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I remember a t-shirt I once had of Lynda Barry's character, Marlys. The text on the front of the shirt said, "Visit Marlys' World and Universe & Galaxy." And there was a picture of Marlys, all freckles and pigtails, arms akimbo, saying, "EVERYBODY'S IN MY WAY!" I loved it. I related to it. I knew what she meant.
There are those days when I'm in the world and wherever I look, what comes up in me is, "That's wrong! Ooh, and that's wrong, too! Wrong! Wrong!" as if my little ego voice has his little ego finger pointing out all the little wrongs in the world. Rude people, self -obsessed people, unconscious people. People behaving like me, on my worst days.
Separation. Judgment. Discernment. Absolutely the right tool to use at the farmer's market, picking through the off-season apples to make sure you get the ones that are firm and unbruised. But when you think that voice is you, when you buy it as your reality, your world view, man, that can be rough.
Because of one thing can we be sure: if this voice is pointing out all that's wrong out there, it for sure is pointing out all that's wrong in here, as well. If it were a helpful voice with suggestions as to how to adjust what might be off, that would be one thing; but when I find myself in this mode, the voice in my head has only death and destruction on its agenda, mine or someone else's, it doesn't care who.
One of the great gifts of meditation is awakening to the thing that I am that is other than the voice in my head. I hear the squawking up here, between my ears. I hear its tone, its complete lack of love or acceptance. I say to myself, "Oh. This sounds like the voice of stress release. I must be letting go of a big stress of anger or irritation. Thank God. Better out than in." I remind myself I am something other than this stress release jabber, this make-me-feel-bad voice in my head, then I come to my senses. What do I see? Hear? Taste? Smell? What am I touching? I get present. I take a breath. And I smile at the joy of once again having been given the opportunity to remember my true nature. I am what is able to witness the chatter. I am what is left when all the chatter has gone. I am the smile that knows the chatter is meaningless, that knows that only love is real.
Rose, Studio City
All material copyright Jeff Kober
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