Soybeans Fall, Grains Mixed

That one needs a visual. From today's New York Times.

I overheard a person this morning in my office speaking to another, "...Just let go of caring..." he said. There is a lot of frustration with working in some groups here. On hearing this, I flashed on two aspects of the comment: the common, cynical advice for giving-up one's dedication to "careful" but unrewarded work; and, the ideas I've been studying and practicing regarding attachment/detachment.

Because he used those words, "just let go of", I thought: "follow the instructions out the window" rather than to do sloppy work. But I've heard this type of remark so many times in my working life where it meant, "Nobody cares, why should you?" that it made a weird association for me -- both aspects in mind at once.

Like a wave lifting me up

Sometimes I just recognize what it is. I don't see what it is as it's happening, I see the bits that make it up. I look at those bits or live them through, wondering if that's something I should mark and record [here]. One thing or another obstructs and I don't -- I'm driving my car when I think of what I might say and then forget about it by the time I have the opportunity, or it doesn't come into focus if I intend to use this format of marking and recording. Then sometimes I just recognize what it is and it is ready for marking and recording.

That has over- and under-tones, "marking and recording". You see the format here but to get here some dependencies have to occur in the circumstances. In this case I could say that some specific interchanges with good acquaintenances have occured that put my mind and heart in motion. In this case what I've recognized that brought me to the blog editor is that these have events have put my mind and heart in motion. A specific motional experience.

Like a wave lifting me up. I haven't been swimming in the ocean for many decades, but that experience is easy to recall with the right markers. You're in the water near the beach maybe up to your waist, between wave occurances where the water is calm. The water starts to rise up gently as the next wave approaches from the distance. Up to your chest, you start to float up with feet off the bottom, the wave lifts you up, passes, and crests and crashes, with that distinct and soothing sound. Your floating high moving along as the wave rushes toward the beach sand. I wonder if that is what birds feel on the wind sometimes.

Each of these specific interchanges with good acquaintenances have been improvised: prepared for and in context but not planned or really not even anticipated. We were talking about matters that are personal and important. Meandering like a search party working our ways up some mountain side forest. Some view comes about in an instant, stunning in how we were all touched by its thought and feeling. We were connected with a "Yes, that's it!". And these were all positive finds for me, I can say that for sure. The connections have been many and opening up to more.

Each in their way could have been marked and recorded here, but were not. Now they swell together and I see how they are like a wave lifting me up.

A ghostly spectre of half a thought

The street was healed, passage free and easy. Neighborhood gardeners smiled even.

This is interesting: my group orders literature -- books, pamphlets -- I make the call to a voice mail box and then I get a call back. They leave the order in a big, unlocked tool box on a friend's front porch with any other orders. You pick up your order from the box and leave your check in the envelope in the box. All honor system, out in a friendly neighborhood. And it works. Good thing!

So I look back now on that initial surprise of finding the road closed (see last Monday, below), and how I feared my schedule for the next few days was suddenly impacted in ways I could only fret about, and now I see the difference between my worries and what actually, calmly happened with good results. I got the literature, my schedule was not impacted in any significant way (nothing put off or made late), I'm on-time with meeting my deadline, and I've isolated this nagging anxiety that always associates with expectations -- now naked and hovering ghost-like over the play-out of actual events. It's just there, unobscured but smoke-like, where I can do what I want with it, whatever I might be able to do with it!!! I can just let it go, fade away; or use it to build a tool.

Juxtapose

It was a pleasure being with wifely person, Kim, and attending Monday night group last night, but no tickets. I hope my friend, Heather, has improvement with neck recovery. Nevertheless I saw Frannie, the group rep, and we recalled a recent meeting on meditation that we both enjoyed. Saw many familiar Monday friends. Good feeling, sense of connectivity with those close to me.

Incidental web reading of "Old friends Phyllis & Kent Laursen have left..." caught my eye because I don't see "Kent" used often. Thought it was "Laurelsen" but then correctly observed the spelling. Later today got a phone call from Dave Laursen.

Met a contractor today, named Bob, who was pleasant and easy to work with. He finished in one day.

My business partner, one of many, sitting next to my space is speaking passionate swahili to someone on the phone.

Another business partner suddenly can't log in to a computer system which notoriously forgets random staff's passwords. The common and usual fix method produces unexpected result: Warning -- EMPLID = '05**45' assigned to another User ID. She is now two people uncoordinatedly.

I'm hiccupping for dinner as I think about arrival home and meeting up with Kim. I've recently gained 10 pounds when my goal was to lose 10, so now it's 20. Hiccup.

Tonight I attempt to negotiate the broken up street to make the literature pickup. Later, off to Buddha Gate monastery for meditation and Buddhadharma. Ami tuo fo to you.

Matters of course

I had an earnest request put to me last Wednesday, "We're out of new-comers packets, we'll need some for next Wednesday." This was from my Wednesday evening group's co-Secretary, Thomas, to his Literature person. I assured him that new-comers packets were common needs and ought to be available from the district literature stores. I placed my phone order last week, patiently waited for the inevitable and efficient call-back, which came today. Literature coordinator Coralee, "Your order is ready. It is at the usual place at John's house." I went to pick the order up today, between a doctor appointment and returning to work, pleased that I had easily memorized the route to John's house. I had the check in my pocket. Detour, road work ahead. Road closed. Almost in site of John's, backhoe digging vigorously. Should I walk? No: I'd be late for work, they would stop me.

I had placed an order for two tickets to attend a local workshop. A good acqaintance replied, stating she could bring the tickets to a Monday evening group we share and I could bring my check. That would be tonight. Not sure if this evening's schedule will go according to schedule (we could just be late), or if my acquaintance will be able to attend due to recent neck injury: "I am working on transitioning from a hard collar neck brace to none at all, or sometimes a soft one. This transition is more difficult than anticipated and it has been a grueling couple of days, so we shall see."

I feel calm. It will probably work out just fine. I worry a little at what I will have to do to make "ends meet". Wish us luck!