The Ghost of Tom Joad Knocking at the Door: A Pilgrim's Journey into the CaliforniAmerican Heartland--39. Icarus at Play Above All That Routine Thought

Icarus at Play Above All That Routine Thought, Steve Brown 2024

It's a hard thing to leave any deeply routined life, even if you hate it.

--John Steinbeck, East of Eden, 1952

Your only obligation in life is to die.  Everything else is a choice.

 --Dr. Daniel Sanderson

1.  Abstract

Each thought is a living road, like a river, with a current, and a choice between two opposing directions.  Some use the currents of the mind to get them where they want to go; some just follow the river wherever it goes; most spin in circles, lost in confusion because they don't understand the depths and undercurrents of their own mind.  It is very easy to believe one thing on the surface and accomplish the complete opposite because of what the mind truly believes below.  Now is always a moment to dip that ore into the water and feel around and play with the turbulence of the mind.  Some use their thoughts to get them where they want to go.  Most get played by their thoughts instead.  For most of my life, I have been in that latter group.  I often still am.  But sometimes I am now willing to stop mid-thought and get to know the river, and in those rare moments, I can work with the movements of my mind to get me where I want to be at that specific moment.  As a result, the argument that would have occurred in the past with a loved one doesn't because I am able to step away from my routine emotions, those automatic responses to the same old triggers defined by labels I unconsciously accepted long ago. 

Most people think that their thoughts are who they are.  This probably partly comes from As a Man Thinketh.  Thoughts definitely influence your choices and thus your behaviors.  That is vital to recognize.  However, it is absurd to think that you are your thoughts.  If you are your thoughts, then who is thinking them?  Believing you are what you think gives all of the free will you currently possess away to your routine thoughts.  You live up to your labels:  I am impulsive.  I am lazy.  I have a bad temper.  I am an alcoholic.  I am an addict.  I am shy.  I am a shallow social butterfly.  I am a loner. 

We are not our mind.  Our thoughts influence us, but they are not us.  Our thoughts are the stories we believe and the stories we want to believe, but they are not us.  They are the endless, swirling currents of the mind, but there is a very real me paddling that turbulence, and there is also a very real reality below those currents that is the bedrock of the channel that God intends me to get to know.  

When I understand these things, not only the mind, but all of life, moves from being a force to battle or simply endure, to a rich world teaming with possibilities to swim around in and explore--full of danger, yes.  But also full of beauty and wonder!  Once we know that we are not our thoughts, we no longer have to become them.  We can discard the ones that pull us under and latch onto the ones that make us soar.  Our thoughts only control us because we falsely believe they are us.  

Believing you are a failure may make you behave like a failure, but it does not make you permanently one.  Believing you are a winner may make you behave like a winner, but it does not guarantee you will always be one.  Believing you are a sinner may make you behave like a sinner, but it doesn't make you irredeemably one.   Believing you are a saint may make you behave like a saint, but it doesn't solidify you forever as one.  If the saint can turn towards becoming a sinner, and the sinner can turn towards becoming a saint, clearly those things aren't fixed.  If the winner can have a life experience that causes them to doubt that success and throw away all they've gained, and if the loser can somehow pick themselves up by their bootstraps and become a winner, clearly those labels are not who those individuals really are.  They are simply descriptions of behaviors based on current beliefs.  But someone is behind those thoughts doing the believing and acting according to those beliefs.  Getting to know that someone is key.   Knowing who I am is a very different type of knowledge than knowing who others believe I am.  We get those two lenses mixed up all the time.  We accept the labels others put on us as if the labels are us.  We see us through other people's eyes not realizing there is a very real me behind my thoughts that actually knows who I am.  

Those who understand this can begin to explore the river that is their mind and use its currents to take them where they ultimately want to go, knowing that the mind is not simply a tool to be used, but that it ultimately can become an extension of who they really are.   When this happens, the battle turns to play, and enduring turns to adventure, which is a lot less odious than simply surviving to the end.

