Death-in-life experiences

A long time ago, during a period of transition in my life, I had a dream that I was lying in the woods in a pile of leaves, dissolving. It felt delicious, almost orgasmic. I was becoming part of the forest, losing all the pain and sorrow I'd been preoccupied with at the time. But the dissolving stopped somewhere near the back of my neck, perhaps where the "lizard brain" resides, the basic instincts. So, I lived. I woke up and continued. But I did not forget the wonderful experience of almost non-existing. About seven years before that dream, I had had an accident on a Massachusetts highway, spinning around uncontrollably in a borrowed Volkswagen after vainly trying to correct a skid on slippery snow. I was a new driver, but cars all around me were wrecking that night. My vehicle went ass-end into a ditch, breaking its rear axle. Just before the spin ended, my mind said to itself quite cheerfully, "Well, here we go!" These are my near-death experiences, and I kind of like them. A few days ago, a friend of mine whom I hadn't seen for ages turned up at a gathering and mentioned that she'd been having death dreams. The people in the dreams who were dying were herself in another guise or persona. In the dream, disappearing was just fine, no problem, but when she woke up, she was distressed. I think she should have been glad. It's a privilege to be able to imagine or even experience some kind of death before the actual one occurs. So many things that begin in life, end. Whole "lifestyles" can come crashing down. Rehearsal is good. I don't know what my next death will be like, but I'm not afraid to find out. Not much, anyway.

The kid next door

The "kid" who lives in the house next door once again (after his tenants moved out) is the son of a friend of mine. He's only 25, and he actually owns the house, having bought it some years ago in a mood of stability-seeking and hopefully, investment-making. He's a small fellow, slender, with a sweet face. He bakes cookies. He does carpentry. He puzzles over philosophies and concepts. He now studies computer information systems management after exploring other careers (including construction work). He would like a girlfriend, but most of the girls he meets just want to be "friends." He's going to visit my Buddhist group tonight, and I'm so proud, as if I were, yes, his mother. In some ways, I'm his mother's opposite. I think alternatively but I behave (for the most part) conventionally. She has always lived a "wild" life but lately has been thinking more sedately (I can sense her thought waves all the way from California). I am so pleased to be able to invite her son over for a meal, discuss literature with him, and emanate wishes for his happiness; not that I have time to do those things every day, or even every week, but at least now I have the opportunity. I've had a surrogate son before, but this one is a joy to know. Any single young women out there looking for a quality fellah?

Life and Hope and Buddhist Nuns

Sometimes the propositions of Tibetan Buddhism really cross sticks with Human Nature, especially in the seventh chapter of this little Pema Chodron book I've got here, "When Things Fall Apart." In the "Hopelessness and Death" section, the charming, round-faced sage with a buzz-cut promotes the benefits of "hopelessness" and disparages the comforts of theism (indulged in by millions). It's an addiction, she says. Well, maybe some folks get hung up on a jolly, kindly, managerial God and can't stop thinking about him (not that addiction is always to kindly, jolly things), but I never did, even as a kid. Somehow, the threat of years-long punishment in Purgatory for childish transgressions outweighed any images of his hippie son Jesus's loving glances and mysterious but compassionate words. I was kind of glad to give up on God when I "came of age," and I had only recently advanced to laughing at the Everything-Happens-for-a-Reason cliche (whether it had to do with God or not). But I draw the line at dropping "the fundamental hope that there is a better 'me' who one day will emerge." I mean, what the heck did I buy this book for, anyway? Isn't an occasionally meditative, more peaceful, less reactive and impulsive "me" a better one? And isn't this book touted as an aid to achieving this? (Even though there's no "self," we're supposed to behave well toward others.) What's going on here is your basic "Zen" paradox: the harder you try to grasp an idea and roll with it, the slipperier it gets, and then the landscape changes, the leaves turn yellow, the clock falls back, and you're rolling uphill.

Test Drive

I understand it's silly to be proud of NOT buying something I can't afford. I wasn't even tempted, really. I'd informed my daydreams, "No," ahead of time. But being on the edge of the cliff, enjoying the view, was fun. I was too sane to actually jump off. But used-car salespeople don't understand sanity. They are there to discourage it. As one of three trying to convince me said, "Occasionally common sense rears its ugly head." This was after I'd taken the nearly-new Toyota MR2 Spyder for a spin, with the top down. I never got to fifth gear, but fourth was a thrill. The woman salesperson, Dana, went with me, and directed me to a business park nearby where there was a pleasant loop road deserted for the weekend. It had a hill, several curves, and one short straightaway. The silver-and-black roadster had something special: auto-manual transmission. No clutch, just the touch of a finger on a steering-wheel button or the right palm gently tapping the spider-decorated stick. I got the hang of it almost immediately. Now that's not silly to be proud of, is it? I told them, laughing, that if they could work out payments of $100 or less per month, I'd buy it. The manager himself took MY car for a test drive, and reported it to be in fair condition. Hey, I KNEW that. The paper he then handed me invited payments of $316 per month for 60 months, not terribly high for some, but way out of my range. Besides, where would I park such a car? On the street as usual? No, I've parked it back in my daydreams, where it belongs, but the dreams are more vivid now.