Slip

I notice my mind slip at times. Often, habitually, it stands upon its current state and topic - restless, alert - eager to follow my train of thought to its next step. Shaky I feel it, unsettled, almost desperate to find the next "correct answer" or "logical consequence", in the ceaseless stream of consciousness.

Thus it finds it difficult to remain in any one place, steady and calm. And in so doing, it neglects the digestion of the moment - the experience of Now - in favor of the next spoonful, the next flavor, the next meal. "What is ahead?", "How can I find it?", and "Can I get there before others get there and spoil my process by telling me about it?" are anxieties often present in its subconscious, spurring it relentlessly to "more", "forward", "better", "faster", like a stallion whipped into fear and submission, unable to choose its own steps or pace of its own accord.

When new information arrives and the fear whip strikes, I feel my mind "slip" off the present, off its current state of vision and digestion, off onto the river of inner perceptions and associations, desperate to grip onto the next shore of logical consistency and "correctness". And like the loyal Igor to his condescending master, he brings him a whole pile of possible next choices, as many as he can comically stack on his arms, and waits again on his master, anxious, desperate to feel the crumbs of approval the master drops him every once in a while.

And I see now: I am that master. I, the chooser, the being nourished by the experience and with an array of vehicles and servants at my disposal, he for whom this life Is.

I am he who feels discontent, he who is dissatisfied with this banquet of sensations, he who places his hope that perhaps "the next" experience, "the next" moment will give me satisfaction, will nourish me any better, deludedly longing for the future moments to be in essence in any way different from the one I am in now.

The River is One. And that in which I flow, I also Am.

A dissastisfied chooser, feeling imprisoned by the limitation of the Moment, refuses care and rejects acceptance. He lives in perennial lingering disappointment, in ceaseless inner tantrum, as he finds, day after day, that every one of his endeavours ends in failure, for every one of the shining prizes he desired become dull clay as they settle in the Now, which he continues to unknowingly reject.

With this knowledge, I look inside. What spurs still my mind as I feel it slip time and again? Which state or outcome do I so find deplorable that it shakes my mind into trembling instability?

I feel an answer lurks in the questions I wrote some paragraphs ago. "Can I get there before others get there and spoil my process by telling me about it?"

Ah, fear of inferiority. I recognize it. It has accompanied me since at least adolescence in themes like knowledge, intelligence, personal worth, sexual appeal, social appeal, culture, breadth of travel, insight, resourcefulness, musical skills, physical skills, profession, etiquette, financial self-reliance, physical self-reliance, literacy, and such others.

A myriad faces of a single core pain: that I may not be the best at all of which I care about. That I may be sub-optimal in any of these. That I may be "wrong", that I may have "failed". And these still are an outer layer of the inner: "Others don't like me because I'm not good enough". Which has internalized in my own system as me treating my mind in this way: "We're not good enough. We're not in a good place yet". "C'mon mind, faster, give me the answers so we can be good enough". "No mind, that was stupid. Stupid. Try again. Do it better this time". "Oh, it's no use. You're not good enough".

And the trembling mind, shaking from this abuse, continues to do its best to please its master, anxious to serve, trying to make up for past disappointments. Naturally, its grip on any present moment is tenuous, and it slips and leaps ahead at each opportunity to please its master.

But the premise of the master is flawed. Mind, or any of its answers or plans, cannot bring him satisfaction. That can only come through acceptance of this eternal Now we are immersed in, and of our minusculity in it, of our frailty, and of our propensity to stumble.

The missing piece in this dynamic is Love. Love is absent (or at least unrecognized) while I refuse that Now is sufficient, while I haughtily presume that I am entitled to any particular phenomenon, while I treat my mind as a malperforming slave. As long as my mind is a minion to me, and not a partner, I do not love it, and we cannot trust each other. Our dynamic can be one of either love or fear; love flows naturally in the absence of fear, and such absence is cultivated by gradual healing. By patiently treating my mind, our entire relationship, with kindness, with understanding, again and again and again, the old wounds that sustain the mistrust and the fear are seen, cleaned, dried, and eventually healed. With unconditional love. With relentless compassion and kindness.

Thus can my mind trust me again, and feel no need to slip or jump. Thus can it enjoy the flavors and the digestion of every color, smell, shape, word, idea, movement, position, emotion, and sound - like a curious child unmarred by the pressures of the world - it can again taste, learn, and be free. And confident in its every step.