Harmony. Yin Yang. Peace. On occasion, I superficially explore various elements of Buddhism. My intent, in examining concepts and practices of Buddhism, is to develop an understanding of a philosophical framework that seems—on first blush—to be the very core of simplicity. Quickly, though, when I devote time and energy to learning, I find that Buddhism is quite complex; so complex, in fact, that I sometimes lose interest because its complexity strikes me as unnecessary and artificial. But my sense of necessity, or the lack thereof, is driven by my own lifetime experiences…the very experiences I hope to hold at bay while exploring attitudes and ideas that are foreign to me. I find that many people selectively embrace minor elements of Buddhism, leaving the rest to dedicated practitioners. To me, that seems a waste of energy, because I think all the convoluted intricacies of the practice—the aspects that seem far too complex to understand—must necessarily be understood if the depth and breadth of the practice can be truly understood. I describe myself, of course; I am unwilling to invest the time and energy to learn how a thousand intersecting layers interact with one another to form a “simple” whole. Perhaps if I were to force myself to explore more deeply, I would discover the value of devoting my time to the exploration. But I may be inherently too lazy or too mentally limited to reach that point. Yet there’s something about Buddhism—mandalas, for example—that seems to offer ways to better understand, and see beyond, chaos. Mandalas may serve as instruments to help focus thoughts and clear away debris that impedes understanding. But, in reality, I do not know and probably never will.
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Last night, when I went to bed, my throat felt slightly scratchy. During the course of the night, other minor symptoms of a nascent cold—coughing, headache, sinus drainage, etc.—began to present themselves, frequently interrupting my sleep. This morning, the symptoms do not seem to have gotten worse, but neither have they begun to lessen. I feel like I am on a precipice; if I lean one way, the cold will pass silently, but if I lean the other, I will plunge headlong into a two-week period of headaches, chest discomfort, coughing, sneezing, and otherwise unpleasant experiences. I got up once during the night, in search of Motrin for my headache and cold medicine for the other symptoms. I found the Motrin, but gave up looking for the cold medicine. Perhaps I can find it this morning, after the sun rises; if, that is, it is available to be found. Or, when I go to town this afternoon for the infusion to boost the level of magnesium in my blood, maybe I will stop at a drug store for cold medicine and an assortment of other drugs that could envelope me in soft, hazy comfort.
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Weather forecasters predict that by Wednesday afternoon, when my PET-scan is scheduled, the expected sleet and snow of Tuesday will have ended. But the temperatures will remain below freezing, making the roads slick and icy—obviously hazardous. The scan already has been delayed a week and I have no interest in any further delays. So, unless conditions appear especially treacherous shortly after mid-day on Wednesday, I will battle the uncooperative roadways…assuming, of course, the procedure has not been cancelled by the time I am ready to leave. I have a history of dealing with adverse weather (i.e., icy road conditions, heavy rain, etc. ) when trying to get to the oncologist’s office. I wonder about the significance of that history?
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Torturous dreams, in which I am faced with severe consequences as a result of my procrastination, lately have all too commonly infected my sleep with intense worry. The circumstances vary from dream to dream, but aside from the core theme, there is another commonality: the setting of every dream involves one of the people with whom I worked at my first association job. Last night, the organization’s CEO showed up at the office late one morning, driving a huge white Cadillac which replaced his old Mercury station wagon. I suddenly realized I had not finished a project he expected me to have completed; I panicked. Similar situations have invaded my subconscious during other dream states. I tend not to be completely irresponsible about letting obligations slide…except in those damnable dreams.
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We are memories; our echoes ricochet off granite canyon walls. Every drop of rain that fell searched for a way to return to its ancestral home. Waters that carved deep scars into steep cliffs have long since replenished oceans of the world. River beds are empty. Trees slowly heal from wounds inflicted by bolts of angry lightning. Thunder rousts massive boulders from mountain peaks. Truth is neither sentimental nor cruel; no opposite confronts it.
