Fathomers

I think my original program – EA – may have been all too appropriate for me. Even with my foray into OA and its focus on food obsession, my chief battle still seems to be emotions/rationalization versus faith. Which will I follow? After all isn’t eating the way I do an emotional affair? And then I rationalize my emotions or my reactions to food. Whereas in the program you are supposed to release yourself from this sort of self-will, self-gratifying focus. It’s un-American, right? I must think of myself as some sort of patriot, or homegrown county boy.

The oddest part is that the program guarantees that you will find your true self, your true nature, by ceasing the search for it. Or, at least, sharing the search with the higher power. You trust the higher power to direct your life.

I think there are 2 types of people in the world, those with blind faith and those without. It’s a bizarre exercise to to try to span the gulf between the two. I know as the latter, your whole existence is laid out before you as evidence that blind faith is idiotic and pointless. I can only surmise that those in the faith category have the same totality of evidence permeating their existence.

So, is it worth it? The answer to that may lie in the fact that a lot of worthwhile things are uphill battles. Maybe the definition of an uphill battle is one which requires a degree of faith. Faith that you will eventually get to the goal line.

Lopped

2 things: I think I really let my physical attitude to cello get in the way. I was observing that I am really not just a performing monkey. I have a very nuanced sense of rhythm and pacing. I have a keen ear for colors and sound. What I was noticing was that I perceive essentially as much as conductors do. This is not something I am normally aware of in myself. It is in my mind and in my ear. And in my heart. And my spirit perhaps. Where does it start? That’s a good question. Even in my writing one sees a heightened perception.

So I would like to (re)consider my extra-cello possibilities for music making. But what it also reminded me of is that I don’t have to be so body-aware, body-conscious, body-obsessed. I am more that just a physical performer. There is much bizarre emphasis on entertainment around here. I don’t know if being in an orchestra heightens that or subdues it. Perhaps this has been a long time coming. Perhaps I’ve never really gotten in touch with my spiritual connection with music. Wow, why did I say that? Is that what this is? Is this from listening to the Big Book streaming? I always hate being cheesy, you know that. One of my many evadings from a sense of a higher power.

I’ll get around to the second thing, but not tonight.

Jumpy

Fits and starts. All or nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean, nothing. I probably mean the all part too. All or nothing. Do I have any choice in the matter? Will I forever be trapped, imprisoned, in this manner of existence? How many years left do I have to try to make some headway in another direction? I’m 44. I’m 44. If I live to 94, that would be a miracle. Largely due to this problem of which I speak/write. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, I live to 94. That is indeed 50 years. Is that really a long time? Hmmm? Let’s be honest. Not really. Unless I do something with them. Those years. One year passes. It passes. I can mark it in a variety of ways. The passing of Cody’s birthdays, the passing of my birthdays, the passing of calendar years, the passing of orchestra seasons. Anniversaries. Summer festivals recurring. All these things mark a year. How do I gauge my imprint over the course of that year? How do I gauge my progress, my growth, my accomplishments? This is one of the ways. By working on myself. I can see and sense if I have come any closer to being able to reach a higher level of myself. Of being.

Does this qualify as fourth step work? I feel, yes. I think honesty seems to lie at the heart of the program. This is how I express my honest self.

Gloppy

Is it silly that I never considered myself an adrenaline junkie? I should consider myself some kind of junkie. I have developed a personality that craves that zippy brain. Or that has become so used to it that it has no idea how to function in its absence.

I am obsessive. But I never thought I was. You can rationalize almost anything. It’s only human. I love what Jeff Goldblum’s character says about rationalization in The Big Chill. Rationalization is unavoidable. But knowing the difference between it and deeper truths is key to living in truth.

I am tired of denying. Of rationalizing. But I am so used to being tired. I know it sounds like I’m repeating myself. But for me it’s not. I am wrapping my brain around something which is challenging for me. I must wrap from many sides and with many layers in order to actually get a good grasp on it.

I was going to write about the day I had at the County Fair, a day of getting more and more obsessed with food and less and less in touch with any other more spiritual, grounded parts of myself. I was going to write that at least I had a strong awareness of this obsession. I saw it for what it was. A thing unto itself. Unconnected to hunger or any need for sustenance. It’s very complicated. And then I’m so proud of myself for having a flatter stomach. It turns out I am idolatrizing. I am missing the potential I have to be a spiritual, beautiful human being. I am idolizing something very superficial, eh? Thinness. Where will that get me? Nowhere. Fast.

