A couple of days ago, as I was pruning the butterfly bushes around the porch, I heard a large animal behind the house and, just as I turned to look, a magnificent bald eagle flew around the corner with several large sticks in its talons. This magical creature flew directly toward me for a split second so I got a good look at its white head and then it rose about ten feet over me and headed west toward the garden. It took my breath away. I imagined there must be a huge nest beyond the crabapple and hawthorn grove. A couple of weeks ago I had seen it before, or perhaps its mate, or maybe a cousin, flying high above me in the upper field, what we like to call “the landing pad”. Getting an up-close view of a bald eagle with what seemed like a seven foot wingspan was a thrill and an honor. My dog Chico, who was sniffing around for varmints, was also left speechless by the spectacle.
I turned back to the pruning and hardly noticed that clouds had rolled in and I was quickly covered in a dusting of snow from a freak early spring squall. I finished the job, shook off my clothes, and saw the lights of my son’s car coming up the driveway. Three miracles in succession and I noticed that my face was lit up with a beatific smile for perhaps the first time in a long while.
Yesterday I woke up at 6am so I could get on the road to New Paltz for an 8:30 final therapy appointment with Rebecca. This was supposed to be a two-hour couples session but my partner and I decided to split it up into two one hour solo sessions instead. I took a shower, fed Chico, let him out for a poo, and was on the road by 6:50. For the first 15 minutes of the drive I did my daily practice of being with emerging feelings. I was still feeling the imprint of an elephant foot on my chest, an echo from my recent MDMA experience. Heartbreak, grief and longing. As part of this work, I had made a list of ten of the most significant trauma memories of my life and then scanned to see what popped out as the most prominent emotional signature. No contest, it was abandonment. So that’s what I sat with for 15 minutes.
I woke up yesterday with the song Cleaning Windows by Van Morrison spilling over from a morning dream. I put it on in the car and sang along. I was quickly in tears, not really from any kind of sadness but more like the utter simplicity of the song – “what’s my line, I’m happy cleaning windows”. It’s part of a Spotify playlist I created for myself called Ain’t That Pretty at All, a default title only because that’s the first song I included, a classic by the late great Warren Zevon. It’s been an anthem for me lately, a reminder of how I’ve been beating the shit out of myself, or throwing myself on the stake as my regular therapist, Rob, describes it. Seems Warren likes to hurl himself at the wall.
Well, I've seen all there is to see
And I've heard all they have to say
I've done everything I wanted to do . . .
I've done that too
And it ain't that pretty at all
Ain't that pretty at all
So I'm going to hurl myself against the wall
'Cause I'd rather feel bad than not feel anything at all
After singing along to a few more familiar tunes on the playlist while crossing the highest part of my route, through the Mohonk Preserve, I pulled into the parking lot of The Village Grind and ordered a large coffee with oat milk and honey, and a spinach feta croissant. The barista recognized me as this was my seventh visit en route to therapy. For each of the six times prior I had ordered an oat milk latte with maple syrup for my partner, and a second croissant. I wondered if the barista would notice the inconsistency. She didn’t. I asked her how her day was going and she said, “I’m really tired”. We chatted a bit and I discovered she had to get up at 4am to get to work on time. I was sympathetic, it did indeed seem like a “grind”. In our previous exchanges she was much more upbeat but this time she was subdued, maybe just tired, or maybe feeling through some stuff. My intention was to leave her with a smile on her face and I succeeded. Small victories. Because paying attention, bearing witness, and being fully present can sometimes be the best medicine. I mean if instead I had inserted my woes into our exchange, things may have become worse for her. That would have sucked for both of us actually.
Contaminated mind falls away, pure mind remains. My friend Noah sent me this talk by a psychologist named Dicken Bettinger who extrapolates that we get so paralyzed by simple thoughts that sometimes they go nuclear and poison our whole perspective. But sometimes, with awareness, our contaminated, distorted thinking falls away and we can then make room for presence, for connection. Speaking for myself, when I feel more present and have the wherewithal to bear witness, I feel more connected to everything, including myself for fuck’s sake! Here’s something true, the sun brings warmth and nourishment. In fact, George Carlin used to say he didn’t worship god, he worshipped the sun. More light means more love, more love means more understanding and more understanding means more compassion. That’s the basis of virtually all spiritual wisdom (except maybe for disciples of Satan). Everyone I know who falls out of the influence of their conceptual mind seems to bring more light and I’m thinking of my friend Matt right now. I’m in awe of his way with people, the ease in which he presents with kindness and gentle compassion. He’s nothing short of a blessing! Sometimes I can be this too. My intention is be that more and more often. Matt is one of the best listeners I’ve ever known because the best listeners are the ones who don’t break in with their own thought. They essentially listen without thinking about their next move. They are simply witnessing and taking everything in. As I’ve written about before, virtually all casemaking gets in the way of direct relationships with others, with ourselves, with the entire rest of the world really. Distorted thought, distorted thinking, which is all conceptual, and filled with judgment, comparison, interpretation and delusion, mostly just imprisons us. Or, at least that’s been my experience. Innate and instinctual direct experience is wisdom that lives me, breathes me, and it perhaps embodies what we’re all actually hardwired to do. But what the fuck do I know. Not a lot these days.
