cently we had an HVAC technician come out to look at our furnace. It has been down for a few years, for various reasons we’ve never been able to have it fixed, or looked at. He was able to get it up and running, but did confirm our fears that it wouldn’t last long and that he had been out replacing others in our complex, it’s just too old, and we would soon need to replace it. He didn’t charge for the service call which was awesome and over the past few days our house has been a little bit warmer. Which led me to write:
During morning piss
heard the most wonderful sound
working furnace -ah!
Walking the narrow sidewalks cobbled for immigrants of the 1930s
under grayscale constantly moving towards the horizon
past houses framed for the laborers in the ’50s
chain link fences put up to keep out the drugs of the ’70s and ’80s
under trees sprouted a hundred years befor
pushing my way through decades of History
with a wall of ideas around my head to keep out the ideals of the dead.
Dozing with light behind closed eyes, lost in yellowing dry summer grasses.
It’s hard enough to form good habits, especially in lieu of bad ones. But sometimes it seems virtually impossible to form good habits in a good way.
I find myself lamenting the practice of forming good habits. While doing my morning breathing scattered thoughts race through my mind, I thought what’s the point of going through the motions. I realized that I can go months forming a habit that is good in nature, like taking the time in the morning to Just Breathe. This is good but if I get in the habit of just letting thoughts run away with me then I’m not in the habit of taking time to breathe, I’m in the habit of letting my mind race. Which then furthers the habit of letting my mind race when I’m doing my normal daily meditation. So the original intention is not supported by this deterioration in effort.
And although I lament, its totally worth it. For it’s the practice to notice the deterioration, to see it and start over again and refresh the intention, so that one day the practice may become good. It’s like looking at a chart we see the summit and the steep valleys and we say that is the path of progression, but we forget that each chunk of that path, each micro fragment of data is a moment when we practiced in a good way; even if we have five minutes of mostly poor, mind racing breathing, if just ten seconds are pure fully concentrated breathing, or a moment of understanding and accepting the poor practice, it is a micro fragment which with persistence and understanding will build on itself until the path of progression is on a steep incline.
It’s nothing new here. Just the same thing as told for generations in perhaps a slightly different way. Words are no substitute for experience. But it’s always nice to read a little inspriation!
This frost bitten fog
diffuse traffic light halos
crystallized, traffic sighs
The heart beats and with it the whole of our past; all we’ve stressed and all we eat, collecting all of perceptions impressions, thumping like streetside construction, constantly building a soul
He tugs at my heart / strings like spaghetti noodles / needs more than I have.