Sunday, July 22, 2012

I Don't Know: Part 2

I’m still on the “I don’t know” theme.  I may be here for a long time.  Maybe for the duration.  Who knows?  (I don’t.)

Here’s the thing.  Sometimes “I don’t know” is pretty dour, at least for me.  But yesterday in my morning pages, I started writing: “I don’t know.  I don’t know. Tra-la. I don’t know.”

I don’t know where the tra-la came from, but it’s a keeper.  Got to love morning pages.  Some days it’s just so much blah-blah-blah, but every now and then something insightful or inspiring or helpful comes through.

Anyway, “tra-la” changes the whole tenor of my “I don’t know.”  It becomes more child-like, perhaps.  Or more silly.  Whatever the mood is that it incites, I realize it shows that I’m more accepting, and if “I don’t know” is my new mantra, acceptance is my new discipline. 

Humor has never been my strong suit.  I sure envy those who come by it naturally.  Life feels hard when you take every damned thing so damned seriously.  And I am serious to a fault.  So, if anyone out there reads this and knows anything about lightening up, do send the advice my way.  I guess that’s one of the things I enjoy so much about being with Ruby.  She’s funny and adorable and I get buoyed up by being around her.

So, for a while yesterday I wrote a lot of “Tra-la, I don’t know”s.  Then Imy eyes were drawn back to the SoulCollage® card I showed in my last post (take a look if you missed it).

“Tra-la” can lift things back to realm of the dance of the gods.  Back in our old yogi days we called this “Lila,” or the cosmic game, the dance of the divine.  In Greek mythology, as I relate to it. we are all pawns in the gods’ games, and we have no way to understand what they’re up to.  They use us as they will, for their own purposes.  Or, maybe they aren’t even thinking about us, and we are just buffeted around by the winds that are conjured up in their whirling and dancing, or whatever it is that they do.  They may not even see us or care; maybe we’re just like little ants to them.  If they step on us, why should they care?  We’re on our own. 

Or not.  I don’t know.  Tra-la, tra-la.

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