On A Philosophical Note

One thing I used to do, for several years, was read part of one of a set of philosophical books at bedtime, the way some people read from their religious books, just a little bit of reminding me how to live well before I went to sleep. The three books are It's Easier Than You Think: The Buddhist Way to Happiness by Sylvia Boorstein, The Miracle of Mindfulness by Thich Nhat Hanh, and Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. Zen Buddhism and Stoic Philosophy readings on a regular basis somehow helped me feel calmer and more centered. 

Then, for some unknown reason, I stopped reading them. Either I let the books be packed and so didn't have them at hand after I moved to Oregon, or I just got out of the habit, but somehow I stopped. And I think that stopping that bedtime habit left a little hole in my calmness and my center.

When I remember to think about being mindful, or when I remember something I read and try to apply it to whatever I'm going through, I feel a little better. But because I don't read these books regularly anymore, I don't remember to apply them to my life very often.

For example, the Buddha taught that struggling causes suffering. If you struggle against something that you cannot change, you will feel added pain — the pain of suffering. If you struggle against something you can change but you don't try to change it or accept it, you will suffer. I spent the better part of two years struggling against the fact that my mother died and that she died at a time when she was finally free to do things that she wanted to do. Telling myself it wasn't fair is struggling. Not accepting the fact that she was dead is struggling. It is partly grief, too, but I think I made it worse by clinging to these struggles and clinging to my grief. When I began to read the Boorstein book again this summer, I was reminded not to cling. I was reminded not to struggle against what I cannot change. Those struggles have nearly disappeared now, partly from time and cognitive therapy and partly from reading one of my books and being reminded.

The Center of All Things

Today's therapy became very philosophical. A post of mine appeared on the What EveryBetty Said blog today and it was about the concept of all things being transitory. This led to my thinking about how I lost my anchor and my center when my mom died because she was those things to me. Then I wondered if maybe I'm making my BFF into those things in her place, and if I should pull back a little bit.

My therapist saw things differently. She's listened to me talk about the Zen Buddhist and Stoic philosophies that I read on and her take was about risk and needing to risk pain and the negative emotions (think in terms of the negative space on a graph) in order to have the possibility of joy and love and the full range of positive emotions (the upper, positive part of a graph). That what I really need is to create my center, my anchor, within myself, not pull back from people so I don't risk pain.

There are a lot of reasons why my center is not within myself. My parents did not raise me to be self-sufficient. In fact, my father — a cop — taught my mother to handle a gun and my little brother to handle a gun, but did not teach me. I was warned away from tools and ladders and other "dangerous" things because I "might get hurt." I was sheltered and protected, at least as they saw it (they didn't protect me from being molested) and pretty much expected to marry someone who would continue to take care of me. Even though my mother worked outside of the home and she made equal decisions with my father and was in no way submissive or second to him. It was all very weird — I saw that even as a kid. So I didn't develop an interior locus of control or a sense of self-confidence in the face of difficulty.

Next, well, are the traumas in my life. Molestation. Bullying. Then losing my father, then my brother before I was 22. I held onto my mother with both metaphorical hands and all my might: she was the reason I chose not to take my own life after my brother took his and I could barely cope: I felt a responsibility to my mom to not put her through that again. So she was my reason for living for a very long time. She anchored me to this life.

One of the biggest problems I've had since Mom died was this lack of a center or an anchor, a lack of being grounded. My therapist proposed that this is what I work on. Be my own center so that I can embrace those I love without leaning on them so that if they go away I won't fall over. Be grounded on my own feet so that passing traumas cannot knock me over. Be able to still love and care with a whole heart, without crumbling should I lose who I love.

The concept is a simple one, sure, but not easy for me to achieve. It's spiritual: what in my non-deitific life gives me a spiritual center? It's cognitive: what have I accomplished that proves to me that I am self-reliant and independent? It even touches that part of me that is kinesthetic in nature: not leaning, standing on my own feet, etc., like a Weeble ("Weebles Wobble But They Don't Fall DOWN!")

I'll address these aspects of centeredness and my life in later posts (or this one is going to be far too long; besides, then I'll have ready-made ideas for later posts). Right now, I'd like to know, do you feel centered and grounded within yourself? What does or does not give you that sense?

Getting Un-Lost

Previously I wrote about how I lost my way and wandered away from the philosophies, beliefs, and practices that gave me balance and a center and serenity.

