The Price of Ignorance

Our bookkeeper fashions pretzels with chocolate and sells two-dollar bags to raise money for her church. And I eat them in quantities that is, for sure, an affront to God. Yesterday it was cookies. The shame I feel outweighs the sheer quantity of food I take in. I’m not overweight yet. But as each pound returns, it deftly wipes its pudgy feet on the welcome mat and slams the door with such finality, there’s no doubt it’s here to stay.

Why not just one donut? Was it necessary to eat two this morning on my way to therapy, after I had promised myself that I would behave starting today? It was a new week God damn it! One would have been plenty – but two brought me closer . . .

I close my eyes and breathe in slowly through my nose and hold my breath – remembering the rush, the slow descent, the tide of calm rising within me, carrying me away from this godforsaken place as the drugs fulfill their intended purpose – their only purpose. I let the air in my lungs grow stale. My cells innocently protesting this unexpected deprivation. I let the feeling mature – it delivers its own pseudo-high. Again I crave more. Closer.

I’m disgusted at my weakness. Feeding a hunger not of my gut, but of my soul. An insatiable hunger to know you God, now that I’ve glimpsed your face, felt your touch, know your love. But the cage I occupy provides so little room – barely enough for a man to breathe, the crushing press of its bars a constant reminder of the price of ignorance. A sentence without forgiveness - the price of choices made blind to your love. I pray for my release daily. I pray that I may celebrate the love and compassion, which fill me in this tiny space – my corner, my universe.

The consequence of unfinished business

I feel pregnant with ideas and I must write about them. My awakening to consciousness is bringing so much light into my life – but with light comes heat. And too much heat is no good. I need an outlet to express my newfound passion. I’m on fire with love and compassion – a fire which does not consume but rather motivates. I want to fill my hiking pack with paper and pens and climb a secluded hill and look out over life and capture it’s reflections in ink.

But not today. There’s too much work to do. I hear you! Work can wait, it will still be there, but perhaps your passion may be fleeting! But then therein lies the dilemma. If I set work aside to write, there is a cost – the consequence of unfinished business. And when I do write, knowing that it is not leisurely creates tremendous pressure – so little time, your words must be perfect – Hurry! I rush my thoughts onto the paper and take no pleasure in what’s written. Of course it is not good. What did you expect?

I dream of a day when I'll wake up, alone. A writing desk in the corner. Paper. Pens. Time. Solitude. Amen - my prayer for today.

Poetry Thursday: Just You

Keeping with this week’s Poetry Thursday theme, I decided to go to a place that truly inspires me. It’s not a physical place like a library or my kitchen. It is an inner place – just a word – Gratitude. I spent a lot of time there on Saturday. Over the course of the day, this poem revealed itself to me, lazily. A sentence here, a word there. When I was done, I realized I had captured my personal spiritual journey quite succinctly. It seems to flow best if read very slowly. The following is true.

Just You

I summered in your garden
before life happened
There, on the hill by the lake
There were no other gods yet
Just you

Your door, open
Love spilled out
across the grass
wetting roots

I did not drink deeply
there on the hill
Dark clouds gathered
for me
The voice of false gods
on the breeze

Outside the garden
a season of rain
Love’s compass fast
with rust
Empty circles turned
wearing grooves

And you waited for me
There, on the hill by the lake
The grass strong
in your garden
Above your door
welcome home

by D. Tkon Copyright 2006

Poetry Thursday: Cling

The door that stands before me is a portal into nothingness.
Vacant lands I've crossed before.
Desolate, unyielding, unforgiving of the unforgiven.

All paths converge here in this moment of insignificance.
The ultimate decision begs definition,
yet to be constructed from a universe without choice.

Silence mocks emptiness.
Emptiness breaks silence with a triumphant cry of despair.
Echoing off of nothing, witnessed only by the moment itself.

The door slowly swings open, moved by forces unseen.
Momentum's pull beckons, tugging at my limbs without regard
for my need to cling.
The door closes silently behind me.
The moment having passed below the threshold of my awareness.
All is as it was before.
Indeed, I was there all the time.

Two footprints mark the spot where I stood.
Memorializing my progress, ahead of those laid down before.
Yet, another moment has come to pass.
I breathe in and prepare for the crushing weight of the next approaching moment.

