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I’ve been banished to the backyard because I am being a bitch.

Again.

(If you’d like to add insult to injury, leave a comment stating: Emily, Just yesterday you were complaining that you had no inspiration, no motivation to write. Isn’t this your fourth post?!?)

(You may try to provoke me further by asking me if I’m in some sort-of state of mania.)

So, back to the bitchiness.

Early on in our relationship my then boytoy, now husband, tried to talk to me about the work of Jiddu Krishnamurti. He tried to talk to me about unattachment (why the hell is unattachment not a word? or disattachment? Or ostracization? Pendulating? Xrytabjuok?) and about inner peace.

I’ll admit it now. I didn’t get it.

This evening, I am working on getting it. We could use the peace. I could use the peace. Silas could use the peace.

Many days, around this time, say 6:30 or 7:00, I become irritable and fanatical. It is often my attachment to cleanliness and order that arouses my irritation. Or perhaps, also, my attachment to the sun. Before I succumbed to the assistance of psychotropic medications, I must admit that with the twilight came from me a rush of hostility often directed toward my husband or myself or both. It was as if with the setting sun a switch was flipped, a trigger pulled, a defense mechanism collapsed. Like a werewolf.
(You know how sometimes when you say something aloud or write it down it becomes more real. Lucky you, I am working this out as I type. You, oh privileged onlooker of my mind.)

What I stated above is not exactly true. Perhaps my attachment isn’t to the cleanliness (or rather the uncleanliness), but to the doing, the doing, the doing.
Before my faithful consumption of mind-altering chemical cocktails, I was completely entranced by the idea of doing. I could never do enough, enough, enough, enough. It was an ugly, unrelenting cycle. Twilight, being the signifier of the end of another day, piqued in me the desire to examine what I had done. Twilight, the unattainable finish line. Twilight, the symbol of my inferiority.

Things are better. I am now aware of the reality that my reaction to any situation is by and large a choice. Last night (pat on back) with the approach of darkness, I started in on my incessant ranting and scrubbing and sighing and refusal to communicate and then something beautiful happened. I recognized the pattern. Recognized the choice. And stopped. I said to my husband: Guess what? I was about to say that this mess is stressing me out. But then I realized that the mess really can’t stress me out. Can’t do anything to me. Only I can stress me out. (Or, as Tolle might say, only my ego can.) And now, I’m choosing not to be stressed.

Then we went about having a merry evening.

So, then, why am I out on the back deck this evening? Why would the twilight bring about the same metamorphosis. Only this time with even more force?

Probably because I don’t want to stop this pattern. Because I am addicted to being frustrated and irritable in the evenings. Because I need a place for all of my excess energy to go.

But, I won’t berate myself. No, again, I am making a choice.

I should mention that my husband did not banish me to the back deck. I did. And in doing so, I have stopped feeling claustrophobic and obsessive. I am watching the gentle shuffle of leaves and the sun setting over the mountains (and admittedly having a small, but stiff drink) and I am breathing deeply and releasing my negative energy onto this page. Ahhhhhh…

Now excuse me, while I go enjoy my dinner.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 6th, 2008 at 8:25 pm and is filed under On Awakening. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.