Whoa

Great news:  shopping is not my only way to fill The Void.  There's also food, reading, writing and listening to music! Essentially, anything that will preoccupy the mind from feeling empty and create the illusion of urgency and importance.

On my silent retreat (which I've talked about so much it's like saying, "This one time... at band camp...") I had the opportunity to witness ALL of my vices in a number of different ways.

1.  The food was, for the most part, very yummy, very abundant, and very healthy.  Mid-week we had "cookies" at lunch. Eggless, wheat flour fiber-bites, sweetened with applesauce. Not my idea of dessert. As such, I found myself in the dinning hall during the last walking period of the night eating vanilla yogurt drenched in honey. Pleeeeease.... give me something to satisfy this longing for sweetness!

2.  At one breakfast about midweek they offered sweetened chai. (Waaay better than the cookies.)  I had one glass and it zoomed through my veins like a drug. Instantly I thought, "I need more... I need to go get more before it's gone."  The scarcity recording started... there won't be enough, you won't get your share, there isn't enough to go around.

3.  At the last sit every night there was a little bit of chanting. By the second night the chant was spinning in my head like a 45. It was lovely! I could chant along feeling oh-so-spiritual because these weren't words... it was an official Buddhist chant.  After several nights I started to realize that this was just another ploy of the mind to fixate on something and separate from the moment.

4.  No reading or writing was part of the renunciation of words that I was prepared for.  I get that these can be another way to retell (and root) the "story" of identity.  It can also be very therapeutic and purifying, but it's interesting to take away anything that one leans on strongly.

5.  My fear this year (same as last) was that I wouldn't remember all of the amazing teachings. I wouldn't be able to process the insights and they'd disappear. Nothing would stick and I'd come home unchanged. I even wrote in my journal (irony noted) that perhaps we don't remember something we're not ready for. Even if I wrote the words, they may not have meaning or power in my life.

In some way, all of these experiences reminded me of the same gut-clenching fear that accompanies the scarcity-motivated need to shop. 

Just a little light reflection...

On another note, a consignment store opened directly across from the studio. Coincidence? I think not.