Parable ofDesirelessness
During his life, he'd hadeverything, money, dope, women, more love than any man could handle. Inshort, he was spoiled rotten. Now he was bored to tears. Maybe he wasjust an ungrateful bastard, since his cup had run over with goodness andmercy.
While on drugs, he discovered he needed very little,although he desired much. As a dope addict he survived on nothing butdope. No woman, no sex, food, clothes, bath, place to stay. Nothing butdope. For a time he lived in a cardboard box, slept in an alley ordoorway. Sometimes he had a woman in the box with him. They smoked dope,made love and prayed in the box.
But it came to a point when hedid his dope alone. He hustled alone, coped his dope and went to his
room and smoked. In his supreme selfishness, he cut loose his friends.Hedefinitely wouldn't get loaded with them because they were a nuisance.So he lived in solitude except for the demons in his head who visited him nightly. They talked to him and became real people. Theywere outside his door, he imagined. He could hear them talking. Theywere going to kill him for sure. They were outside his door discussing how to slay him. He heard them talking in the wind, the rustle of theleaves on the tree. They talked to him each night. It went on for years.
Finally,hedid self recovery--no program worked for him, only because he
wouldn't work it, thinking he was smarter than the recovery people. They
told him to just relax and let himself heal, but he wouldn't. He wanted
to continue writing in recovery. They told him not to write, just still
himself and heal. So he left the program. This went off and on for
years until he decided to recover his way. He went to ocean beach and
let the cold ocean heal him. He went to the hot tub and relaxed. People
could see he was healing. They could see it in his skin--there was a
glow that was obvious to all.
As he recovered, he began to ponderwhat things he needed to survive. Did he need a woman that was usually a vexation? Most friends were a vexation. He eliminated women and men. Then his car, another vexation. He rode the bus. Got rid of his cell phone. No TV, no video player. The black movies he found disgusting.He listened to the radio, mainly the news, even though it was bullshit white supremacy misinformation, fiction, his doctor said. He lived in his imagination and devoted time to his greatest joy, thinking and writing.
He gave his writings away on the street. It was his wayof giving something back as they teach in recovery. And he shared hiswisdom with whomever sought him out, but he sought out no one. Of
course he loved his children and grandchildren and would do anything forthem, if and when they needed him.
But mostly, he realized therewas nothing out there, but all was inside the self. So where was theretogo except inside himself, to unravel the conundrums within hiswretchedself. Maybe he could raise himself to higher ground, maybe reach theupper room of his father's house. Surely he had been down in the dungeon, the bottomless pit of life. Where else can one go butup.But up is not out, rather within, peeling away the one billionillusions of the monkey mind
Guru Bawa taught us about.What is there to need, what is there todesire, to want? This can be an endless search into the void, the chasmof nothingness and dread. He refused to go there. He'd seen his friendsgo there, the endless search for things, trinkets, like children in ToysR Us, running here, running there to consume.
And yet there wasno need, only desire, and desire was infinite, never ending except infrustration and dread. Desire was an intoxicant, a drug worse than allother drugs combined. The only thing to desire was no desire, to detoxand recover from all illusions. Solomon told us all is vanity andvexation of spirit.
And so he looked inside the self, notselfishly, but selflessly with desirelessness. And he foundsatisfaction, for the more he had nothing, the more he had everything.The more he stilled himself, the more his mind opened to infinitepossibilities.
This was not poverty consciousness but theconsciousness that all is illusion, transitory and ephemeral. For whatdo you do when you have everything, yet in an instant it is wiped out.Remember the fire storm in the Oakland/Berkeley hills? And there youstand ready to destroy the self that remains, yet the self was the only
reality.
Self is beyond individual. It is communal. Self is thebreathing world. When we recognize the personal, we acknowledge thecommunal, the connection will all that is real and everlasting. Thus thetest of the self is in interaction with other selves, no matter howvexing the encounter. Silence will save the day. Listen to the thousandvoices in the silence of the wind.
Rumi said it best, "If youcome to the garden, it don't matter. If you don't come to the garden, itdon't matter."
--Marvin X
4/15/16
www.parablesandfablesofmarvinx.blogspot.com
https://theblacklist.net/
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