Up Beat


I think that in the main, weblog is meant to be upbeat. I don’t know for sure. I check out other people’s but they don’t seem to write about the same things at all. Nothing about meditation or Muslims. There is a good one on addiction awareness that covers some really sticky issues that most of us skirt around, madly. But otherwise there is not too much out there.

The trouble is that I am having trouble at the moment. It has been going on for a while. Moments of profound clarity and vision followed by such harrowing darkness that I fear for my sanity. And then, quick as a flash it is gone. Frankly I think the menopause and the dark night of the soul are currently battling it out inside me for supremacy. Such fun.

The menopause I can deal with. If this is it, for the next 15 years, then contrary to all expectations of me I will happily take HRT. I have no desire to live through too much more of these emotional highs and lows if there is an alternative. The alternative does seem to involve a certain amount of risk, but it pales into significance next to Global Warming, riding on the tube, driving a car in South London, travel and eating. (I have just read an article saying that Salad is a silent killer).

If it is the Dark Night of the Soul, then I am in trouble. Who helps you out of that? Who guides you through the maze of the thoughts that question everything and everyone, including my own practice? How does one get through it and out the other side?

And why now? The awful adage; God does not save you from drowning to beat you up on the beach, is starting to make me feel ill. I don’t think I have ever felt so battered and beaten. But by what? My mind, of course. No person is touching me. It is all my response to my experiences. No one is forcing me to think how I think, and at the same time I am aware that I have tools. Tools that I use: Deep breathing, meditation, mantra, sobriety. What does the rest of the world do? How do they cope with the times now? How do they make sense of it all? The fears, the uncertainly, the dishonesty? The insanity?

Maybe they don’t see it. May be they don’t look. Maybe it is all normal and absorbed into the daily experience and totally accepted. Like the sword wielding man in Hildreth Street. No one did anything. No police came to see him and take away his sword. He still has it there. Or in the bookshop yesterday, looking for books to read on holiday. I have to be careful. I get really seduced by the covers so I ask for help. No dead babies, no rape, no horror stories please. Amazingly, that was all she handed me. “The saddest book ever written”, “horror in the first degree”. So we are not only wrapped up in it all day, but in our hours alone we can smear ourselves with it. Such fun.