The Price to Pay For Our Fixed Perception of Home

Letter from my eighty year old friend Misty

I am just about to do the dusting on the first floor- and before that grrrrrrrrr I have to scrape all the bloody dirt off my husbands every day shoes— he never did get the garage ever finished. It is a dirt floor still after all these years—and now of course snow etc and his shoes are insane. They have a gazillion small nubs on the bottom all caked in dirt-  honestly, I wanna hide his bloody shoes—- In he comes onto the carpet by the Kitchen door— grrrrrr. As I stated prior he leaves December 6th for Syracuse re carotid artery  Thursday and Friday and probably Saturday, depending, could be more before he would get back-  it is a distance—-  it is not great having no vehicle in the open garage. Twice before when the vehicle was gone, someone tried to break in the kitchen.
After this not so cheerful note— opppppssssss  I shall get on with my morning work—  it is 6: 42 a.m. now–  so off to

Letter to Misty

Just think Mist for those days that he is in the USA you won’t have to deal with his shoes. You would have even a worse time with me Mist. I am no way as efficient or as tidy as Dennis. He is a disciplined marine, Vietnam name vet. It scares me to think that I would have to deal with your need for efficiency and cleanliness. Iris is similar but I’ve worn her down. I am more focused on spending my time in ways that I value more that hopefully contributes to making me more compassionate and loving. Geez I hope it’s working other wise it’s been a complete waste of time. I could be cleaning and arranging things.

I don’t have that much more time to be here so I  don’t get too bogged down in those kinds of things at the expense of forever being referred to as the “untidy one”. It scares me to have to live in a house as you do and to have to spend my time in that one building and take care of it. I don’t think I would do it. Too confined and cut off. By January I will have slept in 11 different beds Under the same number of roofs and I am content in that. Home for me is where I lay my hat. It hasn’t come easy to arrive at this place but I am glad I am. I feel free of the baggage and for me, variety is more, much more, than the spice of life.It’s a basic ingredient of a life lived full and well. Perhaps it is at the cost of a permanent sense of home but I see a lot of suffering, isolation, aloneness and worry in that at times.

Lincoln in the Bardot. By George Sanders

I don’t think a fictional book could be more relevant. Sanders explores humanity; life and death as only an artist could, illuminating and exploring a way to discover compassion and love within amidst all the suffering that humans perpetuate. I am not surprised at the lower approval ratings as compared to other great books. Not every one can see the relevance that he illuminates in his creation. And that is the point of his writing it seems; to touch something deeper within. It certainly is not meant to be grasped literally but more to initiate a capacity to see in metaphors and to allow for what is unexplored within to be touched.

Immersed in Subjectivity

I am quite immersed in the mystery of nature and life these days. It could possibly be my further aging body more than anything that has contributed to a change in my priorities, never the less, I am finding that living in this way of change is more satisfying. In this more intensified connection with what is, I see better my own inner content. More than ever I see that I am attending to a more authentic part of myself, which refrains from holding back the direct experience that I have. I am more free of the need to “self impersonate”; to hide from other beings certain qualities. I look for ways that allow for my mask to fall away in order to know again my true face. In that there is a clearer seeing of things I need to be facing. I am coming to value this unique way of being more each day, although it can make for moments of difficulty in finding commonality with others, who are more oriented to what is conventionally held. At times I feel that I am  outside  what others value, being more  inclined to trust in what is within and to stand alone and to be  guided by that.

What is required for that authentic experience of life is discovered and nurtured within; intuition, intimacy and self revelation and most of all life essence. There is a truth and guidance emanating from this place for me as well, more than I have discovered from external resources. I enjoy reading or listening to others that share there deeper experiences and I am averse to conventional, mechanistic thinking, not finding the relevance of it and at times finding those who think they know to be quite difficult to engage with. They don’t seem to realize what they are missing in the grasping and subjective thinking in a way that it is perceived as objective truth. They don’t see , as I do that their thinking is more a creation of their own fragmented perception, relative in its relevance, illuminating a small piece of the puzzle in one way of seeing and nothing in another. Maybe I am lost in that way but it seems to me that we often ignore the devastating consequences that our creations embraced in this blindness, have on our planet, our relationship with nature and with each other. When we are able to realize as Soren Kierkegaard proposed, that “Truth is Subjectivity”, there is an opening to others subjective thoughts and the possibility of different ways of perceiving the same thing.

I feel compromised when talking with others, when there are rigid assumptions made about what they know, what can be known and when there is an absence of openness, doubt, investigation and intimate sharing and learning from one another in these exchanges. As Goethe wrote, “A false teaching does not offer any opening to refutation, for it is, in fact, based on the conviction that the false is true.”I am not so secure in what I think I know and in turn what others claim to know. I don’t want to know as they believe. It takes me away from the mystery that is more real and revealing of truth to me, however it being a truth that I am quite incapable of capturing in words.

IMAGINAL LOVE The Meanings of Imagination in Henry Corbin and James Hillman TOM CHEETHAM

A stunning book. This is one of my all time favourite books, one that I am sure I will reread numerous times. It is an astounding creative exploration and extension of the writings and life views of Henry Corbin and James Hillman, including brief synopsis of poets Robert Duncan, Wallace Stevens and others. He explores the literal process by which human kind has wandered into and the misguided abstract world that does not reflect concrete reality. He explores how energy of the archetype manifests in us and can be wrongly interpreted and discourages attachment to abstract nouns and literal understanding, encouraging a life view and living through “being” and a practice of reflecting in verbs and adverbs. He speaks of events rather than objects. He writes in a way that is inquisitive, that he has discovered something life changing and that he intuitively relates to in Henry Corbin and James Hillman. A genuine desire to find in humans what is authentic is obvious and in that, he has come to see the wonderful aspects of being human that we all have access to. He encourages another non literal perception of our very creative, expansive and compassionate human nature that easily becomes trapped in the narrowing of our human perceptions. He does not illustrate any of this as an idealistic pursuit or success or as something to be achieved but more out of an unraveling and letting go and a returning to what we inherently are.

Less. by. Andrew Sean Greer

I was quite excited about reading this Pulitzer Prize winner but never felt that it met my expectations in fact I was quite surprised that it won this award. I felt that the main character was uninteresting, unsympathetic and unrelatable and unliveable; that the paltry humor was only mildly amusing (not “hysterical” as one endorsement said), the ending was predictable and anticlimactic; and the book was not compelling.
It seemed to be quite focused on superficial themes and insights and involved beautiful looking people and self indulgent ways. Maybe the point was to illuminate the characters superficial orientation. In the end he seem to lose most of what he was indulgently attached to. Maybe there was a point in there somewhere and perhaps it does mirror a more collective indulgence that looms subtly.