I’ve just read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.
I watched Elizabeth Gilebert do a TED talk on the subject of creative genius and totally bought her idea that genius is a muse that visits us, and not some uncooperative aspect of ourselves that we chastise and criticise - stick over carrot - beating up esteem and confidence in the process. I'm in love with the idea, and she’s a pleasant talker. For that reason I picked up the book. Having just read Dragon’s Blessing in preparation for an interview with Ian Gawler I wasn’t put off by one of the cover’s pull-quotes: ‘unashamedly spiritual’. She’s a pleasant writer, too, it turns out. Honest and charming and funny.
The first third of her book, which looks at Rome, was tremendous; it echoes my own passion for the Italian language and coined perfectly the ecstasy felt when biting into a pezzo di pizza romana – or for me, the pizza bianca with mortadella (one must ignore the assine ingredients if one is to enjoy thoroughly). I loved the idea that here was this woman, my age, at rock bottom and she goes to Italy to find happiness. But of course!
And then came India. The Ashram. I've been to one of those - not in India, but in the Mangrove Mountains of NSW, Australia. With vows of silence and menial duties and early yoga sessions and long periods of contemplation. That's where I learned low-level meditation. Not a lot of pizza.
Since that visit a decade ago I have tried meditation now and then, but I've never made a practice of it, which I’m trying to do the moment, for the purpose of clearing my mind of junk. Anyone who has watched this will know exactly how much junk there is out there – there’s heaps, unimaginable heaps, waiting to be absorbed. It’s like mopping up gravy with bread and not having room for the meat – I want the meat of life. I want to see exactly what’s on my plate and eat the good stuff. So I’m guessing a stilling of the mind, a restoration of body and mind balance would put me in the right picture. Would light up the gems of life’s real attractions and tricky distractions like night goggles. That’s what I want. I want it increasingly, annoyingly and sometimes rather urgently. But I have issues.
This clarity appears to be wrapped up in ‘feeling god’. I don't mind feeling empty, and I'm open to the odd tingle in my chakras, and if god wants to visit (for the record I don't believe in a single beardy god, but I'm jolly impressed by the forces of nature and the colour green) that's fine. But for someone who is a little god-skeptic, dumping that disbelief and plumping for what is in effect a sort of praying sits more uncomfortably than a meditation newbie after three double espressos. God can visit me, but I can't invite him to if I don't know he's there, can I? Maybe I can.
My other troublesome point is ego. Once needs to banish ego if one is to see clearly - or to see god. And yet, isn't my wanting all this life-changing perspective down to the greed of my ego? Isn't meditating and reaching a high consciousness for the purpose of finding happiness a bit me-me-me? I'm not currently contemplating it for the benefit of anyone else.
I'm a confused little bunny - a self-contradicting little bunny. Because I am fully aware that how we live 'unconsciously' - Eat, Work, Sleep - is also fed by me-me-me (e.g, those shoes would look great on me; I deserve them); so where's the problem? I certainly have no problem with accepting flattery, compliments and eating pizza bianca. Maybe I feel in my uncertainty of the more abstract, that I would be a bit of an Emperor in New Clothes tripping, stripping, down a spiritual path...
But just because I can't see, smell or touch it doesn't mean it's not there. Magnetic forces don't have arrows and dotted lines like they do in physics diagrams... they are still a force though. It's just that we know about it for sure. This morning as I was explaining the word 'infinate' to Ben on our walk - there are infinite colours, infinate numbers, the sky is infinate - I was reconciled with the fact that there is a heap we don't know about. Doesn't mean it's not there.
Can you believe the sky goes on for ever - like it never finishes? Or maybe it does, maybe our universe is just a cell in the brain of some, relatively, humungous being. And if so, then why shouldn't there be a whole universe in our own brains, entire worlds of within our own consciousnesses. The possibilities are infinate. I mean, who needs drugs to trip out - really. With that in mind - or quite possibly out - why then should a 'higher plain of consciousness' be so literally incredible? And why should striving to find it be any more self-indulgent than having a massage, eating profiteroles or dancing to Katrina and The Waves - anything, in fact, any of us do to make ourselves feel better?
And now that my problem with ego has been resolved, and I've almost convinced myself to head off on the journey, here comes the unhealthy huffing puffing cynic in me, catching up with a 'just another thing' like Columbo the detective.
Why would we - essentially mammals with a nasty streak and a tendency to prey on all creatures great and small, and even of the same species - be blessed with this higher consciousness? Surely we are merely creating, because of our ridiculously analytical brains and anxiety disorders, an alternative world to distract ourselves from what the rest of the animal kingdom, too small of brain, is blissfully unaware of: we're all going to die, rot and return to nothingness. Because of mind over matter we can distract ourselves, quite efficiently. But is it just that: distraction?
Gilbert's particularly acrimonious separation with husband and boyfriend is what led her to distraction. It's not surprising she sought it, having spent months sobbing on a bathroom floor, and if your publisher gives you the kind of book deal that requires kicking off a search for happiness in the best pizzeria in Rome, followed by four months of technology-free contemplation and a stint in club tropicana, Bali, would you say no? (The Balinese doctor's meditation technique of sitting and smiling a lot... I could do that, just give me a ticket to Bali). Clearly the whole experience worked. Elizabeth Gilbert is now happily married to the hunky Brazilian she met in Bali (now that's a distraction) and speaks regularly about finding god.
Back to god. God. What path is there for the quasi-spiritual - the person that aspires to be level, ego-less and accepting but can't take a leap of faith, if 'faith', traditionally, religiously speaking, is the optimal word? Is there a half-way house?
And personality. What about comedy borne of adversity - how can I find a bright shiny other-worldly answer and still retain my love of comedic wickedness and cringe-cruel satire and not walk around with what can come across as an air of superiority, something some newly enlightened Westerners display, I've noticed (not all, ovbiously). Or am I reading it wrong - is it simply what a blissful face looks like?
So I'm stopped by the very human hurdles of wanting to change circumstance but not myself, of wanting to know before I taste. Hesitating - putting the better the devil you know before the great unknown. Indiana Jones would be very disappointed. Indie, I want the bliss, sign me up - but you had a map; could I have solid proof, too, please? Tiramisu is tangible. The Spiritual path isn't.
It's clear that desire for change is preying on my life-satisfaction, and fear of change is currently preying on motivation to change. So, like Gilbert's creative muse, couldn't there be a spiritual equivalent? I'll keep trying to meditate if there's a possibility that a little sprite with a twinkly lantern and will visit, lighting up life's junkyard to show me a way through to the smooth road beyond. I'm not shirking full responsibility for my own happiness, not entirely. If he could come just a few times to hold my hand, till I'm no longer fearful, till I think I can do it alone, till I'm convinced. He and I could become very good friends. I'd let him share my Tiramisu.
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