Since I wrote that, I bought a couple books on simplicity by the writer I most like. And at night before I go to bed, I use one of them plus the Boorstein and Aurelius books as inspiration books. I flip the pages back and forth and open them randomly to some page and section, then read it and ponder how they relate to my life right now and how I can use them to live better and more true to myself. 

I think they've been helping. Aurelius reminds me that the past is the past and that we choose our responses. Boorstein reminds me how to have an expansive mind that encompasses all of life and living. St. James reminds me to remember that I need less than I think I do, that what I have is enough. They feel like family who are reminding me of who I am and what I know.

I feel lighter. Yes, I got weepy about Mom a couple of times this past week, but that's okay. Grief takes time. What I'm finding is that some of the anger and resentment (mostly toward the Universe) is leaching away. And I found something I'd missed: Hatred. A shocking depth of hatred toward the Universe for taking my mom away from me and leaving me alone.That's definitely an issue to work on because I believe that hatred poisons the hater, and I don't need that.

I think I'm finding my way again. I feel more centered and more grounded. I look forward to when I look in the mirror at some point and say "Ah. There you are!"

Simple

I'm not sure where I first learned about simplicity and the simplicity movement, but I got my first books on the subject in the early 90s. The first one may have been Simple Abundance. And while I had issues with the obvious religious overtones here and there, I found most of the rest of the book to be mind-changing. I found something I'd been missing (and I keep missing it because I'm a lousy shot — ba dum bum). 

My favorite simple-living book is The Simplicity Reader: Simplify Your Life, Inner Simplicity, and Living the Simple Life by Elaine St. James. It's three of her first books in one and I love all the suggestions and ideas. In the printed world, there are many, many books on simplicity: books on the Circle of Simplicity, Simplicity Groups, and more. Then there's the Tightwad Gazette for extreme frugality and there's Your Money or Your Life where, if you truly follow their instructions, you should be able to be financially independent (which is not the same as filthy rich) in something like five years, depending on your debt situation. It helps if you have an income to start with. (Unfortunately, a couple of books they say are essential are long out of print because the first edition was written like 30 years ago.) I include in my lifestyle bookshelf my books on Zen Buddhism (It's Easier Than You Think, by Sylvia Boorstein), Stoic Philosophy (Meditations, by Marcus Aurelius and The Enchiridion, by Epictetus), and mindful awareness (The Miracle of Mindfulness, by Thich Nhat Hanh). (And all but two of these books are in storage, which makes things a bit difficult for me: I have these books, just not here; I have no income, so buying new books is a bad idea; but reading these books helps my life.)

At one time, I followed a lot of these concepts and philosophies. Along the way, life happened and I got lost. I want to find my way again, because living simply, being frugal, being mindful and aware — these things make me feel good. My life has changed so drastically and dramatically that I'm lost there as well. I think that following these paths ... which, really, all form different aspects of one path for me ... will help me find my new life and help me find my new happiness.

Thinking — Not Always A Good Thing

I've been thinking, a very dangerous activity for me. When I think, small thoughts grow into bigger thoughts, which often grow into grandiose ideas and fabulous plans.

I think I'm currently at medium thoughts.

I've been thinking about what I want to write about. I have this blog. I have a professional blog that I started then stopped. I may or may not theoretically have other blogs in existence or in stand-by, if at all. But what should I do with my blogs? With my professional blog, I want to share my ideas about my profession. I want to make it a useful blog for myself and others. I want to share and grow and stretch.

For this blog, I want to explore my ideas instead of just writing them down. I want to put real thought and effort behind each post. So I've been creating a list of things to write about. I'm color-coding them so I know which blog they belong to (as if the topic isn't sufficient — I just like to color-code things).

I think that in this one I want to return to exploring the mental landscape that is in my head, which includes things I want to include in my life, things I'm just thinking about, etc. But things that are important, rather than just "I like cheese."

Two things I can think of to start with are the concept and practice of Simplicity, and the concept and Practice of Scientific Pantheism. The two of them complement each other quite well. I'm not sure if it would be better to alternate them, to cover one to the best of my ability before going on to the next, or just be random.

I'd rather not be random. I could, possibly, interweave them. Say I'm writing about Simplicity and something I say reminds me about something in SP. Well, I could cover that the next day. Does that make sense?

Well, I'm still cogitating. I know I'll come up with something interesting. But I do plan to start with Simplicity. Both my life and my mind could use a lot of it. And I may throw in some Stoic Philosophy and my own brand of Zen Buddhism (my own, barely informed, brand). I can see myself expounding upon the life and being that is Skye. That's just a warning. Just in case.