the meaning of meaness

I feel utterly wasted emotionally. I am getting my quota of reaction for something or other in some obscure, meaningless previous existence. My consolation is, it is seriously bubble bursting stuff and it might as well burst sooner then later. Wouldn't want to have to experience a melt down moments before death, assuming I should be so lucky as to be conscious before the event.

Just read Tarunya's blog. She has joined the ranks of the, what to call it........ expressers.

Enjoying school like crazy, crazy as that sounds. I like those little buggers and they teach me so much. It's as if I am alive; pushed and pulled to the max but using every part of me that ought to be used. Even the God damned thighs climbing those bloody stairs in sweltering heat at 8am. I can only survive if I'm drenched in water all day. The air con goes in this week end so our hearts and minds will re-enter the human. It's not as if the heat is bad but it drains a little. I am kinda getting usd to it and even relish it at times but I think some of the kids are worse for it. I'm hoping to stay with the group next term though I figure they may want a change. I have just got the knack of it so it seems a shame to let them go. Feeling more inspired and confident.

But people, oh my God, it's enough to really do your head in. We have these South African people here that just don't operate on the same wave length as Aussies or, infact anyone I know. The trauma is so horrendous that I can only conclude I must of had it coming. How can I describe it. A jungle, I suppose, but worse. Probably best to describe the results of it. The heartlessness of it all can drive you to near total loss of faith in any capacity for sincerity or love among humans. It's a type of psychic hell. And what do I learn from it? The world needs to be medicated? I think it is a big possibility and I don't blame them now for going that way. What do you do with a world gone mad? We would have to be in a constant state of therapy for this to let up, which is what saddhana is all about, I suppose. Therapy for the enraged and insane soul.

But it hurts like hell. It hurts because I don't want to face that I am in the wrong place. That the material world is not my charmed play ground which it pretty well was until now. Australia; relaxing, privleged, retired, pleasant, beautiful, it goes on and on but in the end it is the retired mans lie. Come here with a billion people and get a good dose of humantiy. What ever went down in South Africa, look like hell from the results I see.

One of the consolations is I am living in the dham and the dham is filled with consolation therapy. If life sucks, as we eventually find it does, then you can finally consider what the great saints were trying to say. So I guess I should thank them for pushing me so hard, but I can't, it was so awful and if I think of it still it remains really awful.

But I have my kids and they are sweet hearts and I marvel at the privlege I have in teaching them. I only wish I was smarter and more experienced for thier sakes.

Another consolation is the drama of it all. Don't we all love a little drama?

There is no one to cry to so i think of Draupadi and wonder at her plight. Too horrible, and she had a shit load of attitude too. Thank God, the thought of her not giving a piece of her mind to Bhisma is just too much. I can't imagine that level of surrender at this stage but in the end it has to come if I don't want ot continue rolling in this muck. I can only imagine there is plenty more where this came from.

Is there an irony in this vaguely similar situation. I am just placed differently on the chess game this time. Can it be? I would like to think not. If I had caused this much distress to someone then I am deeply sorry. But that is just a thought I have toyed with a little. Not worth trying to figure the whys; just the similarities. And I am so tired of it and wait the days to pass, knowing it must end some time soon.

Thought about my brother yesterday. My son cried tonight for his real mother. I had hugged him during the day as he was unwell but some how I must have failed him. On the one hand it is good that he realises I am just one of many mothers but i suspect it reflects a failing on my part rather than deep spiritual hankering. Radha consoled him with a story from Krsna book.

Gotta learn to be a human......consistantly. That means be conscious and I so enjoyed being rock like. Not really enjoyed but I'm habituated to dull impersonalism.

What a whine. well I had to do it. Haven't had a reasonable whine and there is not a soul that can feel what I feel. We are all too busy and anyway, i don't want sympathy but empathy.

It all dropped out so my last words on the matter are gone. Quite fitting really.

nothing much today

Jees, I'm aging just watching the page trying to load.
And Shite to my blog. Reading that stuff is enough to make me think I might need an anti depressent and a better spell check.

Storms galore which is making life just about worth living.

Class on a Sunday in Mayapur means listening to Bhaktividypurna Maharaj. Not sure if all is well there. The only thing I really like is his reference to form and substance as apposed to spirit and matter. It's made me think of how dependent we are on form. What is life without it? Hence the death dilema. I'm certain death will have its own form because, i guess I must, risking some kind of major panick attack otherwise. But, if Krsna needs Laxmi we must need form. Maybe fear of death is merely fear of s type of formless purgatory. Fear of void, fear of life without expression.

Decided I'm entitled to expression because it's part of being alive. They honestly had me believing it was nonsense. Pooie to them. I've just as much right to think and feel as anything or one. Why have this vehicle otherwise?

SO back to form. Form being the vehicle but not to formlessness. So maybe escaping form is not the way to go. Maybe understanding its mechanics. Maybe reconciling our relationship to Maya. Maya being the servent of God. The secretary, so to speak. Seduced by the form and thus expecting substance from it. If it is merely an adjunct then what is substance, or spririt, to be more specific. Purpose? Purpose of form.

Read Wilde's Dorian Gray. Liked it but I think he could have done a little more with it. If I had the skill I could play with it the way those presumptuous but apparently succesful people have with Eyre.

Time for Apple C as the curse of the bad line is upon us.

Best sleep but I think I will come back again soon. Need to chat to the screen to help sort out psychic detritus.

God, I love a key board.