Flowings of Your Everlasting Taffyman

Reading a bunch of books right now. Some my therapist recommended, some from church, some that looked interesting.  Pema Chodron's "When things fall apart"   and Sheldon Kopp's "If you meet the buddha on the road, kill him!" and will probably start Gary Zukav's "The seat of the soul"

They have me in that strange space where I am both seeking clarity and finding comfort in ambiguity,   the joyful acceptance of what is. But they also peak my curiosity, my ambition, my desire to live an exceptional life, whatever that means. The life if the guru, the prophet, the visionary, the shaman, the healer. I want to do mushrooms and run away to the amazon. I want to spend a year in a monastery. And also some part of me wants to relax, play computer games, and some other part of me wants a partner who can remind me back to my best self, and also delight in my boring self. A comfort.

I started crying for a brief moment. The story of the Lamed-vavs from Kopp's book (page 23). "He need only be open to the suffering of others, knowing that he cannot change it. Without being able to save his brothers, he must let himself experience their pain, so that they need not suffer alone. This will change nothing for man, but it will make a difference to G-d."

The heartbreak isn't present right now. Last night her picture kept popping up on facebook because I had been searching, and so now facebook wants us to be friends. The heartbreak isn't present right now, but I know it is still hanging in the air around here somewhere. I was shocked by how beautiful she is, it is a really nice picture. I keep trying to figure out why I am so drawn to someone who doesn't seem to care enough about me to reach out. I am drawn to her beauty and her youth, and her immaturity even though these things also push me away. I like the contrasts in people, the complexity, the unacknowledged truths. Like she is incredibly capable and totally inept, and I find it fascinating. How often did I just sit there watching, curious about all of the subtle thoughts and feelings I experienced in her presence? A canvas unfurling infinitely. I am drawn to people who provoke all the feels. And I am devastated by them again and again. And maybe that is the point.
Maybe this is what should be for me. Not a life time companion, comfort and serenity, but a constant push and pull until I learn to create the harmony within myself (breathing).

Embracing fear, heartbreak, pain and suffering, embracing longing and despair and loneliness, embracing them for what they are, such a reflection of their counterparts.

This life of sitting in coffee shops and reading, and people watching. I miss it.
I want to be a writer. I want to make art. I want to give back, teach and listen. But I want it without a pricetag and rules, without billing codes and paperwork. Something more natural and human.

So many books to read. So many people to explore.