What does it look like to be free of the influence of a constant, conceptual mind? Well, I discovered that laughter can be contagious. One time in the middle of a work day in the Ray Donovan accounting office I started laughing out loud for no reason because I wanted to see what would happen. Predictably, everyone eventually started laughing too and all of sudden all you could hear was laughter echoing through the production office. No thought required whatsoever to bring joy! It was a moment of beautiful connection and everyone’s day suddenly got a little brighter.
Maybe Dicken is right, thoughts do contaminate our lives and we get attached to them. Suicidal ideation is a thought that can kill us. I don’t think there’s a better example of how thought is capable of creating great harm. Why do we take things so personally? We are all innocently caught up in our own thought patterns and it usually seems so set in stone, so incredibly immoveable and rigid. Victim, Perpetrator, Savior, better known as the triangle of dependency, is the result of rigid thinking, right? I think therefore I am? Bullshit. I am. Or more like I am that I am. We all get tricked into believing our thoughts define our reality so perhaps real revolutionary living is learning how to get back to the basics of our direct relationship to LIFE! Yada, yada, yada.
But what about all the problems, the conflicts, the crises, the suffering, the violence? TIME OUT! We need to learn how to pause, to respond instead of react, to reflect on whether or not we’re making a case for or against, to learn how to welcome our feelings back into the equation. To witness, to listen, to breathe! Seems like every spiritual practice points back to the same thing. I mean do we really need to read any more self-help books or pay for another $197 on-line workshop with Gabor Mate? Because it’s possible that all the information we need is all right in front of us, hello eagle! So why are we so stuck? Because, as Michael Stipe sings, everybody hurts. And that’s simply another reminder, we’re all in this together. Thanks recovery!
It seems rather logical that in waking up to certain illusions, we become less and less wedded to negative thinking. The ego always gets it backwards. “I feel it so strongly, it must be true, you’re an asshole, you’re a monster, you’re Hitler.” Perhaps we’re only one baby step away from waking up to the truth that those fixed judgements, those thoughts may, in fact, be keeping us stuck. But so and so really is an asshole, Josh! Yep, stay with that thought and see where it takes you. I’ll come back in a year and hope I won’t find you still spinning on that hamster wheel. Look at the news! Repetition is the cornerstone of rhetoric (thought) as my friend Harry used to say. In terms of current events, what if there was no Israel? Would there be a need to attack innocent civilians in Gaza? Israel is a thought. Palestine too. America. England. Germany. All thoughts. Joe Biden. Donald Trump. Any slogan you can think of, “MAGA”, “pandemic of the unvaccinated”, “let’s go Brandon”, “build back better”. All thoughts keeping us stuck on the hamster wheel. Fuck ‘em all! Get off social media!!!! Or don’t! Sorry for yelling.
We are terrified of losing our attachment to thought because we THINK it defines our lives, defines the world. We think our way into suffering. We think our way into conflict. I know I do it all day long. It’s an addiction. But I feel free from it especially when an eagle flies over my head or a freak snowstorm hits me in the face. These are instant messages of awareness. In those moments of wonder and awe, I’m no longer THINKING about how I failed in my marriage or how I was abused as a child. I’m simply engaged with what’s unfolding.
And then more thoughts roll in. And a herd of elephants does the two step on my chest. And my friends text me with cries for help. And I feel helpless because I can’t resolve their pain (let alone my own). And grief becomes too much to handle. And I turn again to all those spiritual practices. Getting right back on my own hamster wheel.
This being human is a guest house right Mr. Rumi? Fuck you too (kidding).
I arrived at therapy and Rebecca spent an hour bearing witness to my grief. I spoke my “truth” and she listened with profound presence. I walked out, feeling supported, wondering if I presented myself as a victim. On the drive home, I talked to a friend on the phone who offered support and some cheerleading. When I got home, I had a zoom call with another friend who generously offered me an astrology reading. It all felt like too much. I got hit with a tidal wave of grief and all I wanted to do was crawl into a hole. My son, the night owl, home for spring break from college, rose out of bed at about 4pm and I made him eggs, toast and coffee. I made myself a matcha and sat with him. We talked about what was going on at school. I witnessed him, listening with Matt and Rebecca like attention, and he opened up. Our discussion got progressively deeper and more soulful, and I noticed the wave had passed.
What’s it all about Alfie? Fuck if I know, I’m just doing my best impression of being human. Today is my last day of work on The Penguin for HBO. On Monday I start on The Gilded Age Season 3. Cleaning windows.
Thank you for everything in this post and beyond! Thinking, distorted thinking, it can be ruinous, for sure. Thank you for this reflection. It is a healthy reminder.