"Do we wish no to resemble who we are?" asked a radio host in the course of an interview regarding the various attitudes toward beauty and esthetics. I began streaming the show moments before its end. This last statement trailed off in my headphones as the sound of the keyboard began to take over: Smiling causes our faces to wrinkle much, but when we smile it is not our wrinkles that others notice, it is the communicative warmth of our countenance.

 

How true. Perhaps it is the wrinkles within that should cause us the most concern, as well as the ways in which we shrink in disapproval of others’ choices and behaviors, the ways in which we judge them and ourselves. These wrinkles of the spirit might very well be more apparent than the signs of aging.

 

I long ago decided not to spend any of my income on beauty products other than what is necessary to keep myself clean, healthy and presentable. I made this decision when I had very little and it was clear to me that I should focus energies on survival and inner well-being. I also made this decision following observation of deeply unhappy individuals within my immediate surroundings and after hearing these unimaginable words escape their lips: “I would rather die than grow old and wrinkled”.

 

As I sought to eradicate such thoughts from my own perception of self, I developed great freedom. Conversely, I also developed harsh criticism toward anything pertaining to makeup and aesthetic surgery. I became wrinkled on the inside as I frowned my objection, that is, until I made an interesting discovery. My own streamlined style was just as much an attempt to express some true self as is the style of people who choose to wear expensive clothing or decorate their skin or color their hair.

 

In truth, we do not so much seek to be someone else as we seek to create in the mirror the image that most accurately reflects who we know we are on the inside. The perfect shade of lipstick or the perfect tie pattern is required for one to feel fully expressed. I feel fully expressed in my subtly medieval cut blouses. I do not feel like me in anything else. Similarly, I believe that for most people who choose plastic surgery there is simply something very strong calling from within, begging to be revealed. They know who they are and the image they bring out into the world must reflect this.

 

We say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, not realizing that this is not necessarily a third party’s eye. Granted that in some instances the attempt to transform or embellish one’s appearance may be a result of trauma or insecurity, I bet that in most instances it is an instinct. We simply know who we are. We may not voice this, lest we sound arrogant. In fact, our culture teaches us to suppress any such verbal expression. Therefore, we adorn our faces and bodies with the colors and shapes that best extend our spirits out into the world.

 

It would be interesting to watch the metamorphosis of our neighbors, colleagues and friends if all of us suddenly had the spontaneous ability to assume the colors, vestments and accessories of that within us which we know to be our true selves. Like changelings or young sprouts that grow in slow motion before the rhythmic camera shutter, we might merge into our true form as effortlessly as gently running water. I believe this is the experience we seek when we decorate ourselves with the textures and colors at hand in our material and not so fluid world. We seek a fluency of being.

 

Slainte!

 

 

“Become What You Are” is a thin, very enjoyable and thought provoking book compiling a collection of writings by Alan Watts. Each chapter, or topic, is an observation on the search for one’s true self and on common cultural expectations or beliefs common to our religious or moral teachings.

 

Interestingly, the book cover features a central circular mirror, but it is scratched and no longer able to render a clear image. One sees only a contour of the face. Imperfections are not revealed; nor are the few traits one might secretly associate with personal beauty.

 

Alan Watts daringly put down on paper what many of us, seekers of truth and enlightenment, think quietly but dare not speak aloud. In short, his premise is that the very act of seeking enlightenment prevents us from attaining it. All our religions require that we pray or approach the divine in the right way. In spirituality, prayer and meditation are often the same. Our culture has devised perhaps as many as thousands of methods for attaining “Oneness with God”, “Enlightenment” and such.

 

Countless books have been written on the subject of meditation. Some methods are elaborate, requiring preparation, specific surroundings and a systematic approach the student is strongly encouraged to follow without variation. We take classes, we learn Yoga, deep breathing, walking meditation, all with the intent to achieve a level of peace where all distraction disappears and only being remains, if that.

 

However, Watts suggests that this is possible only when the seeking after results stops. For all seeking for the proper breathing rhythm, for the proper posture, for the proper inner focus, is, in itself, a distraction.  According to Watts, our culture, in fact, many of our cultures, strives on results. There must be a goal to every endeavor. Indeed, there must be endeavor.

 

In my own experience as someone who is interested in spiritual growth, I have failed at every attempt to meditate, but I have not failed at meditation, only at the conscious attempt to do so. Every time, I have grown impatient. An inner voice would tentatively nudge me with the notion that it was not necessary to seek to adopt the perfect posture or breathing, that one could attain a meditative state as surely as one falls asleep every night, without striving to do so. In fact, each time we strive to fall asleep, we do not.

 

The ancient sages and teachers may have approached their spiritual practice with far more ease and levity than we, the result-seekers. There are countless accounts of enlightened masters retreating to the desert for great lengths of time. Whether this is to be taken literally or metaphorically is irrelevant. Retreating from one’s daily concerns and fidgeting, such as in the instant we lay our head down on the pillow, may very well be the point of enlightenment.

