The immersion in the recorded works of Alan Watts continues. I have tried to listen to him at bedtime, but that has proved troublesome. I bring his recordings up on YouTube on my iPad, and try to focus on his words more than his voice. Then I wake up an hour or so later, my iPad steadily draining battery because the screen was on the whole time, and I turn it off. Then I find I'm wide awake, and can't sleep until I start the whole process over again. His lectures are frighteningly soothing in a dark room at midnight, let me tell you. So instead, this morning I tried setting it up on the laptop while I went about my business, and was finally able to stay awake and pay attention for more than ten minutes. In some respects, he is very reflective of the times in which he taught. There is a lot of interest in zen, a lot of discussion of sexuality as if it were scandalously progressive, and repeated odes to the glory of LSD. Ah, the Sixties. Regardless, he is still very interesting and relevant to a lot of the things I'm going through and thinking of these days.
Today's passages, in between the suggestions that LSD was A-OK (I'll have to take his word for that--never tried and probably never will), frequently dealt with the contrasts of something versus nothing. Of the bright white hotness of the stars and of the vast near-nothingness in between. Of the pulsing rhythm of matter. Of the constant cycle of existing and not existing. These are topics that gave me headaches as a child, trying to understand what existed before time began and what lay beyond the edge of the universe. I want to relisten to these lectures, so that I really absorb what he says. I might even pull out a spiral notebook (of my weird collection of dozens of them), and take notes like a college student. I enjoy when he speaks of things that sound like early string theory, of the pulsations of energy that form matter, and the illusion of solidity. It's all about things that exist and are empty at the very same time. Fun stuff.
When I was trying to lead the spouses group in Charleston while simultaneously trying to recover from diverticulitis and adjust to Mr X being gone for the year and a half that changed my world, I pretended that I wanted to run for the office of president (of the club, mind you) a second time. I had convinced myself that I was having fun, even as I knew I was overwhelming myself physically and emotionally. At one point, I'd caught wind of the fact that someone else had thrown her name into the ring to run against me, and after a brief flash of betrayal (the sensation went away quickly), I realized it was one of the most liberating things that had happened to me all year. I didn't have to continue on with the job, and I had permission to let go. When I announced to the board that I was withdrawing my name from contention, I truthfully explained that I wasn't getting better from the illness, and by letting go of that big source of stress, I could finally heal. It worked to some extent. I spent a lot of quiet time alone in the Original Park, learning how to cope and how to write. I was proud of a lot of my early blog posts, even though most of them were ever read by maybe eight or nine people at that time. I needed the time to do nothing.
I'm faced with a little of that feeling again. I tried drowning my anger and pain over Mr X leaving, this time forever, by taking on too many projects. I didn't let myself say no to anyone. I agreed to go out to socialize, I worked showing multiple houses in different cities on what was my anniversary, I went to real estate training sessions, and I agreed to work on committees and fundraisers. I even started an exercise regimen that I've continued even when I thought I had too much pain to make progress. I've done too much, and it's time to pare down again. I have to survive the next week, and then I'm clear. Most of what I have to complete is fun. The fundraiser will be play as well as work. I'm going to see another musical with my friend, which will be great. And then I have to meet the extended deadline to turn in my legal separation paperwork. But in a week or so, I will have the opportunity to do nothing for a while. But at the same time my head will be saying I am doing nothing, my body may be quite busy. The illusion of stillness. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," as the Bard says.
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