The influence of external circumstances, of things outside me, the act of being blown this way and that like a reed in the wind...has always brought with it a strange source of embarrassment most of my life, as if my inability to become a buddha at the age of 27 is a character flaw that rightfully needs to be concealed in order for my integrity to be maintained. Which, of course, is ridiculous. But when bad things happen, I get sad despite my stalwart attempts to stay emotionally planted; when good things happen, and I grab at the opportunity for a few sips of joy here and there (or shoot such opportunities down for fear of what they might contain), I feel the slit-eyed gaze of cave-squatting buddha levitating above me with cocked eyebrow reminding me of the transient nature of the universe. I am transformed into a dieter caught in the closet with a Snicker's bar. He assures met that it is not the gratifying enjoyment of a joyful moment or event that is the source of such chastisement. It is forgetting that contentment does not come from outside.
Listening to: The Roots; downset.