Delight
Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature, music--the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.
--Henry Miller
Wow! Encountered this happy gem in the margin of chapter two last night. It's so easy to get caught up in self-reflection or even self-absorption, yet, yes! - there are so many wonderful things I could turn my attention to at those times and be free - free to just be here and happy, and maybe even free to participate and to create, unimpeded by the paralysis of hyperawareness of self.
Forget myself. What excellent advice! I have noticed how wonderful it feels to be called upon for help when I happen to be feeling unhappy or upset. Focusing my attention on supporting someone else, even if that means just listening, I settle right down. Suddenly, I can home right in on the peace that seemed out of the question moments before. So, hmm... maybe I don't have to wait for the universe to put a needy fellow traveler in my way at those times. Maybe I can just refocus my attention. And maybe I don't have to scold myself to think good thoughts instead, for the good of the world or my spiritual development--maybe I only have to turn my attention to something I love or simply enjoy to get back on track, for my good and for the universal good.
There's something to be said for self-reflection. It's important to notice and to lovingly pay attention to what's happening on the level of self and subjective experience. We need to know what our personal truth is before we can transcend it, I think. Before we can heal. But it seems to me that there's also a very real danger of getting stuck there if we're not careful, and then we may begin to actually miss out on our own life experiences while we're crying in our inner ladies' room.
Reading the very next page of the text, this sentence leapt off the page and started smooching my face:
The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight.
The waterworks began gushing away. This is my saving grace, I thought. When I read that line my heart recognized right away that my persistent and enduring capacity for delight is what perennially brings me back to life despite all my senseless efforts to dull down and all my habitual and counter-productive marathon wrestling matches with inner demons. (I think those demons keep their strength up through wrestling with me. Their muscles would probably turn to mush if I didn't keep climbing into the ring with them.) Interestingly, Ms. Cameron goes on to say that "The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention." This suggests to me that idea about refocusing again.
I've been aware as I have attempted to make myself and my experience smaller and more manageable that part of what I'm trying to attenuate is a very large capacity for attention. Too much gets in, I thought. I notice too much. Being intuitive, dealing with the feelings and experiences of others can be challenging, and I need to consciously practice maintaining energetic boundaries. But even just the smell of the air in October or the sound of wind in the trees, heck, even just looking at trees can make me tear up, and often does. Too much! What I put together when I read what Cameron wrote, however, is that my capacity for delight, my saving grace, comes in the same package as my sensitivity. I can't have one without the other, and I don't think I would want that anyway.
So when I put this all together, I get that when I feel sad or overwhelmed or bad in any way, I can refocus my attention outward. I can forget myself! - and turn my attention to any of the rich treasures that, as Henry Miller puts it, the world is simply throbbing with. No need to stop for even a moment to consider how sensitive I am and how problematic that can be. No need to put on my tights and mouth guard and climb into the ring with the reasons I think it's problematic. No reason to turn feeling into feeling bad. Just refocus, and let the well be filled.
Speaking of over-reflection, I'm enjoying this outlet of writing and sharing, but I also expectantly await the bursts of creative production that Ms. Cameron keeps promising. I await my new songs and poems or drawings or whatever else wants to pop on out. C'mon my little babies, come to mama.
--Henry Miller
Wow! Encountered this happy gem in the margin of chapter two last night. It's so easy to get caught up in self-reflection or even self-absorption, yet, yes! - there are so many wonderful things I could turn my attention to at those times and be free - free to just be here and happy, and maybe even free to participate and to create, unimpeded by the paralysis of hyperawareness of self.
Forget myself. What excellent advice! I have noticed how wonderful it feels to be called upon for help when I happen to be feeling unhappy or upset. Focusing my attention on supporting someone else, even if that means just listening, I settle right down. Suddenly, I can home right in on the peace that seemed out of the question moments before. So, hmm... maybe I don't have to wait for the universe to put a needy fellow traveler in my way at those times. Maybe I can just refocus my attention. And maybe I don't have to scold myself to think good thoughts instead, for the good of the world or my spiritual development--maybe I only have to turn my attention to something I love or simply enjoy to get back on track, for my good and for the universal good.
