I found the perfect bedtime reading: The History of the Semicolon. It's fun and interesting without being overstimulating.
I set the alarm for 7 am but woke up early and was on my feet by 6:30. I did the long Sunday walk with Elsa, picking up garbage along the way. When I got home, I washed the dishes and made sure I had my two cups of water in me before I went out and worked on the blue flower bushes, known as plumbago. I cleared the cut branches off the bushes where I had dumped them and moved them onto the driveway. Then I did some more trimming. I don't know if my neighbors are aware that I am doing this work yet or not.
I came into the house in time to get ready to leave for church at 9:30. I was dressed and working on the computer when a text came through, telling me Judy and Paulette were leaving their house and would be here in a second.
I was tired before I even got to church. There was a table set out for aloha Sunday, which means parishioners bring sweets to share after the service. I had something to look forward to.
I told Judy and Paulette that I was hearing more negative messages in my head. I see them coming from people who might indeed say something to me, but so far haven't. Why do I do this to myself? From what I hear in media and literature, I'm not the only one who suffers from negative self-messaging. This is certainly not all my mother's fault.
As I observe myself doing it, I noticed that I take some pleasure from torturing myself, like chewing on a sore tooth. Good God, why? The only thing I can think of is pain is a stronger sensation than straightforward well-being. I did a release: I release anything negative about loving the feeling I get when thinking negative thoughts and keep anything positive or anything I still need." That helped a little.
Mike was my antidote to my negativity. Besides getting angry when I put myself down, saying it was an insult to his good taste, he would hug me and make me feel worthwhile. As I thought that, I could feel this wonderful, loving energy move through my whole body, scrubbing each cell of that negativity. It felt great. I hope I can recapture it as needed.
The issue is, "Do I have a right to express myself in the blog and my work?" My mother always told me that no one was interested in what I had to say. I'm sure many people aren't, but I do get some positive feedback. Some people enjoy and maybe even learn from what I write. One or two is a satisfying number. Fifty to 100 would even be better. I have worked hard on being me. I've given it a lot of thought. I would love it if others could benefit from what I have learned.
Damon called. He had been calling both his mom and me once a week. He talked about the impact of losing his dad on him. He realizes he can lose all of us. We are sitting in God's waiting room, and his parents' numbers are coming up. I always enjoy talking to him. At the end of our conversation today, I asked him to give me permission to shoot my mouth off. I gave him the words to say, "I give you permission to shoot your mouth off anytime you like." He said, "I give you permission to shoot your mouth off." I said, "Any time you like." He dutifully repeated that last phrase. I think I will tell him to post that to me regularly. I know I gave him the words, but it helped anyway. I enjoy shooting my mouth off, following the thread of some miscellaneous thought, generally about the human condition. The thoughts are usually triggered by something I have read, heard, or observed. Thank you, Damon, for being your dad's replacement in this arena.
Now, you are not to think that Mike was a source of unconditional support. Oh, no. But for some reason, his negativity never affected me. As little as twenty years ago, he said that he would have fired me from my job because of my unconventional teaching practices and sometimes my behavior. This is despite the evidence that my teaching practices were successful. Sometime this year, I brought that up. He said it was just him being neurotic.
I have no clear idea why Mike's criticisms never threw me. Weird. For starters, he didn't make his criticisms with a mouth full of contempt. He just made a statement. What other reason could there be why I was unaffected by such negativity? I knew he loved me? I knew in my heart of hearts that he valued the very thing he was criticizing?
Mike liked everything to be structured and familiar. He wanted thinking based on what the ancient Greeks wrote. None of this, let's make up something new stuff. I'm let's make up something new all over the place. That's what I do. Find new solutions to old problems.
The other thing Mike was critical of was my rambling mind. I would jump from the profound to the mundane and see connections. We went together to see one of my therapists about this one. During the session, I said something like, "I use primary sources." To which Mike said, "I use primary sources. I have read the original Plato, Aristotle, etc." Thank God, this therapist knew how to respond to calm him. She said, "Betty is a phenomenologist." Oh. Mike had studied the phenomenalism and got it. At the end of his life, he got to the point where he was able to enjoy my wandering mind. He saw me as a constant source of entertainment. He said you never knew what was going to come out of my mouth next.
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Musings:
From participating in Vipassana meditation, I learned that meditation's objective is to reduce gross sensation and be better at perceiving subtle sensations. It's a little like turning the volume down low; you have to be more attentive to hear the sound. If I'm not alert, I hear nothing. Then maybe I don't exist anymore. In the Buddhist tradition, the focus is on self. In the Christian tradition, the focus is on God. God is everywhere, omniscient, infinite. You can find God in everything, but you have to be "still" to know. God is in the subtleties. God is a constant, not a variable. It's like listening to air conditioner noise.
This is also true for ourselves. If we can move past gross sensation and perceive only subtle sensation, we wind up being about an interesting as air conditioner noise too, But boy, it can feel so good, so peaceful – if you can endure the feeling of the infinite. Not so easy, peasy.
