Today I read a quote from J. Krishnamurti:
“The mind that dies every day to the memories of yesterday, to all the joys and sorrows of the past, such a mind is fresh, innocent, it has no age.”
This quote came in via the Krishnamurti page on Face Book.
Each day I wake up and feel fresh, for a moment, and then I remember all the stuff that was in my mind before I fell asleep the night previous. If only I could remember my dream I was having before awakening, it would be respite from the repetitive mind-stuff that comes up immediately with the dawn. Dreams seem more real, somehow, given that I have vivid person-to-person encounters in them. In this day-to-day living, I have no relationships of any significance other than those which impact my “survival.”
These “relationships” are with clients I visit and “do for.” This last week I went every day to someone the office needed me to go see. It is someone I can keep seeing, that is, if I take the dreaded flu vaccination. At this point, I am almost ready to give in and let them stick me with the poison, since I need the job, which is depressing to me. I suppose I should be grateful, and be glad that the office calls me to work. My dream of retiring from the work-a-day world is past. I know I am not alone in this situation, but that does not make me feel any better. My mind says I should be more creative.
The one person with whom I have a “relationship” fairly consistently is my neighbor. We know each other almost too well, and the level of honesty is tainted because I know how to hit his buttons and am very careful to not do so. It is almost like being in a marriage that has no joy, wherein the “partners” have to just stay because there does not appear to be any other place to go. The result of such a “relationship” is that both parties learn to stay civil, avoiding any discussion of anything that might rock the boat. It is a practice of learning patience, restraint, and spending a lot of time without the company of the other. I live my life as a recluse, except when the need to earn money takes precedence. Whatever comes in to my world is via books, some television, some radio, the internet and Face Book. I feel I am becoming the 90-year-old I see occasionally on the job, who sees only those persons sent to look in on her.
Fortunately, not having all the amenities available that most people in this country take for granted places demands on me that I must meet, in order to stay warm, bathed, in clean clothes, and fed. When I meet these needs for myself, I temporarily experience freedom from the mind stuff. The saying, “Chop wood, carry water” has much meaning for me, especially as the cold weather comes in.
My son came for a day on his way home after the music festival and split up all the wood for me that had been sitting by my driveway. He, his girlfriend, and I worked for several hours getting it all stacked. He also cleaned out the chimney, and so now I have a good fire in the wood stove. Last night, anticipating a drop in temperature into the 20’s, I walked up to the water tank, closed the valve, and drained the line so that it would not freeze. In the garden, I picked every tomato I saw, mostly green ones, and carried home at least a bushel. I felt such sorrow, as I said goodbye to my babies that had grown so beautifully all spring and summer, that were still giving flowers. I have not gone to the garden today for fear I will see I was too quick to assume they would all freeze last night. The bags of tomatoes are still downstairs, waiting for me to go through them, so that I can wrap the green ones in tissue paper and stash them someplace so they may ripen and be used later. When I get that done, I will take a lot of them to my 90-year-old elderly friend who also rarely sees anyone, as she asked me to bring her as many as I could give her. This one person reminds me, just by her fierce refusal to give up, that I too can “make it,” despite my ever-present feelings of isolation. Tomorrow I will go visit her, as I know I will wish someone to visit me when I am ninety and decrepit, if I actually live that long.
So Krishnamurti is right. My innocence and fresh outlook and ageless way of living are not with me right now, thanks to having a mind that dwells on things past. The best that happens these days are the surprises that I find.
The other morning, I was having a recurring dream (it always comes in the fall) where I blissfully meet up once again with the man I love and then poof! It was gone, for I woke up suddenly, knowing I would be late for the job. I started through the bedroom door and almost stepped on something that was very still on the floor. I looked closer after grabbing the flashlight. It was a dead rat, a huge dead rat, with half of its head chewed away so that I could see its neck bone. It was the size of a twelve-week-old kitten. So that was what had dropped from the loft last night onto the foot of my bed! I was startled out of my sleep for an instant, as I felt the weight of it on my feet. Apparently my huntress cat had chased it and caught it. I took photos of it, thinking I would post it on Face Book. But I have yet to put anything up. These rats are not that big a deal in these parts. All sorts of critters get in to peoples’ houses here. I am just glad the rat did not decide to bite me. As the day progressed, my ever busy mind reflected on how I should really get this cabin better sealed, and get some cabinets in place so that I can get the clutter put away. But I doubt that would make much difference. Having to deal with snakes, rats, mice, raccoons, and possums possibly getting into one’s cabin comes with the territory of living smack in the middle of the forest. I felt a little sorry for the dead rat, as I observed one of its paws in a semi-fist, which reflected the excruciating pain of being killed by a cat.
As the first week of November 2012 rolls around, I will be ready for the end of the political campaigning. That has also been on my mind. It has all gotten so old, almost disgusting. I will vote, but my faith in how things go in this country is waning. I cannot even feel anger anymore. I understand that there are very few in the higher offices of the government who care if anyone like myself manages to live life a little better. They have their own lives covered, why worry about us “little people.” We are basically here to be manipulated and fooled. I am not fooled. I am simply feeling somewhat discouraged, disillusioned with all of it. I will still have a place to sleep at night, unlike many, and I will still dream, but I am having a difficult time keeping the faith that all will be well. If I am a frequency broadcasting my energy, I must work on getting my vibration heightened, so that I possibly might influence that which is, here and everywhere, but unless millions of others also do this, simultaneously, we may wake up some morning and wish we had not. The rats have been coming out of the woodwork in my little cabin, and they are out and about in broad daylight with no shame, in the world at large. Innocence does not abound, and little is fresh, except for the world of plants and animals, and age is taking over us all. I need to sit for a while tonight and read more of Jiddu Krishnamurti and get on track!