There's something to be said for self-reflection. It's important to notice and to lovingly pay attention to what's happening on the level of self and subjective experience. We need to know what our personal truth is before we can transcend it, I think. Before we can heal. But it seems to me that there's also a very real danger of getting stuck there if we're not careful, and then we may begin to actually miss out on our own life experiences while we're crying in our inner ladies' room.
Reading the very next page of the text, this sentence leapt off the page and started smooching my face:
The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight.
The waterworks began gushing away. This is my saving grace, I thought. When I read that line my heart recognized right away that my persistent and enduring capacity for delight is what perennially brings me back to life despite all my senseless efforts to dull down and all my habitual and counter-productive marathon wrestling matches with inner demons. (I think those demons keep their strength up through wrestling with me. Their muscles would probably turn to mush if I didn't keep climbing into the ring with them.) Interestingly, Ms. Cameron goes on to say that "The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention." This suggests to me that idea about refocusing again.
I've been aware as I have attempted to make myself and my experience smaller and more manageable that part of what I'm trying to attenuate is a very large capacity for attention. Too much gets in, I thought. I notice too much. Being intuitive, dealing with the feelings and experiences of others can be challenging, and I need to consciously practice maintaining energetic boundaries. But even just the smell of the air in October or the sound of wind in the trees, heck, even just looking at trees can make me tear up, and often does. Too much! What I put together when I read what Cameron wrote, however, is that my capacity for delight, my saving grace, comes in the same package as my sensitivity. I can't have one without the other, and I don't think I would want that anyway.
So when I put this all together, I get that when I feel sad or overwhelmed or bad in any way, I can refocus my attention outward. I can forget myself! - and turn my attention to any of the rich treasures that, as Henry Miller puts it, the world is simply throbbing with. No need to stop for even a moment to consider how sensitive I am and how problematic that can be. No need to put on my tights and mouth guard and climb into the ring with the reasons I think it's problematic. No reason to turn feeling into feeling bad. Just refocus, and let the well be filled.
Speaking of over-reflection, I'm enjoying this outlet of writing and sharing, but I also expectantly await the bursts of creative production that Ms. Cameron keeps promising. I await my new songs and poems or drawings or whatever else wants to pop on out. C'mon my little babies, come to mama.
posted by eliza | 7:59 AM
4 Comments:
Hello!
That Henry Miller quote is one of my favorites in the book. Today in fact, I have that nebulous feeling of impending doom, a case of the Mondays...but this quote reminds me: hey what about Puccini? Or South Park? Or garlic bread? Or bluegrass? Or my sister? Or Garrison Keillor?
I LOVE "crying in our inner ladies' room". Ha!!
"What I put together when I read what Cameron wrote about delight, however, is that my capacity for delight, my saving grace, comes in the same package as my sensitivity. I can't have one without the other, and I don't think I would want that anyway."
I realized at a particular time in my life where i was VERY hurt emotionally, and very unbalanced, that although I DID cry easier than the other teen girls, and I DID get more upset than others about little things... I also felt joy far more than they did! It wasn't just my "bad" emotions that were extra-specially potent... it was ALL of them. And no, I wouldn't numb or medicate or repress mine again for ANYTHING. The joy and marvel at the small things definately makes the extra pain worthwhile, especially as we learn to re-channel the pain :)
Just blog browsing and found your wonderful site.
What a DeLIGHT-ful post!
Blessings.
When I read week two I underlined those same sentences of Cameron's and put a note in the margins to remind myself I might want to write about how they spoke to me. Thank you for the Henry Miller quote to go with it. I love the insight you've come to about refocusing attention. Oh, your writing says so much and I just want those bursts of creative production to come to you. They will - I hear you calling them!
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