It grows and swells with the anticipation of its own arrival.
Fully matured, it demands acknowledgment.
I feel the urge to cling.
Before me, an open door awaits.

by D. Tkon Copyright 2006

There's no "I" in Self

I have mixed feelings about this blog business. I thought it would be a good way to record my daily musings and vent, a way to track the progress of my ascent into consciousness. Mostly, I was looking for a way to share the amazing treasure I've discovered. A gift so wonderful that it would truly be a sin to keep it to myself. I want to just write about it and describe my experiences - my secret escape from insanity through the backdoor into wholeness. The problem is my ego is a royal pain in the ass. Its like a cat on your lap when you're eating ice cream. You can shoo it to the floor a hundred times, but it will keep coming back until you offer it something. And it always parks itself right in the middle of whatever I'm trying to do or create. Cat owners who try to read the newspaper know all about this.

Its hard to compose when your ego keeps tasting the words and phrases as if they were dipped in cream. I wish I could just write about me without it being about me. My inner critic needs a vacation.

I think I'll mediate on it for a while . . .

Pass the Sugar

I'm eating junk food again. Sugar activates me. Its not as good as alcohol or drugs, but it works the same way. Eat some - crave more. It can take up to two weeks to get the sugar out of my system if I stay away altogether. Lately its been donuts. This is new. In the past its been candy (usually chocolate). I hate all of the emotions that accompany eating crap. I'm a closet eater mostly. I can't eat any quantity of junk in front of anyone. The shame keeps me from doing it. It would be like going to the bathroom with the door wide open. So I eat in the dark, behind closed doors or hide in my car. Whatever I buy, I eat it all almost immediately. I'd die if anyone snooped my desk drawer at work and found a Pop-Tart or a bag of M&Ms. I have to get a handle on this and figure out why I do this.

You Have To Start Somewhere . . .

Last Sunday night I dreamt that my Shadow-Self led me through the streets of an unknown city to a ramshackle structure on the edge of town. At the base of the structure was an opening that led into a crawlspace. My Shadow-Self encouraged me to lower myself into the dark below. I didn’t even hesitate. I never do. I climbed through the opening and lowered myself down. My feet didn’t reach the floor. I couldn’t see the floor below. It was so dark. I let go of the opening and fell several more feet to the ground below. I looked up at the rectangle of light above, waiting for my Shadow-Self to accompany me. He didn’t. He covered the opening with a piece of wood. The light was extinguished like a spent match. I could hear my Shadow-Self heaping shovels full of dirt against the opening. My eyes suddenly felt too large for my head. I waved my hand furiously in front of my face barely missing my nose. I could feel the moving air but otherwise, I was now blind. Darkness tightened around me like a Boa Constrictor.

“I’m going to die" was all I could think. It was impossible to search for a way out. The chamber was filled with junk. Every effort to move caused something heavy to fall. I found what felt like a table top or a desk. It was clear of debris, so I sat down. My heart pounded inside my chest like a drum. My lips and fingertips went numb from hyperventilating. "I'm going to die!"

I wondered how it would come. Would I die of thirst? Hunger? Was one better than the other? How long do these things take? "Oh my God! I'm going to die in here." It seemed as though I pondered my fate for a very long time. I struggled in my mind for a solution and groped the darkness for an answer. Several times I cried. I sobbed. Then I cursed for wasting water. Finally, I was quiet and so began the long process of waiting for death. I don't know how much time passed. At some point, I stopped fighting in my mind. I accepted my death . . . and I surrendered.

[Surrender is a glorious feeling. I learn this over and over again in both my wakeful life and in my dreams. Surrender is the moment when suddenly, you can breathe under water, you can fly without falling, and the crushing press of darkness is unveiled by a torch on the horizon. And so it was in my dream.]

Almost instantly, a tiny dot of light appeared far off and away. The dot offered no illumination, it just was . . . there . . . hovering. Less than the head of a pin if that's possible. I'm on my feet and moving towards it. For all I know, its a hundred miles away. As I approach, it grows larger. Still not giving off any light, just shining in and of itself. Finally I am at its source. Its just higher than my head and in front of me. I swipe at it with my hand, which connects with debris knocking it aside. More light appears. My heart is pounding again! I do it again and again, until I've cleared an area roughtly the same size as the hole I used to enter this place. The junk I've been moving was simply blocking the light, which apparently was always there. Light is flooding into the room like air. The hole is clear and I can get out if I can reach it.

Suddenly a small boy's face appears in the window. He reaches his hand in to me and effortlessly pulls me through the opening. We're standing together now in an ancient city. I don't recognize this place but I'm struck with the feeling that this place is holy. We walk through the city and come to a door that's ajar. He pushes it open and invites me in. The room is dimly lit by several candles and a small fire in an arched hearth. A family I do not know is taking a meal together at a plain wood table. A place is set for me and I join them. The dream ends.