2.  Concrete

The other morning, while feeding the chickens, and thinking about what I'd written above, which was still fresh, I realized that the only thing I really desire at this point in my life is to be as comfortable around others as I am around myself.  I also realized that as much as I want that, I am actually terrified of letting my shyness go because I've let that label define my existence for so long that I can't conceive of my life without the quiet, screaming terror I feel in the company of others.  

Then, I realized that if I let that shyness go, I will be unstoppable because I will be a man without desire and will be totally free to just experience life on its own terms and help others the best I can.  Unlike many others, I don't need things, power, or prestige to be happy.   And I am now so comfortable with myself alone that I'm never lonely when alone.  In solitude, I almost cease to exist in the most wonderful way.  If I'm out there in the valley, I get so caught up in the light and taking pictures, I become that transparent eyeball Emerson talks about.  And if I'm out in the garden, I get so busy watching the bees, I forget there is a me holding the hose.  I have no ambition, no fear.  I have no desire for anything beyond now.

Out there, feeding the chickens that morning, it hit me:  if I can feel that free by myself, why surely it is just as possible to feel that free in a room of full of people or while saying "Hi" to someone while walking down the hall.

What has divided my life into two different realities has been one simple belief:  I am shy.  Shy people are comfortable in their own company and are terrified in the company of others.  That's just how it is.  Who says I am shy?    I have.  My parents have.  Anybody who has met me has.  But does the bedrock me, the I below those stupid, silly thoughts really believe that?  I don't think so.  In my dreams, I am always a rock star and always have been since I was a little kid, not because I want to be famous, but rather because there is a me who knows exactly what it feels like to be free from social anxiety--that I who desires me to drop all that shyness horseshit.  At night, free from doubt, I become who I'm meant to be.

Long, long ago, over twenty-eight years now, I drank way too much on a regular basis, but it was easy for me to stop both because I was lucky enough not to become chemically addicted and because I never believed I was an alcoholic.  I was man angry at God for making me shy.  I was trying to slowly kill myself because I didn't like my existence.  Once I got rid of the anger and started to enjoy life, I had no more desire to drink.  

Long ago, over twelve years now, I was addicted to pornography.  Because I was addicted that habit was a little harder to overcome than drinking, but with sincere prayer and the help of God, it was still a relatively easy behavior to stop because although I knew I was addicted to pornography, I never accepted the label of being a pervert.  I knew at my core that I was morally clean and had the same, normal, healthy sexual desires as everyone, and that I had just been foolish enough to let a thought-fungus use my brain as its host.  I became aware of this one night when the sexual thoughts running through my dreams were absolutely disgusting and not something I'd ever be interested in experiencing even as a pornography addict.  I knew then that some negative energy was trying to take over and force me into becoming who I am not.  However, because I never believed I actually was a pervert, I was able to get over that addiction fairly quickly once I was serious about extinguishing the behavior.  With the help of God, I was free within a few months.

But shyness, has been different.  I've been battling it since about the time I was twelve.  For short periods of my life, it became excruciatingly crippling.  There were a couple of years in college I basically talked to nobody other than a few friends.  The terror I felt around others was extremely painful.  I'd move to intentionally give me a fresh start, and for a while that would work, but then shyness would creep in again.  Things got a little better when I just accepted it and quit fighting it.

That goes back to what I said in the first paragraph.   It is very easy to believe one thing on the surface and accomplish the complete opposite because of what the mind truly believes below.  Because I had so identified myself with being shy, I was terrified of losing that part of myself, if I actually changed.  It had brought me a few good things.  I'm very comfortable in my own company, and although I don't have a lot of friends, the few I do have are very close to me.  My shyness gave me myself, my friends, my wife and my family.  Accepting that shyness as a force in my life was better than constantly battling it because I no longer hated God and myself for the anxiety I was feeling.   

But now I have the thought, Why even be shy?  Why not let it go and be as free all the time as I am right now in my own company?  Why live two different lives--the exhilaration of being alone and the terror of being in company?  Why not just be free?

