Is there something inherently pessimistic about the distancing of mindful living? Pulling away from attachments. Cleaving/un-cleaving. A lukewarm perspective on experience.
Someone will tell me I’ve misunderstood.
Because everything is conjured into existence within a context, from a singular perspective. The parallel universes of discourse.
This one is mine.
To distance from suffering is to distance from joy, and from the exquisite, total surrender to the sublime.
But assuming life is a zero-sum game for a final reckoning of some sort, we hedge our bets.
Those are a lot of words dumped without context. I know. And I know I am misunderstanding. And I know that the weight of a sole responsibility for making oneself understood – and for understanding others – is an isolating way to move through the world.
Is there a way to suspend judgement and the learned scoring of experiences, while clinging tightly-hotly to them?
This is the innocence of children, who will eat dog shit.
We ignore that part.
This is how we filter our desires through nostalgia. Or whichever spellbook we choose – whichever guru, god.
And we never learn enough for a reckoning.
Drink deep the cup of life;
Take its dark wine into your soul,
For it passes round the table only once.