I continue with the Mirror Exercise. I look in the mirror and say “Life loves me”. And-
First I just feel pain and resentment. It is more as if Life, when particularly pissed off, relieves its feelings by giving me a kicking. Like God and Satan, down the pub with their mates, drunkenly boasting and betting about Job.
Then I feel judgment. Life loves me, and I do not respond in a loving way, hiding my light under a bushel, burying my talent and digging it up in an undeveloped state. Life loves me and I do not perceive that so fail.
I know I am loveable. Perhaps not particularly useful, I am at least beautiful.
Then I feel life loves me, in the gentleness of my life now, all the beauty, the minimal demands on me, and I see that less because of my fear from its fragility, for it may end at any time. That does not prompt me to Take Action but to cower. I feel incapable of what I perceive to be life’s challenges. Arguably I am incapable. And yet inexplicably I am all right. For now.
It is labour, it is my difficult task now to see all the blessings, name them one by one (this is old wisdom from 19th century Methodism not the New Age), so that I might-
Life Loves me?
On Monday 2 March, a convoy left the nuclear bomb factory at Burghley and drove to Faslane, to put the bombs in the submarine. This happens regularly, and there is regularly non-violent direct action (NVDA) outside the gates. There was an email printed out on the Quaker meeting notice board, and I was interested. I loathe the idea of threatening to kill millions of people and render vast areas uninhabitable. Who would not be tempted by the idea that “most” of the direct action roles would be “non-arrestable”?
When I told the Quakers that I might not be there to clerk the business meeting on Sunday, they were fine with that, and able to cope without me. I said I might “bottle it”- decide against going, through cowardice- and they said that would be fine too.
Now (Thursday 26th) I decide I will not go. Yes, it would be interesting, to meet the people, see the place and have the experience; and it feels like I wanted to go as a test of myself, or that this sleeping on the floor then standing in the cold and facing police officers and failing to prevent the bombs moving would be a worthwhile achievement, so I am worthwhile.
I do not need an achievement to justify my existence. So I decide not to go.
What do I want? To nurture this organism. Nothing more than I did last year: staying at home, going out occasionally. I do not want to work, because I can only imagine work as miserific humiliation. I do not like my lifestyle particularly, but feel seeking any more is illusion bound for failure.
I want to nurture this creature, and wonder whether “fun” and “joy” are meaningful concepts.