I'm pretty sure in a short period of time that one thought will change everything.  Even if it doesn't, it's a very important thought to have.  Why be shy?  Why be anything you don't want to be?

Thoughts are to be used.  They are not who we are.  You can cling to them or let them go as needed.  The key is knowing what is it that you really want.

When you know your true direction, you will get there eventually.  It has to be.

I think the story of Icarus is an unfinished story.  It is a story told by those living in those houses below to justify being stuck in lives of simply enduring the routine to the end.  It is a story based on fear of change, a story based on a strict belief in limitations.  There probably is some fact to it.  Icarus probably flew too close to the sun.  He probably did something stupid and tried to soar midday to show off his skills to others.  Instead of drawing a crowd of enthusiasts for flight, for soaring beyond current known limits, he drew a crowd of doubters, of disdainers of glory, those who gleefully watched him crash to the earth and said, "I told you so; I knew that would happen; if God had wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings."  And then they went inside and shut their door, because that is exactly what a person driven by fear always does.  It is routine behavior.

So, the story they miss is that Icarus is up there flying now.    

3.  Now

Each moment provides the opportunity to name a fear, let it have its say.   Then instead of doing its bidding, choose to play.

  

  

The Ghost of Tom Joad Knocking at the Door: A Pilgrim's Journey into the CaliforniAmerican Heartland--38. California Coastal Cold, Part I

Manresa Uplands State Beach and Campgrounds, Steve Brown 2022

April 12, 2022 

After a bad tasting dinner at an overly priced restaurant on the Old Fisherman's Warf, we drove up the coast to Manresa Uplands State Beach and Campgrounds, which is unlike any campground I've ever been to.  It is well off California Highway 1, accessed by Buena Vista Drive, a narrow, curvy road that winds through a mixture of low, wooded hills, open farmland, and occasional small residential developments.  It was nearing sunset, the trunks of the oaks golden on one side and deep in purple-blue shadow on the other, but we were tired, and the road seemed to be going absolutely nowhere noteworthy.  After a while, I wondered if we'd gotten lost and started to get grumpy.  Marci assured me we were headed the way Google told us to go, but I didn't see how that could possibly get us to the beach. 

The way I'd always known the coast is as follows: there you are on Highway 1, literally hugging the coastline, the ocean crashing way down below you; the road curves inland slightly as you drop down to a valley of farms; and then the road curves out again to a small, beachside town, and a couple of state parks and campgrounds located right on the beach.   There's no getting off California 1 miles away from your campground and following winding, very worn, not-well-maintained road that seems to go nowhere.  Something must have gone wrong.

Though tired, the experience must have been deeply meaningful because I can still see the late afternoon sunlight on that shaggy landscape now.  I no longer know where on that road it is, but somewhere there is a building with a corrugated metal roof amongst some great trees that were throwing shadows across it, but then there were these patches of sunlight reflected back from the metal that just exploded between the shade.  It's these moments that always make the trip.  They seldom occur at the designated scenic spot.  They often happen at gas stations, rest areas, or while passing an old barn.  Usually, they involve light.  But not always.  They can be dismal, verdant green scenes sopped by endless rain.  But to me, they always stand out.  At such moments, I think to myself, I don't know what the purpose of other people's life is, but this is mine:  All I need to do in life is witness this.   

That is what the road trip is all about.   It's about what happens between the destinations.  I'm human.  I know if I didn't reach whatever destination I set out for, I'd become frustrated, and in that moment, I would most likely not be able to enjoy the journey.  And yet I also know from experience the most remarkable sights will occur when least expected--that tug of the heart that says, Yes, this is it.  I sometimes doubt the meaning of life could be so simple, and yet I know it to be true.  That doesn't mean that's the meaning for everyone though.  Who says we all agreed to this journey called life for the same reason.  I do think we all took this journey to learn to open up, to learn to love more fully, and to take in more light, feel more glory.  But who is to say how that glory is manifested is the same for each of us?  Someone else may feel that power through a hardball hitting a leather mitt; or feeling the perfect arch in their back as they go over a metal bar; or being stunned by countertop gleaming after a good scrubbing.   