 

The only difference between a novice such as me and individuals who are advanced in the practice of meditation is that this single point of relaxation and void, this “great between” moment at the end of the day’s routine and the threshold of sleep, stretches into timelessness for them. When we retreat to bed at night, we seek not results; we only seek to leave the day behind. This is much like walking a long road to arrive, finally, at a precipice. There is nowhere to go, but for a moment, it does not matter. The view has captured our attention.

 

Slainte!

There are two types of dreams, at least in this head of mine. One type draws on recent encounters, event or conversations and creatively rearranges them to produce a sort of silly show to entertain me during my sleep. In these, I feel like the audience at a good, usually silly and thoroughly funny play.

 

The other type takes me to mysterious worlds where I interact with people I do not know, yet thoroughly recognize. The storyline usually involves a journey, lesson or quest, and the impact on me is lasting, profound and pleasantly "disturbing". They always bring into question who I have been in recent days, my thoughts, behavior, choices, and questions.

 

I had one such dream last night. It started out in a sort of Inn where I and other people were getting ready to get on the road. The journey began by climbing a square spiral staircase. Next, I found myself sitting in a sleigh. A man was pushing it. A woman walked at my side. I recognized the man. My own dog was on my lap. A group of other people walked behind us, and then ahead, until we lost them. There were Doberman on the path. In real life, my Rat Terrier does not befriend bigger dogs, so I was concerned about his reaction and kept him close. I am not usually afraid of any dog, but in this environment, sitting in a sleigh, lost, when they came near they growled right in my face. I tried to stay calm. One finally gently took my hand in his mouth and promptly flipped on its back for me to rub its belly. A friendship gesture.

 

I suggested I would walk off to a hill to determine if I could see which direction others had taken so we could find our way. On the other side of the hill, in the distance, there was a trail with marathoners on it, with numbers attached to their backs. I suggested we should walk in the same direction to get back to civilization. The sleigh was gone at this time and a veiled woman walked with us. She tripped and fell down a bank, and lost her veil. The folks who accompanied me ignored her. I was shocked. I helped her up, picked up her veil and gave it back to her. She walked on.

 

We eventually returned to an Inn and began climbing down the square spiral staircase, but I soon recognized that it was not the same one as before and notified my team we had not reached the proper destination. At the bottom of the staircase, through a door, I could see the marathoners walk by, in the same direction as before. End of dream.

 

I love taking this sort of dream apart, though often I do not bother. I just stay with it, enjoy the mystery and colorfulness of it. Today, for some reason, it all came to me so fast it was as though someone else was explaining it to me in my ear and I was very matter-of-factly repeating the analysis to Roderick, my husband: I was clearly in charge of my destiny. I decided which way we would go, I instructed on he path to take. Though what came ahead was threatening (the dogs), I stayed calm and ended up taming the situation and realizing that there was no threat. Marathoners are an organized group, with a starting point and a known and certain ending point (destiny). I used them as the model to fashion my path. Something was unveiled in the process. Not only that, but also one fell off the path, was unveiled (released identity?) and continued the journey, unhurt. I went up the staircase to begin the journey. Going up feels to me like detaching from something, taking flight. I went down when I returned, but it was not the same place. I had not yet reached the destination, and I would have to separate from the common path again to do so, not get near it, but separate (lingering attachments?). The direction of the marathoners was the same, however, so my journey was indeed heading in the right direction.

 

This dream, and my own spontaneous interpretation of it, seems rather in harmony with my present situation since I am currently taking a new course, re-discovering my artwork and recreating my work life. I feel good.

 

Slainte!

 

One action led to another, quite literally, and I did not once stop to "edit" myself. I was having a ball. It all flowed. Until it did not. I started projects that required more attention, more skill and more commitment than I can provide at this time. Once in, I felt the struggle but refused to back down. I have to be somebody and re-create an identity, after all. Right? Wrong.

Time for a reality and honesty check. If something is a struggle in the sense that it uses up energy but does not fulfill me or lead to a constructive and valuable use of my time, why would I be doing it? Why indeed? Who's watching? Who's telling me to do this? Am I ahead of where I was? Nobody. Nobody. And No. I think this is called learning by elimination. If it is not, then I have just coined a phrase!

I am drained and uplifted at the same time. I have created a road map, quite spontaneously I might add, and now that I look at it I can see the many, many detours. I am glad I am not applying for a job as a city planner. What a waste of infrastructure!!! But it was not a waste after all. I have identified more of what I like and what I don't, what I am good at and truly enjoy, and what I can do well but do not need to get involved with. I had forgotten a personal quote I like to throw out there once in a while. This time, it fits like a glove: "I am good at washing dishes; this does not mean I have to make a career out of it."

What a relief. We went to the restaurant across the street for a celebration of my newly acquired wisdom. I rarely eat meat, but I felt like a steak. I even had a cherry coke. Perfect feast to celebrate a breakthrough, and the dogmo (nick name for our dog Mathias) got a nice chunck when we returned.

Incidentally, I should have paid attention to the dog. Not that I don't, but I mean really pay attention. Whenever I am upset inside, or fidgety or impatient, he shakes. He'll just sit there and look at me and shake. I can play with him, hug him, take him out... he'll shake. He knows. He is a walking emotions barometer. The dogmo is shaking; time for a reality check. I hope I can remember this.

Slainte