It is crazy, all of the ways I make things ‘not okay’ when everything is, in fact, a-okay. Divine. Sheer perfection, actually. I drive myself crazy with (what appears to be) the not-okayness of life. I see it and I cannot stop it. I cannot stop my brain (and I’ve done lots of work, life work, actually, to control it), but maybe that is part of the problem. Life (and even our brains) are not supposed to be controlled. Sure, we can do the work to manage our minds instead of letting our minds manage us, but perhaps a large part of the work is simply to build greater awareness so the lessons can slowly reveal themselves over time. Control is an illusion.
My conditioning — the little me that works so hard to direct my life — expects perfection; it expects life to be handed to me in pretty little perfect packages … no messy floors, no weeds in the flowerbeds, a lawn that’s kept, hair that’s perfect, a beautiful body, a face that’s always pleasing to look at. Nothing out of place. Nothing less than ‘perfect.’ And it does this day after day after day. I see it but cannot stop it; the wanting things to be different than what they actually are.
I drive myself mad with this … these constant thoughts of wanting something other than what is. The work of bending life toward my will and whims. The continual striving toward an intended future-perfect, instead of the present, the real, the now, a living consciousness that knows far better than I, a love so deep that wants nothing more (and nothing less) than what is, and for me (and you), as sentient beings, as beautiful sparks of the divine, to live wholly in the flow.
‘Perceived perfection,’ a self-conjured perfection, is a projection of the mind, a complete unreality. Instead, imperfect, messy life is the true perfection. Our messiness, our angst, the things that cause us the most turmoil, are divine and perfect because they show us who we are. They show us our true beauty and the work we still need to do. The only true perfection that exists IS the messy. The only perfectness in life is the reality of the way things ARE. Our finite minds can’t make sense of it because we live in an infinite universe that is governed by completely different rules than that of the mind. Is the mind even governed by rules? Is it governed at all or is it simply a tool — for growth and/or destruction?
The question is, how can I lean into the deeper knowing that exists in my bones, if not in my mind? How can I stop my brain from wanting something other than WHAT IS? I don’t have answers; I rarely do, and that drives me mad too. And so, I lean into that which soothes. I lean into practice. I lean into prayer, quietude and deepening awareness of my tendencies. I lean into acceptance and gratitude. I lean into the beauty that exists all around me, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I lean into the very palpable (almost orgasmic) joy that is here, on the rare occasion that my mind is calm.