My Heartsongs

My attention is one of the valuable resources I possess. It involves key areas of the brain that allow me to focus and concentrate on a given task, whether that is making dinner, composing a song, groking some new Italian phrases, or jotting down some notes for a podcast that is yet to emerge.

The hungry ghost realm is one of insatiable desperate desire and greed; one of the lower states of consciousness in the endless cycle of samsara, it represents addiction, the proverbial hole in the soul where no matter how hard one pursues it, the external things never quite fill that inner void.

I am trying out a new lens for my daily experiences. Whatever is occurring, I simply ask “do I feel put upon, fairly neutral, or does it bring me joy?”

I often talk of the need for both center and edge in these podcasts. While I remain deeply grateful to live where I do, I really do sense a greater fragility in this country, especially since so many fellow Americans think things are humming along just fine. What mental planet do they inhabit?

On an individual level, no doubt that lifelong wisdom is often reluctantly acquired through turbulent life passages. As a species we seem to remain locked in an evolutionary snag, when it comes to balancing aggression with cooperation—both of which have ensured our survival for thousands of years. I had a direct experience with my own aggressive tendencies this last weekend.

Sometimes instead of knocking on wood like an ancient Druid attempting to wake up a tree, I tap my frontal skull to get my brain in gear, hopefully aligning attention with intention in the here and now.

I feel quite blessed to mostly take a pause from all the political shenanigans and goings on in the USA. I find myself apologizing to any foreigners we meet for our loco President, who certainly does not represent US. This Italian expression fits the mood perfectly: Avere un’ora d’aria, which translates roughly as to have a breath of fresh air / A moment of libertá or a pause in a stressful situation.

The world seems to be changing so fast, some days it feels like I have to pinch myself, a la Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ having a moment when she realizes she’s always had the power to go home, even without clicking her ruby slippers.

This time of year, I am inclined to redouble my efforts to get rid of stuff, even as the inevitable “cheer” of the season will increase – at least temporarily – the number of objects and the amount of clutter in my abode. I often take a walk through my mystery drawers, of which I have two prominent ones.

Forget protect, provide and procreate: a generation of young men, cultural victims of both cognitive and emotional brain debt, might be more characterized by denial, despair and dependence.