February 1, 2004
Once captured, what shall I do with the springing things? HERE they are trapped, yet free. Odd dictomony, that. So many places to begin and not a clue as to where.
I start with the large voice. I start with a large voice which means not a voice with which I seek to impress. There is ego, and then there is Ego. Consciousness worshipping means one thing. I groove on my own mind and how I'm alive. It comes with no restrictions. It is born in happy innocence of joy in existence. Fierce pride in operation of muscle for its own sake, not seeking to IMPRESS OTHERS. I can go along on this path happy and content, 'humble' in one way, knowing the prize is mine, not caring if others know.
Wherein is this excellent glory? How does one grab hold of the true and let go of the false? The false is a prison. Never mind it might be a large prison and even appear to others as a castle. If it limits you, it is a prison.
How do I come to life bearing the excellent prize? How do I hold in my own hand the crown of nobility, and not say, ''See, see, see what I've got?'' This is the tight action balance point. Anything else becomes stasis.
tight action balance point . . .
Who am I?I can get happily lost in the largeness that is me. I can own the excellent joy of being and it takes no impressive castle in which to store it. This, then, is a freedom.
Who are you?Who am I? I think and I spin. Who am I? What constellation of characteristics makes up 'Me'?
Is it what and who I value? No, those are other, more precisely, it is why I value them. Certainly, these reasons are a part of 'me'.
Is it the sum total of all my memories, all the events which have gone into the formulation of my character? Certainly, that is a part of 'me'.
Is it the wild spanning of my emotions, my loves and hates and intense pleasures? Certainly, that is a part of 'me'.
Is it the things I have caused to come into being? But those things are separate from me. Yet I feel a connection to them. That sense of connection is a part of 'me'.
Is it the things I hope to cause to come into being? Yes, these things not yet existing are separate from me, but my dreams of them are a part of 'me'.
Things I am not. Owing to the pecularities of the English language, I say, ''I am Joan.'' But ''I am not Joan.'' I am not my label. That is the symbol for me, the means by which you identify me. Separate from that label, I must create my outward identity anew. Attached to that label, everything I do builds upon the reputation attached to that previously established identity. More accurate is the phrasing in other languages, ''I call myself Joan.''
I am not the things I possess. These are the items which have come into my environment, usually by my own choice. I may lose these, but I won't lose myself.
I am not even my body. This is the housing in which 'I' dwell. Some day, I will lose this. Will I then lose 'myself'? This is the subject of a great many debates. Yet I can so easily imagine my consciousness inhabiting another body. All that I think, all that I feel, these are the things I imagine travelling into that other body.
All that I think, all that I feel, THIS is 'me'.
I can walk freely and lightly, unencumbered by expectations others place on me. If I seek to 'rule' them, then they own me by right of every expectation they have of me. If I say to others in words or in attitude, ''I am an X---------, bow down and worship me,'' there may seem to be a rush of Power.
But I say 'seem', for this is a 'power' that will sap my strength. It will eat at me in a thousand different ways, and I will not know it, until one day I do. But by that point, I will be too weak to do anything about it.
I say now, I have thrown off the large expectations. I have thrown off the small expectations. I will walk lightly in the world of men, in the market place, where the loud voices bicker back and forth, haggling over the price of some such 'impressive' bauble.
I will smile the Mona Lisa smile. I will know my most excellent fortune, and it will not matter if others know of it. I will laugh with children, and help the aged to cross the street. I will walk barefoot in the grass and stoop to smell the flowers.
I will incur no loss of dignity, if upon stooping, I must then struggle to straighten myself. I will still laugh and retain that invisible crown of nobility. See, here, the prize is mine. You will only know it by my smile.
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