I just know for me, when my eyes take in light, I am.  At this point, even if I lost my sight, that's what I'd keep doing because that light is forever burned into my being and will never leave.  Now that I've seen it, I no longer need sight to experience the California Coast.  No matter how glorious the next life is, I will remember this one forever because I'm simply blown away.  My religion talks about enduring to the end.  If I'm fully in the moment, there is no enduring--just awe of the rich tinfoil tapestry shook out before me sparking light every which way oh so gloriously.  

Today, on the highway home from work, out in the least attractive patch of desert in the entire valley, tiny stubbles of tumble weed that had been mowed repeatedly by the highway and stunted to almost nothing had turned that deep maroon they turn to in the fall shortly before dying. When there is beauty like that there, well the California coast is simply celestial in comparison.  When I die, all I want to do is thank God for making Earth so beautiful, and if those who have near-death experiences are correct, and Earth is indeed a dismal place compared to Heaven, well then, I don't need any rewards for attempting to live life right.  God can leave his mansion for the others.  I'll be content to spend the eternities looking at the new flowers.  Is there any more grand purpose for existing than to exist and be fully aware of it?

I think Hell is simply existing mostly unaware of what you've got because you're stuck inside your mind you can't get out of it.  Like everyone, I sometime place myself in hell through my thoughts.  But I'm in training, and by focusing my eye more frequently on now, I spend less and less time in the hell that is my mind, that hell of my own making.  

I want to see.  I want to be.  Always.

Well, usually.  I'm getting so I'm not so fond of the cold.  This was true even two and a half years ago.  And there is no cold like California coastal cold.  My brother tells a story about visiting the coast after we'd lived in a valley in northern Utah that frequently got down to -5 and once in a while -30.  We lived on a ranch, and because my brother and sister had to feed cows in that weather, they had coats made for it.  Once in February, my dad, who lived in Reno, took Lloyd to the coast.  Lloyd brought that big, green coat made for surviving in Alaska to Fort Bragg, California thinking he'd be toasty.  Oh, how wrong he was.  Just because the thermometer says it's 40 degrees doesn't make it so.  There is cold, and then there is California coastal cold.  It doesn't start until about fifty miles north of Morrow Bay, but north of there that cold is very real.  I've since been to the Oregon coast many times and its cold is nothing like the cold between Crescent City and Big Sur.  It's got to be the ocean currents, and it can be brutal.

We drove down this long park service road to the campground.  It took us fairly high up on a hill to some pale green mowed grasslands between big, broad oaks and other similar trees.  The sun had just set, and we pulled into the special parking lot that was for unloading only and had 30-minute parking.  As I opened the door, I could feel that cold closing in.  I grabbed my coat.  

We had a lot of camping gear, and neither of us were happy about the distance from the car to the tent site or how hard it was to find the site that we had reserved.  We became less and less happy with that distance with each return trip with more of what we needed to survive that cold night.

Yet, I had to admit it was beautiful.  Acres and acres of mowed expanse between gloriously big oak trees.  And the restrooms were also very nice.  Even cold, tired and grumpy, I could not discount that this was a beautiful place to be.

As I've gotten older, I've realized the same thing about life.  Though I've had some heartache and definitely some big insecurities and at times crippling shyness, I cannot discount that this life is a beautiful experience.  I know some moments are so brutal for some that they are left with life-long trauma that covers their lens on the world with an icky black film.  That is understandable.  Life is not equal.  Life is not fair.  But I also know that we are so connected to this our temporary home that there is some part of everyone that knows the beauty here is undeniable.  They may give up hope, feel there's no way they can ever access it again, but that realization that life is beautiful is still there somewhere.  This book is a grand wish that somehow, I might clear just enough crud off a lens to stir a memory.  And if not that, that it will at least serve as a simple reminder to myself to be present more often than not.  Even with all the shit we go through (some way more than others), this thing we call life is a grand gig, even camping in that California coastal cold.