The Story of Monday....and Soggy Post-Its

I was chopping onions and mushrooms to top a Monday night pizza when a most familiar feeling of dis-ease and resignation came over me. The "God it's only Monday and I have a whole week of the work grind ahead" feeling. Perhaps you know it? Perhaps it hits you while enjoying a beautiful Sunday afternoon... coloring the day a little blue.


Why does this happen? (Haaa!!! Why does anything happen?) This is the trillion dollar question with no answer, or a perhaps the answers exist as a trillion different stories.

The noticing of this tendency to favor (or dread) upcoming moments....moments that only exist in the imagination... is the beginning impetus to sort out the potent mechanism of mind. Really, one (thought/emotion/feeling...they are intertwined...TEF) is no better or worse than another in the grand scheme of things. (Am I full of shit here?) No TEF is personal, unless I claim it. Each TEF is happening now....IS my now whether I like it or hate it. It truly is a mechanical process that churns on without my curation.

The Monday blues come and go. Recognizing the patterns of what hooks me into a drama or melancholy of my own making is helpful. I am apparently awash in this study to root out all of the ways personal ownership is grasped. There always seems to be plenty of velcro during the holidays, where our well-worn tattered costumes come out in full force. "If you think you are enlightened, go spend a week with your family." Ram Dass

On the other hand if we have no control of what TEFs move through us, how do we have any control over how we react to them? Good question. The personal character can't possibly have any control. Admittedly, it is not sorted out here, and I have no idea if control is possible on any level....even the most divine. Control implies a controller. God? What/where/who is that? Any whatwherewho implies limitation. Good gawd!

 It's happening again. Every time I attempt a blog post, I realize that trying to analyze the Mystery is pointless. And applying words/concepts to the Mystery of What Is is like putting post-it notes on the ocean. Monday's melancholy, just like Saturday's freedom, is fleeting...like everything. And I am trying to pin down the air. Insanity seems close by.

  
Yet typing and the appearance of communication is happening. The apparent noticing of apparent thought patterns is happening. Life is apparently happening in all of its many guises to and through.... nobody. This sounds like something Anita has written a hundred times.

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