(next morning) I have a weird relationship with adrenaline. Weird things happen when I get it in my system. Equally weird things happen when I don’t. Should my life revolve around it? It appears to have been the primary factor causing my imbalance last night after the fair. I got the rush, but I didn’t binge? Which way is up? How do I come to terms with that turn of events? At least I seem to be figuring it out now. I am just loving this learning curve relating to OA.

Hamantaschen

It’s part and parcel of being a guy. My character defects are interwoven inside my gender traits.

Wanting to eat compulsively, eat overabundantly, eat emotionally is wrapped up in my gender. Eating doesn’t directly cause character defects nor directly cause harm to others. But it’s intertwined inside of them. It’s also interwoven inside my character strengths. Everything good about me has become linked to food, just like everything bad. My taciturn nature. My moodiness. My brooding. My incommunicativeness.

These things are also wrapped up in my manhood. I feel I am simply behaving like a man. However I am behaving like an ass. Manhood can cut both ways. Good and bad.

Even this trying to cut to the heart of the matter, not bottling, is tricky. It can so often backfire if I am not keeping my eyes on the prize. Salvation. Self-knowledge. If I only go half way, it can be a catalyst to a slip. If I rest on my laurels, if I am at all self satisfied or self obsessed, I am cruisin’ for a bruisin’.

Scott and I used to use that expression. Good ol’ Scott. I wonder where my defects of character bled into our friendship. I can think of one instance where I was probably in a particularly brooding state of mind, and he called it out. But there are others where my particular personality quirks gave us that wonderful rapport that was the key to a close friendship. That’s what I’m talking about. My obsession with food is a symptom of who I am, the good and the bad. If I wasn’t a glutton, Scott wouldn’t have had the opportunity to cook me somewhere in the neighborhood of 6 egg in a baskets on some Saturday mornings. It was a springboard for certain fun times. It didn’t directly cause me to act like a jerk, like alcohol apparently does. But it got fused with whatever maladjustments I have been prone to over my life. Of course in my first family food was intimately interwoven into our traditions and daily lives. So whatever bad personal qualities I absorbed within that environment, have been addressed in a certain way by my relationship with food.

Food is unfortunately an odd but common replacement for human connection. Perhaps some character defects spring from this replacement. Anti socialness. Distraction. Detachment. Uncommunicativeness. Fuzzy thinking. When you put food above people, you obviously are less social. When you’re always thinking about food, you can’t focus on other things and your mind gets lazy. When your diet is so unhealthy, it affects your brain and brain functioning. I am finding myself getting very sleepy lately as a result of not overeating. I think it’s both physical and emotional. Physical because of not having the constant oral stimulation as well as the substance flooding through my bloodstream. Emotional because I used to be trying to be high on food all the time, and now that’s been removed from my daily routine.

Off

I’m jumping. But it’s a secret. I mentioned that clutter around is clutter within. I meditated on clutter. I must meditate to understand. Meditation is medicinal. I do everything meditatively except meditation. Ha.
It’s no joke. Laughing all the way to the casket. I’m not ready to lift up. I’m not prepared to lighten. Fickle flinching filers failing philosophy futilely.
I filed, almost. I flitted. I dreamed of filing. That was my meditation. I did all but file. I redistributed.

Memorabilia

Forgetting. Forgetter. What do you do if you’re the master of forgetting? I thought it was just certain things about which I am forgetful. But apparently not. There’s another expression – selective memory. You remember things in the way that you want to remember them.

I’d like to live my life in less of a fog. I’d like to wake up in the morning with a clear sense of what happened to me the night before. And I’d like to have continuity from the night to the subsequent morning. I used to have that. I feel it was stripped away from me. I think I am fairly thin skinned. Which could be a good quality when it comes to making sincere, expressive music on a cello. But a not so great quality when navigating life’s tribulations, when trying to make sense of life’s bizarre complications.

I pray for my HP to help me tonight. I’ve strived for so long to handle things myself, as perhaps I’ve been taught by example in my family of origin. Of course I admire them if they can indeed accomplish that. That is exactly why I have attempted it. It’s fantastic if managed. But is it not also admirable to admit that I am not indestructible, impenetrable? To admit what is more representative of reality? That I need? That I have needs. That I need others.

