you were the most beloved devotee of my music making here in town. You would always ask me about my summer music plans with great interest. You wanted to come hear me and visit me, but your loving curiosity about it was just as good as an actual visit. We did have a few nice phone conversations from across the country. You always had great interest in when I would be returning, in which months, so that we could reconnect. Basically, you cared.

But of course it was your wisdom on more personal matters that I miss most deeply. That I need. How many discussions about romantic relationships (mostly mine, but also some yours) did we have? God knows. And thank God for all of them. I was so happy to hear about your good feelings, both with and without your significant others. I think we had a similar style of looking at certain aspects of life. It’s called friendship. I’ve never had a friendship like ours end like this.

But you were my sponsor, too. I put you in, and you accepted, a position of advisor and guide for my emotional and EA progress for quite a few years. It was wonderful, believe me. Invaluable. It went way deep.

Thank you for all the bottled water. Thank you for that dinner you shared with me. And Cody. You were sweet with Cody. Sweeter than me. And my God, how sweet you were with your granddaughter. Ha! She was one lucky girl.

I’m sad I haven’t been able to connect with Cherry. I don’t know if she has some issue with me, or if she has simply moved on. I loved spending time with the 2 of you. You were really sweet together.

I am not going to say goodbye to you. You have SO not gone. I actually want to grow closer to you, if I may. You bring out the things in me that I should hold dearest. You are absolutely alive, in my heart.

originally published on 4/8/13

reflections within

21

Leave a comment

I not only have issues with distancing myself – to the point of shunning – from the present, but I am positively prejudiced against it. I adore the past, and always keep a torch burning bright for the future. The present though, I could care less. I always am wishing it simply would disappear. And eventually you get your wishes. I wish dearly I could appreciate the present. And not just for a minute or two, and not just after a near-death-experience. I think that describes well what was happening there in South Dakota. All I needed was the present. I didn’t need any Earth-shattering memories of the past or intense yearnings and plannings for the future. I didn’t need my normally overwhelming fantasy life. I only needed to wake up in the morning. I remember telling people that, actually. Somehow a calamity puts things nicely in perspective. It’s dangerous to have things too good, it seems.
When I speak of the present, it means both the actual present moment, or more key perhaps, present day life situations.

originally published on 1/02/10

reflections within

20

Leave a comment

Is it not enough to pursue the things which make you happy? Do I feel a true void in the absence of the sad, weighty things? Is it habit? Maybe it’s a viewpoint which needs tweaking, maneuvering.
Maybe I know what makes me happy, but I haven’t had much practice immersing myself in those things. If I only touch upon them occasionally and reluctantly, naturally I’ll still yearn for the other stuff I have become old friends with. The somber, melancholic stuff.

Maybe my childhood observation about my multiple personalities should tell me something about the possible cause of my moodiness. I liked to talk about how frequently I felt like a different person. I’m sure each different person was in a different mood.

I have observed that focusing more on what makes me happy engenders a state of mind which hearkens back to childhood. More unfettered mentally.

originally published on 12/29/09