Wednesday, March 19, 2014

You are a little piece of Velcro in the conga line of life

You know that line in Beyond The Forest. Betty Davis says to Joseph Cotton as she looks around his house?  “What a dump.”

Often I go around my house imitating Betty Davis and other goofy endeavors but yesterday I had a good grown-up revelation  Yesterday I figured out that EVERYTHING is connected.  Everything.  If you think that you are a little island of activity with a buffer zone around you that isolates your actions, your thoughts, your emotions from all other things (including ants, my personal favorite insect,) in the universe -nuh uh.
You like me.  You really like me.
 All is connected.  It might or might not be sequential I haven’t had that thought yet.  It might or might not be direct and timely. Time is a whole other mystery.  Again, the thought I had was about connection.  This is a simple idea and almost a throwaway line.  It is not simple or throwaway.  I’m not smart enough to parse all the parameters of how everything is connected and the certain consequences, I only know it is a very efficient system.  Nuanced, reliable and inevitable.  If you think about it, it has to be that way.  The whole enchilada that is life has to be completely connected down to the last sigh, glance or step

So what does that mean?  It’s scary. You have to be alert to the larger picture and get out of that merry-go-round pattern in your head.  It puts a lot of responsibility of what you do and especially what you think because you are a little piece of Velcro holding on in the conga line of life and let’s face it we want to be in the section with the good dancers.  

Meditation is helpful. It makes you stop, clear the desk and take out a clean sheet of paper so to speak.  (BTW I was surprised to learn that Jerry Seinfeld meditates every day.)  I used to meditate all the time when I began writing.  I used to meditate to get myself out of plot problems.  That is not what they recommend.  They recommend thinking of nothing.

Following is the conversation I had with myself after I had these revelations.

Do you ever think ill of people?
I have several horrid thoughts a day.  I suddenly think of someone and say: ‘That (f word adj.) moron.  I hate him.’  Or  ‘That (f word adj.) bitch.  I hate her.’ It comes out of nowhere.

That is not good.  Can you make some wiggle space around those thoughts and think from the other person’s point of view?
No.  I like hating them. (pause) Wait.  I don’t know now.  You’ve ruined it.

It’s not a matter of being good - an imprecise term. Goodness has nothing to do with it, it’s about being scientific.  This is a big scientific experiment that will bring you reliable outcomes.  How do I know this is true and what special powers do I have to say it is true?   I have special powers and it is true.



  1. This made me laugh. Do you ever think ill of people?

    I have several horrid thoughts a day. I suddenly think of someone and say: ‘That (f word adj.) moron. I hate him.’ Or ‘That (f word adj.) bitch. I hate her.’ It comes out of nowhere.

  2. Alexandra, thank you for reading.

    As a writer, I have a natural love of the human race for very selfish reasons - I need the race for my writing. The older I get, the less sense it makes to think ill of people. It has nothing to do with piety or goodness - it's just so inefficient. However - the two year old Consuelo often has bursts of "I hate him." And "I hate her." It passes.