Sitting there in that meeting tonight just felt good. It felt good and right to lean into the fellowship there. To allow myself to feel community. And by extension, to feel my god. A power greater than myself.

Isn’t god a little bit more comforting than a functioning modem? I should seriously consider that choice. I should consider a lot of choices. I should not just forget. I should reconsider. I should remember. I should recall. I should reconnect. I love my HP. With all my mind, soul, heart, and body. Just as a good jew should. I don’t ask for much. Just that my HP can hold my hand. That (s)he can guide me from tonight to tomorrow morning uninterrupted, unfettered. That (s)he can be there for my memory, my memories.

French

I don’t know if it’s really from 1995, but I found some notes I scribbled on the margins of “French Toast for Breakfast.” It’s copy-written 1995. They are as follows:

Can I retrain the messages I am receiving and had received? Hasn’t it been a short enough time since I was little Adam? I just didn’t know how important and vital it was to trust me. I am the source, and the soul inside me is my conscience and spiritual guide. No matter how wonderful or powerful things or people are around me, I must always include and even prioritize my own feelings and guts and dreams. I must permit and nurture me, grant me access. Activities happen to be more or less conducive for this openness. Some activities you are ashamed of are in fact conducive to openness whereas some you are proud of and open about block the inner self and prevent growth and living.

As a little child, you don’t know which habits will turn out to be healthy and nurturing and which will turn on you. You aren’t sure how much independence you will be required to have later on and thereby how best to care for yourself. I do need to harken back to a young age to find sources of behaviors.

It’s always interesting to see what I was thinking about in years past.

Landing

Venting. Airing. Not trapping. Not contracting. Living. Loving. Being surrounded. Being alone. Being inhibited.
I’m like a moth. Involuntarily drawn to things. Drawn away from the truth, drawn to vacuousness. I exist in hieroglyphics. I am nomenclature.
No. Don’t. If you doubt it, then go.
A lack of discipline. Of all things! Difficulty integrating ideas coming from different directions. Assimilating. Star Trek put a bad spin on assimilation. Ha. Is compartmentalizing so great though? The right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing.
Everything I do erroneously is for safety. For protection. Ha. Maybe I’m just protecting myself from being alive. I am nearing death. Here I come! How bloody ironic. To think I have any say in death’s inevitability. I remember thinking that Buddhism seemed obsessed with the subject of death. But isn’t religion generally like that? Is Judaism? Depends which denomination. But Buddhism seems to be very direct and honest about life and death. Very, very direct.
Since I’m now delving into my religiosity and spirituality, it causes me to notice how other lifelong practicers have journeyed through and beyond questions such as these. It turns out I’ve only just started scratching the surface.
The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, like Sebok noted.

hate

So, I hate God, and God hates me. Is that what I believe? I never knew it. If I feel God’s love for me, then I guess that means I am capable of feeling His hate. Love and hate are not miles apart. We have to find the wisdom to put distance between them. Without that wisdom, they are easily conjoined.

So I should write. I should do work. I will otherwise be unable to do step 10. I will keep hurting others, and myself. I feel put upon. I feel there is no one looking out for me, anymore. I used to feel my parents were.

Am I powerless over food? And what if I am? Can’t I just die a peaceful/painful death and call it a wash? Who really cares? Aren’t we all going to die anyway? Shouldn’t I go out with some pleasure and excitement? Do normal people ask question after question after question? Only if they’re practicing their question mark typing.

What is my bottom? Is it physical, emotional, intellectual or spiritual? Haven’t I proved I can hit physical bottom enough times? Maybe I need an intellectual bottom. Like the robot in Star Trek. I need to intellectually admit I am at a total loss. Logically. Or is it spiritual? Do I need to realize I should not give up on my own soul? That it is worth something. That it is worth saving. I am not very in touch with my soul. That would explain a lot of the agony and angst, consternation and confusion. I don’t cherish my existence. I don’t think I matter. Perhaps my physical self doesn’t matter much. Perhaps it could just continue to take crappy care of itself and die a simple death, and nothing would change much. There would be some sort of eulogy and obituary and some tears shed over my physical self.