Islands in the Stream

So, in my kosmic geography (small k, Mr. Wilber, as it's everything in MY existence, which is clearly just a part of the great K Kosmic. Ultimately, there's no separation so there shouldn't be an issue), we have this stream:

(Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!)

Problem is, the endpoint of the stream is a state that comes and goes. When grace reveals it, I can identify with awareness and witness. But then contraction comes like a thief in the night, covers grace like a dark blanket, and I continue on in spite of mySelf.

The Integral Framework provides a map for navigating this topography. I will have states (witness) intersecting with stages in my life. And that stage is somewhere between postmodern and integral. Reaching for 2nd tier, at times touching some of its border lands, but not Realizing enough of what I've tasted to actually move into the new geography and say goodbye to the old for good.

It comes out so clean on paper - just do what it takes to move to a higher stage, continue the practices that will bring true realization of the states, and yowsah, you're there.

But it takes so little to come apart into a deconstructed mess.

Let's listen in, shall we, to the other stream, River Ego, exploring old canyons and inventing new ones in the internal eosystem.

pretty straight forward, all you have to do is take a quadrant approach, balance it through regular practice. simple! booya! Or is it, because the associative path to that is a stream towards needing a community to practice in, that should be a part of the quadrant approach should it not? Sangha? Community? And then you have Cohen and company, who at one glance seem credible and cutting edge, connected with Wilber for Gawd's sake - but on the other hand, just don't sit right at some level. He's violent with his student's egos - and on one hand it's needed but on the other hand, seems to lack compassion. And then what about just meditating and exercising, isn't that enough of the quadrant life to keep me moving, well, that would be without a teacher, and that doesn't seem right, or maybe the teacher is my group of teachers and readings throughout the years.

And through it all, failure. I've tried for permanent changes so many times, and always they have fallen short. Maybe this too has to be accepted, unconditionally.

So many books I've bought and haven't finished that I should finish. Any one of them could be the answer

Maybe that's the thing, maybe they are ALL the answer

But if they were, why would I still be searching and looking for the answer, for my purpose.

Maybe, mayhap, because I have discovered truth but not REALIZED it.

My ass hurts.

A wrinkle, a sign

I don't get fashion.

Truly.

Let's depart from the obvious, if you know me, you know, by saying "of course you don't get fashion, look at what you're wearing"

I get it that my children literally have more fashion sense than I; that I have to ask for help in the morning "can I wear black and blue together?"... So let's put all that under the bridge. I want to deconstruct a little deeper here, and for that, we need a wrinkle. Actually, several wrinkles. And not stale wrinkles, but fresh ones. Lost yet? Welcome to my world.

So here's the deal.

I went out two weekends ago, under duress, with my family, with the intention of sourcing some new clothes out for my new gig. Duress was my thing, not theirs. Shopping (unless it's for gadgets or books) for me involves picturing what you want, and going and buying it as quickly as possible. More so for clothes. So I get more and more uptight with the exercise, in apparent contradistinction from my patient wife and exuberant sires, all three of whom are quite pleased to pick out things that would look nice on Dad.

Fast forward, 7 or 8 pairs of pants later, and we have decided on a pair of 'fine cotton' Jones of New York casual black business pants. On for about half price - $65 - and they fit and look nice (this from opinions not under the heavy shadow of my fashion misperceptions.)

So I bring them home, iron them, and wear them to work, somewhat chagrined that by the time I get to work via the train and a .5 km walk, they're wrinkled. Ironing is time consuming, and finicky work, which I do actually enjoy at times, but this joy is quickly lost if the iron-ees don't keep well.

I go back to my patient spouse, and engage in a variant of conversations we've had before about fashion.

"So, Dbuiz, nice pants but they're wrinkled well before the end of the day - by the time I get to work actually"

"That's fine - good cotton will do that"

"Wrinkle?"

"That's right"

"So it's ok to walk around work with wrinkles in my pants? I thought that was the whole point of ironing before I wore them"

"Well, those are fresh wrinkles - they're fine. It's old wrinkles that look awful."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly".

So.

You pay more money for a nicer fabric - a lighter, more comfortable cotton. And these pants have that. But ultimately you are paying more money for something that will wrinkle faster than a no-iron cheaper blend, but this is ok as long as you make sure the wrinkles are fresh, not stale.

Another day, another post - or maybe I'll find a legacy post - about some other fashion issues I have, but for now, I'll just file this under general doey-eyed confusion about the wearing of tailored fabrics.